Ritual - Palm South University

Besides, I need a break from my brain.

I haven’t stopped turning over what happened between me and Sophie since the Okay, Cool after-party. It seems no matter how much I try to focus on work or school or sorority events or pole, that night keeps creeping up on me, and I find myself trying to dissect every word she said, every move she made, wondering if I made it up, or if she really was hitting on me.

And if she was… what the hell?

Was she bisexual? Was she just being a bitch, trying to fuck with my head since it’s clear that I’m onto her and the way she looks at Brandon?

Did I make it all up, and it’s me who’s the psycho?

I sigh, peeling my high heels and knee pads off and shoving them into my gym bag with more force than necessary, like it’s Sophie I’m shoving out of my life.

“Hey now,” Karen says, arching an eyebrow as she lowers down to the floor next to me. “It wasn’t that bad of a training session, was it?”

I offer her a smile. “I’m sorry. Just have a lot on my mind.”

“That explains why you asked for two hours of torture instead of just one today.” Karen pauses, watching me. “Ashlei, I know we talked about this a few months ago… but I really think you should consider competing again.”

I swallow, trying to remain calm when I meet Karen’s eyes. “I… I don’t think…”

Karen folds her soft fingers over my arm, gentle and calm. “I know what happened with Kitty Heels.”

I nearly pass out at the mention of the studio I left behind me, that I’ve tried to bury for years. In a flash, I see Leslie, Kya, Hayden, the drugs, the threats, the money, the club I tried to work at to save my ass, Jess coming to my rescue.

Another soft squeeze from Karen saves me from blacking out. “Leslie has made a name for herself in this industry — and it’s not a good one. Everyone knows the sketchy shit she pulls, and trust me when I say you were the best thing to happen for her and that studio. I know she fucked you over… but don’t let her steal this passion from you.”

My eyes gloss, and I don’t have a single word to say in response.

“You don’t have to make a decision now, okay?” Karen says, standing and offering a hand down to help me up, too. “Just think about it. If not competing, maybe you could at least perform. Trust me — if you got on a pole stage?” She shakes her head once I’m standing with her. “You’d captivate the entire audience — me included.”

I somehow manage a nod and a smile, and I thank her, grabbing my bag and leaving the studio with my mind whirling with even more thoughts than when I walked in. When I see Brandon’s car on the curb, relief sinks into me like sweet honey, and I smile.

“I like this tradition of you picking me up after class,” I say when I slide inside the passenger seat. I toss my bag in the back. “But I’m starting to think you might have a fetish for sweaty girls or something.”

“I only have a fetish for one sweaty girl,” he corrects, leaning over the console to give me a deep, passionate kiss. I’m breathless when he pulls back, and his golden eyes settle over me in appreciation. “I was thinking we could do dinner tonight.”

“I like that idea.”

“In Chicago.”

I balk. “Chicago?”

He nods on a grin. “There was a last-minute cancellation at one of the most famous restaurants in town, and the owner called me and asked if I wanted the table. It’s twenty-four courses of the finest cuisine you’ll ever have.” He shrugs. “And then, I was thinking I could fuck you on the balcony of my favorite suite in the city.”

I lick my lips, crawling over the console enough to thread my fingers around the back of his neck and pull him into me for a kiss. “Are we flying commercial?”

“Come on now,” he chastises, nipping my bottom lip. “You know me better than that, Miss Daniels.”

I smirk. “Then you should know better than to think we’ll wait until after dinner to fuck if you’re taking me on your private jet again.” I pause, letting my hand drop to his belt buckle and drawing a soft line over the seam of his dress pants before whispering. “Mr. Church.”

A guttural groan rips from his throat, and then he breaks our kiss suddenly and swiftly, throwing the car in drive and speeding us across town to the airport.I feel night and day better after an evening with Brandon.

Just like I suspected, we’d barely made it through takeoff before Brandon had me pinned against one of the leather couches on the private jet, and once we’d landed in Chicago, we’d spent all dinner staring at each other from across our intimately lit table, my heel tracing up and down his leg under the tablecloth, his eyes devouring me more than the meal.