When the fountains end, Finn once again takes my hand and leads us through the crowds. People jostle, yell for friends and fall down, likely from being drunk. A majority of the women are dressed similar to me, but the differences are the shoes and makeup. Being a stripper, we learn to do makeup and hair like the stylists do. We have to have a flawless face and hair that doesn’t fall flat or lose its shape when we’re dancing, and our shoes are death traps that we can function in for eight to twelve hours if need be. We pay the price in the end, but the tips usually make us forget about the pain rather quickly.
“I must’ve looked like shit when you saw me outside your hotel.”
Finn doesn’t say anything, but opens the door of a café. He shows me to a small table in the back and smiles at the waitress when she sets a menu down.
“Have you ever had gelato?”
I shake my head and lean toward him to see what they have to offer.
“It’s like ice cream, but softer, creamier. What’s your favorite flavor?”
“I’ve always liked mint.”
“Mhm, me too. Let’s get a couple different flavors to try.”
Before I can protest, Finn is out of his seat and moving toward the counter. I try to occupy myself by looking around, as people watching can be entertaining. When a few of the men in here glance my way, I freeze, instantly thinking that they’ve seen me. I know it’s silly, not all men go to strip clubs, but when in Vegas . . .
Finn is back at our table with a tray of different gelatos. He sets them down with a smile. “Dig in,” he says as he hands me a spoon. I hesitate for a moment, waiting for him to go first. His first scoop is the mint and I watch with rapt attention as he puts the spoon in his mouth, turning it upside down at the last minute so the dessert hits his tongue instead of the roof of his mouth. Finn’s eyes close as he slowly pulls the spoon out, his tongue licking his lips to catch anything left behind.
My legs clench together, watching the way he eats the gelato. Who knew that something so simple could be perceived as erotic?
“Your turn.”
I follow suit, taking the same flavor and doing exactly as he did. I moan as the rich and creamy taste hits my tongue. The gelato melts in my mouth and isn’t as cold and hard as ice cream.
“Do you like it?”
“I do,” I say, reaching for another scoop. I try the chocolate, followed by the cookie dough and get the same reaction. Finn laughs and reaches for another flavor. After a few bites he starts mixing flavors on his spoon. Each taste is a new experience and I can’t seem to get enough.
When the cups are empty, I sit back and rest my hand on my stomach. “I think I ate too much.”
“I have a remedy for that.”
“Oh yeah, what’s that?” I hedge.
“Sex,” he says, winking. My joyful mood is halted when I think about having sex with Finn. It’s not that I don’t find him attractive, because I do. Finn is sexy and being with him right now has put a definite ache between my legs. It’s the fact that I’m about to give myself to him for money. That is something I can’t get over. Fucking for money is one thing I told myself I would never do.
Except I’m desperate and I need the money. He knows this and is using it to his advantage. Never mind the wardrobe of clothing he bought me—in my line of work that won’t do any good, unless I start thinking about my future, Morgan’s future, and use the money to better myself.
“Just like that? We go back to your place and fuck?” I don’t care if the people around us can hear me. Besides, it’s Vegas. It’s what single people do, although I’m not sure if Finn thinks I’m single. I didn’t exactly correct him when he asked if Morgan would be jealous.
When he opens his mouth I expect something smartass to come out, but it doesn’t. Instead, he stands and grabs my hand, leading us out of the café. On the street, the crowds have grown and it’s harder to walk through the people, but Finn never lets go. The cool air of the casino is a welcome reprieve from the mugginess outside and by the time we’re in the elevator my heart is pounding. When the P for penthouse lights up, my nerves start to get the best of me.
“We don’t have to do this. You can leave,” he says, holding the elevator door open for me.
He’s giving me the option to leave, but doing so means I go home with nothing. It means that I’m back to square one living in the slums with my alcoholic mother, and my daughter continues to go hungry while I scrape for money to support her.