Trashy (2 page)

Roxie

Present Day

A creepy feeling crawled over my skin, making me shiver and smack at my arms like there was some long-legged hairy spider climbing its way over my body. I abandoned what I was doing and stood, cocking my head to the side to listen. There was nothing out of the ordinary. The only sound that filled the air was the insistent hum of the clothes dryer.

There were no heavy footfalls echoing down the steps. No ominous sounds of heavy breathing reached my ears (Come on, you know creepy, no-good people all breathe heavily).

My phone went off, making me jump and let out a little shriek.

I was being ridiculous. I was being paranoid.

One glance at the screen and the number I didn’t recognize and my belly did a little nosedive. After disregarding the gut feeling of being watched, I hit the IGNORE button and dropped the cell into the bottom of the basket. Not caring if my clothes were completely dry, I wrenched open the dryer and pulled out the pile of damp fabric, dumping it into a heap on top of the stuff I’d already folded. I’d had enough of laundry to last me a lifetime. ‘Course, maybe I wouldn’t hate the chore so much if I didn’t have to haul it all across the parking lot and down two flights of stairs.

What was it with landlords? Did they all get together one night and decide they would put their laundry facilities in the grossest, most inconvenient places possible just to torture the tenants?

There are worse things in life than having to hike a mile to wash your clothes.
I snorted at the thought because it was so true.

It was hot down here in this laundry basement. The running dryers and crappy ventilation made the air feel stuffy and hot. It didn’t help that it was humid as hell outside, with a thunderstorm threatening overhead, promising a torrential downpour at any given moment.

After adding my little plastic jug of detergent and dryer sheets into the basket with the clean clothes, I piled it on top of another full, identical basket and hefted them into my arms. After trudging up two flights of steps, I pushed through the door and stepped outside, the humid air not offering the slightest relief from being in that basement.

With a sigh, I headed toward the apartment I shared with my roommate, Harlow. A flash of neon lightning lit up the deep purple-hued sky, reminding me of a strobe light the DJ sometimes turned on at the club.

A sudden colossal boom of thunder caused my body to jerk, and one of my socks fell from the basket and landed on the sidewalk.

“Ugh,” I spat and set the baskets on the ground to fetch my runaway sock. The sound of squealing tires cut through the parking lot, and I jumped up, spinning around with a pounding heart and searching the darkened lot with wide eyes.

It wasn’t late enough to be dark, but this storm was doing a damn good job of hiding the sun and all the light it provided.

On the other side of the parking lot, a red car sped around the corner and disappeared. I blew out a breath and shook my head at my own paranoid behavior. I really needed to quit being so jumpy.

You have a reason to be jumpy,
a voice in my head whispered.

After grabbing up the baskets once more, I walked the rest of the way to my apartment and up the stairs. Once inside, I dumped the baskets on the floor and went in the kitchen for a cold water and eyed the contents of the fridge as I drained half the bottle.

We were running low on food.

I smiled. Cam called it girl food. Cam and Harlow had been together for months now, and he split his time between here and his place. Since he stayed so often we kept Pop-tarts and bacon around because that was his version of man food.

It was my turn to do the shopping since Harlow went last week. I’d just add that to the list of chores I did not want to do. The digital clock on the microwave stared at me, the red numbers jumping out as if to remind me I was going to be late if I didn’t hurry up.

After setting my cell on the kitchen counter, I took my laundry into my room and set it beside the bed. It was clean. It was folded (well, most of it). I could put it away later. I moved quickly, almost on autopilot, and unzipped my duffle bag to toss in a couple handfuls of clothing. I didn’t even pay attention to what outfits I was packing. It really didn’t matter. They were all basically the same anyway.

When a girl worked as a stripper, the only important part about her wardrobe was that it came off easily.

Once that was finished, I grabbed a simple cotton dress, a pair of panties, and went into the bathroom to take a shower. I felt gross after doing laundry and chores all day. Hopefully a cold shower would freshen me up a bit and get me ready for tonight.

I wasn’t new to being a stripper. I’d been taking off my clothes for money for a couple years now. Even still, sometimes the fact that this was my life still shocked the hell out of me.

How did I get here?

It was a question I asked myself a million times.

The answer was always the same.

Him.

I closed my eyes as I rinsed the sudsy shampoo out of my water-drenched locks. It was easy to blame someone else for the choices I’d made, but I knew deep down I was more responsible than anyone for being where I was today.

It wasn’t a good feeling, to know I’d done so many things wrong, to think of myself as a weak and naïve person.

Not anymore.

I might have made a couple wrong turns on the road of life, but I was pulling a u-ey and heading in the direction I really wanted to go.

I had this apartment with Harlow, a place of our own. It was in a good complex, the neighbors weren’t drug addicts, and the streets weren’t full of people looking to score. Harlow was a real friend, not just someone who wanted something.

I might still be a stripper, but the truth was I wouldn’t be able to make the kind of money I made on a nightly basis doing anything else. I wasn’t going to have to strip forever. Soon, I would have more than enough money saved for the program at the technical college I’d been researching. Soon, the only man who would see me without my clothes would be a man I would choose.

Not that I was going to be choosing any man in the next century.

I needed a man like I needed a third nipple.

Which was not at all.

I turned around, letting the full spray of the water hit my shoulders and chest. It felt good, like a gentle warm massage, and I groaned, letting the water pound away some of the soreness in my muscles.

I’d been working some extra shifts at the club, dancing and hefting trays of drinks more often. Lately, I felt this inner sense of urgency, something inside whispering that I needed to move on, that it was time for a change.

