Player Loves Curves Box Set #4-6 by Hope Ford
Carter
The DJ comesover the mike, but I don’t look at him. I can’t pull my eyes from the dance floor. “And now, welcome to the Bungalow’s stage Sweet Peach.”
My heart stops. I set the beer down on the bar top and stand up. I’m no longer staggering; it’s as if ice water has been dripped down my back and I’m more sober than I have been in a long time.
I walk toward the dance floor, and the bass of the music picks up. The stage door opens and out walks a full-figured woman that has more curves than I’ve ever seen on a woman in this place. The way she walks, the way she moves, has me hard in an instant. I want to pull my cock out and stroke it right now, but I don’t. Instead, I grip the crotch of my pants unable to hold back my shock. My body recognized her before I do. She looks so familiar, but also so different. I look away and blink my eyes three times and then look back again. This wouldn’t be the first time that I thought I’d seen Hanna. It actually happens a lot. But this is the first time that my body has reacted this way. I clench my hand around the back of the chair I’m standing in front of. It’s her. I have no doubt in my mind it’s her. Her body is different. She’s filled out in ways that is making my mouth water.
I can’t take my eyes off her. The way she shimmies back and forth has me cupping my crotch and adjusting myself. Anger flares in my veins and I see red. I also am filled with desire, but that only pisses me off even more. I’ve spent these last two years trying to forget her, and here she is, so close I can almost reach out and touch her.
She’s confident and sure of herself as she walks down the steps from the stage. She moves in between tables and gets close, but never close enough for someone to touch her. I move out of the dark corner to a closer table. It’s like I’m holding my breath, waiting for her to come my way, wanting her to know I’m here and that I see her.
When she gets close, I don’t take my eyes off hers, and I see it the instant that she notices me. She falters in her dance. Her eyes are wide, staring back at me, and several emotions seem to slide across her face. Embarrassment, regret, and then stubbornness. She lifts her chin and looks away from me.
I finish watching her dance, and even though she doesn’t look at me again, I know she’s thinking about me. Her once fluid movements are now stilted and forced. The song barely ends and she’s fleeing toward the back and running through the door she just came through. I could follow her, but I don’t.
Instead, I stand up and seek out Troy the manager. When he sees me motioning for him, he comes over, wiping his hands on a towel. “What can I do for you, Carter?”
“The woman that was just on. I want a private dance with her.”
He looks at the empty stage and back at me. “You mean…”
But I interrupt him, not wanting to hear the nickname I gave her from his lips. “Yeah, Sweet Peach.” I pull out my wallet and count out ten one hundred dollar bills. I know Troy takes care of the women here, but I also know that money talks.
He almost reaches for it but stops himself. “Tonight’s her first night. How about I bring out Jasmine for you?”
But I’m already shaking my head. “No. I want Sweet Peach,” I tell him, gritting out her name. So this is her first night. The fact that she’s even here blows my mind a little. This is the same woman that I took the virginity of the night we graduated high school. The same woman that would smile really big, like she was doing something rebellious when she said a cuss word and she never drank. Why is she even here? I can just add that question to all of the other ones I have. Like, why did she fuckin’ destroy me?
Troy finally shrugs his shoulders and I can tell he’s uneasy about it, but he takes the money from my hands and points down the hallway. “Room 3. Give her a few minutes.”
I walk away with confidence, headed to room three. As soon as I sit down, I spring back up. I pace back and forth across the room. I try to empty all the thoughts from my head, but it’s impossible. Why am I punishing myself? Why am I even doing this? I should walk away and never step foot in here again. I should run as far as I can. She made it plain to me two years ago that she didn’t want me, so why am I doing this? Why can’t I just walk away?
I start to walk out the same door I came in, but I stop myself. The argument in my head continues. Maybe this is what I need. Maybe I need to talk to her. Maybe I need the closure so that I can get my shit together. She’s haunted me for two years. She’s always on my mind, she’s in every dream I’ve had, and she’s the reason that I’m the shell of a man that I am today. No, I’m staying. I’m getting some answers.
I walk back over to the chair and sit down. I lean back and stretch my legs out as if I don’t have a care in the world. Like my world didn’t just tilt on its axis. Like my heart didn’t just rip the rest of the way in two.
