"I hope you realize we're not ordering anything tonight," Derrick says, reading my mind. He grins, "We're signed up for the full Per Se tasting menu."
"What if I'm allergic?" I ask.
"I don't think you are, but let me know, love," he says, that smirk still on his face, as if he's enjoying this. "If you were, it would have been the first thing you'd have said and you would have thought about the menu before anything else. You were too busy instead looking into my eyes."
How cocky of him! But, I blush again. I can't keep doing this! I need to steer the conversation around!
"How do I know this isn't what you do with all your women?" I ask the first thing that comes to mind.
Derrick's face keeps its smirk, but I can tell he's leaving it on there. After a pause, he softens his gaze and looks into my eyes, "Because, love, I don't ever fucking take girls out to dinner. It gets in the way of fucking."
I roll my eyes. There's the Prince Sin I know and hate.
"So why me?" I ask.
"Because when I saw you on stage, I had to meet you," he says, almost immediately. No hesitation. "How long have you been dancing?"
I've always danced. Oh, wait! He means how long have I been stripping!
Somehow I never thought that we'd end up talking about me! I quickly think of the best answer I can come up with. "I've only just started auditioning," I say. "I just need a way to pay my student loans now that I'm out of school."
Hey, it's actually pretty close to the truth. Want to know how much money I picked up from the bills that were being thrown at me that night where I auditioned for two minutes? $187. That's right. For two minutes. You do the math and figure how much I could make.
Also, for what it's worth, this dress was bought with some of those stripper-bucks.
"You can't keep stripping, love," Derrick tells me, looking in my eyes. I look at him and almost melt. He's so hot. His eyes are so soulful when they want to be. I'm ready to nod and agree to end my fake-stripping career right there - I want to do anything he says.
But my brain stops myself at the last minute.
"I need the money," I say, able to meet his gaze because it's closer to the truth. More than anything else I've said tonight.
"I know," he says back to me. "And I have a solution for that."
I'm curious and I ask him what he means.
But the first of the plates come. "Eat first," he says, and I can't help but listen. The food is so delectable and amazing. Yay! I'm eating at Per Se!
Over the next hour and a half, I try to dig into his past. His mom died when he was thirteen. I knew that. But he doesn't go into more detail. He blames his dad and I find out the two aren’t close.
Okay, by itself might not mean much, but maybe a story there.
He moved to New York after Afghanistan. And before that he went to the Military Academy.
None of this will sell papers.
"What was your idea for me to quit dancing?" I finally ask as a waiter takes the remains of lamb skewers braised with black pepper and turmeric sauce and replaces it with small delectable bites of shrimp and lobster sausages with a garlic aioli drip.
"Be my girlfriend," he says and I nearly drop my fork. "For the public. Help me rehabilitate my image. We'll do some photo ops. I'll even pay you if you want."
Oh. My. God.
For a second there I was falling back and enjoying this evening. It was almost becoming magical. I was having a good time.
But then he decided that because he saw me as a stripper, he could treat me like a whore.
Career or no career, I'm not taking this.
I put my fork down and use the napkin to wipe my mouth. Then I look at him.