Going Deep (Imperfect Love 2)

Before I can question what I’m doing, I step in front of her and extend my hand. She eyes it like it’s covered in shit before she looks up, silently asking what I’m doing.

“Dance with me.”

“Why?” she asks with a look of disgust.

“Because I’m paying you to,” I hiss. She flinches, and I curse myself. Jesus, I suck at this shit. Before I can apologize, she takes my hand and pulls me onto the dance floor. Her arms go around my neck and her eyes look anywhere but at me.

Encircling one arm around her waist, I use my other hand to steer her chin toward me so she’s forced to look at me. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. Everything you’ve said is the truth.” Giselle diverts her eyes away.

“Hey,” I murmur, “look at me, please.” Her cold blue eyes meet mine and they’re glossed over. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. I’m sorry.”

“Can you please just stop saying sorry?” She removes one hand from around my nape and swipes the falling tear away. When she places her hand back, I feel the wetness of her touch, and it sends a chill through my body. I did this. I made her cry. I’m such a fucking asshole. “I’m well aware of what I am and what I do for money. I’m nothing more than a glorified prostitute.”

It takes me a second, but her words hit me like a punch to the gut. “Hold up.” I stop moving. “Do you have sex with the guys you go out with?”

Giselle looks at me incredulously, and I think she’s going to tell me she doesn’t. But instead she glances around to make sure nobody heard me before she says, “Are you serious right now? You know I do!” she whisper-yells. “And don’t go acting like you’re better than me. I might get paid to fuck men, but you pay women to fuck you. There’s no difference.”

I open my mouth to argue but stop myself. She thinks I’ve hired her to get laid. I knew sex was an option with the escort service I use, the service she works for, but that’s not why I use them.

“This is just a date,” I tell her. “I have no intention of having sex with you.”

Giselle rolls her eyes, misunderstanding the meaning behind my words. “Not up to your standards?” She eyes me up and down. “Don’t worry, I have no intention of sleeping with you either.” Her nose scrunches up in disgust.

“You would if I paid you to,” I point out, and she glowers. Jesus, have I always been such a dick?

“I’m so—”

“Oh my god! If you say you’re sorry one more time, I’m going to leave you here. How about you just stop talking for a while, so you won’t have anything to apologize for?”

I nod once, and we go back to dancing in silence. One song flows into the next and eventually the awkward silence almost turns comfortable. At one point, I think Giselle even forgets who she’s dancing with because she lays her head down on my shoulder. A lump forms in my throat at the gesture, and I try to block out how good she feels in my arms. She isn’t my date. She’s here because she’s getting paid to be.

A few songs in, the music comes to a stop and dinner is announced. Of course we’re seated at the same table as Olivia and Nick, Celeste and her date, and Olivia’s parents. We eat and converse. Olivia and Nick speak on behalf of Touchdown for Reading and the Arts, and then they start to announce the winners of the auctions.

“…and the winner of the cruise for two donated by Global Yachts is…Giselle Winters with a bid of twelve thousand dollars. Thank you, Giselle.”

Giselle’s eyes bug out, but she stands to walk up to the podium, not wanting to cause a scene. “Thank you.” She smiles nervously, takes the coupon, then sits back down.

Jokingly, when I filled out my bids, I put her name instead of mine. I thought it was funny at the time. Now, seeing her pissed off scowl, it doesn’t seem quite as funny. “Asshole,” she hisses, slapping the paper on the table in front of me.

“It was just a joke,” I whisper. “I didn’t really think I would win any of them.”

“You’re paying for this.” She glares my way.

“Obviously.” I hand her back the coupon. “Global Yachts has beautiful ships. Take someone and have a good time.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” she whispers, refusing to take the paper. Not wanting to argue, I fold the paper and put it into my jacket pocket.

Once all the auction winners are announced, the deejay turns the music back on and several couples make their way back to the dance floor. Since Giselle and I seemed to have found common ground while dancing earlier, I extend my hand and ask her to dance.