But before I could change, I needed enough money to pay for at least a couple semesters at school. I was getting there, and soon I would be able to quit.

A little pang of sadness hit me as I reached for my
loofah and body wash. True, I didn’t like stripping. And true, I didn’t want or need a man.

What about Adam?
the naughty voice inside me taunted.

I might have a negative stance on getting involved with men these days, but it seemed he was the exception to that rule. However, just because I might have a small crush on him didn’t mean I had to act on it.

Adam was the owner of the Mad Hatter, and that made him my boss. And him being my boss wasn’t the only reason he was off-limits. I had several reasons for that.

But it wasn’t those reasons that were clouding my mind right now. No, what was clouding my thoughts was the image of his wide shoulders filling out a dress shirt. The way he spoke gruffly to everyone, trying to hide the soft spot I knew he had just beneath his ribs.

I dragged the loofah down over my hip and across my thigh, imagining what it would be like for him to touch me there. For one long moment, I let myself wonder if his fingers would glide over my skin as readily as this soap.

I wasn’t a virgin. And yeah, I took my clothes off for money, but locked away in my most private depths was a little piece of the girl I was in high school. The innocent girl who wanted to feel treasured. Who wanted to feel like she was someone’s entire world.

Yeah, I knew it was just a schoolgirl’s dream.

But it didn’t stop me from occasionally letting that part of me out and imagining what it would be like in the arms of a man who loved me more than anything.

That man never used to have a face. He was more of a feeling, more of a dream than anything. But slowly that started to change. Slowly, the man I sometimes longed for became a little clearer in my head.

Sometimes he looked just like Adam.

My eyes shot open and I pulled the loofah away from my body. My skin tingled, and I abruptly turned the water to a shockingly cold temp. I was not going to think about Adam while I washed.

Totally disgusted with myself, I shut off the water and grabbed a towel. My long, deep-brown (the richness in the color courtesy of a box) hair was stick straight no matter how I blow-dried it, so after combing it out, I blasted it with the heat until it hung down my back with the sleekness most women had to pay for with products and blow-outs.

I ran a small flat iron over the straight cut of bangs that were just shy of falling into my eyes and pulled on my panties and a light colored cotton dress. Usually, I wore yoga pants and a T-shirt to work, but it was just too hot today.

I put on the bare minimum of makeup (I would just add more for the stage at work), popped in my violet-colored contacts, and left the bathroom.

Harlow was in the kitchen when I came out, tossing my duffle bag on the end of the sofa. “Hey,” I said. “How was work?”

Harlow worked harder than most people I knew. She was determined to achieve her goals no matter how much she had to try. I really admired that about her, and she inspired me to go after what I really wanted in life too.

Harlow shrugged. “It’s a job.” She made a face, and I laughed.

“The snow cone cart is going to be closing up for the season soon, isn’t it?” I asked. She was a snow cone vendor at Broadway at the Beach in addition to waiting tables at the Mad Hatter. She started out stripping, but she hated it, and Adam went against his usual policy that all the girls strip
and
wait tables and let her stay on as a waitress.

She nodded. “Yeah, in just a couple weeks, at the end of October.”

October might seem late for the season, but here in Myrtle Beach, it was still warm and tourists were still vacationing.

“Are you going to look for something else?” I asked.

“I don’t know yet. With my class schedule, I don’t know if I will have time.”

Yet another reason I was sticking with stripping. I made a lot of money and the hours were at night, so when I did go to college, I could do both and not have to worry about juggling. I would be sleep-deprived, but it was a small price to pay for bettering my life.

My cell began to ring on the counter. I glanced at it dubiously, making no move to answer it.

“That thing has rung three times since I’ve been home,” Harlow said.

“Sorry.” I grabbed it, hit IGNORE, and switched it to vibrate.

“Is he bothering you again, Roxie?” she asked, propping her hip against the counter and turning her full gaze on me.

“He’s been trying.” I admitted.

I hated talking about Craig. It made me feel like such an idiot, an idiot for letting someone like him dupe me. An idiot for not being strong enough to resist his charm.

“But I’ve been ignoring him,” I added.

“Have you seen him?” Harlow asked, concerned.

“Not since that night at the club.”

Several months ago, Craig came into the Mad Hatter, pissed at me because the cops hauled him in for questioning after I was attacked here at home and thought he was responsible. Why he was surprised I would point my finger at him was beyond me. He wasn’t nice and he certainly wasn’t above using physical force.

‘Course, I don’t think he was surprised. I think he was just pissed I would actually get him in trouble. Too bad it hadn’t been him. I would have loved pressing charges against him and getting him out of my life for good.

The thought caused a funny feeling to erupt deep in my middle. I shoved it away. I knew what it was, and I hated it.

“Do you think he’s going to start coming around?” Harlow asked, cutting off my thoughts.

“I don’t think so.” I hedged. I knew it was only a matter of time. I’d been in this pattern with Craig before. What he didn’t know was that I was hell-bent on not repeating my past mistakes.

“Well, at least we know he won’t be coming into the Mad Hatter.” Harlow pushed away from the counter and walked out into the living room. “Adam will kick his ass.”

Adam was not a fan of Craig. A fact he made perfectly clear when Craig showed up at the Mad Hatter and Adam beat him up. The
beatdown actually started an all-out brawl in the middle of the club.

I hadn’t seen Craig since.

But I knew he was there. Watching. Waiting. Stalking.