Hi, I had an idea come to me, this will be different but hopefully still true to the characters E.L James created. Ana is a stripper working hard to afford college, while Christian is his usual, CEO possessive self. I would love to know if its something you'd like to read more of. This is inspired by the movie Pretty Woman, pretty much. Hope you enjoy the first chapter. I own nothing of the characters, they remain the authors respectfully, I just adore them.
Wanting you
Ana
It's nine thirty at night when my shift is over. I get changed in my 'normal' clothes; Clothes more comfortable in the staff private area where most of us girls get changed and make our preparations for our shift. I change into jeans and a shirt, then shrug on my black jumper. It's meant to be rather cold out tonight and, where I live, it's a bit of a walk away from the club, but fortunately not a too long walk.
I live by myself in an apartment in an area that's sort of small and decrepit. It's the only place I could afford with rent; Just a small one bedroom, with peeling wallpaper walls and a lock on the front door that's a bit iffy to get into. But I'm confident once I make enough money, I can move out into a location more secure once I can also afford to start college.
I kick off my heels, tossing them into the gym bag I always take with me, as well as my 'work' clothes. I hate walking in stilettos, so I mainly try to limit walking in them only when I'm on the job. My feet don't get sore as much that way. I pull on a pair of socks and slip into my old sneakers. Walking home will be that much easier in the comfort of my casual clothes and my trainers.
Before I head out, I approach my bosses office. Jack isn't such a bad boss. At first, I sort of assumed he was sleazy during the interview process. He kept assessing my body and my legs in the skirt I was wearing. Now, I realize it was only simply because he needed to know how my body looked, for work purposes. Our personal appearance is something taken important in this line of work. He only just wanted to judge what my body type was and what clothes I would look the best in.
He'd also played some music and tried to coerce me into dancing, which I'd found rather uncomfortable and weird at the time as well. But it was only to assess how my dancing style was as well and if I had the right moves for being a dancer at his club.
I knock on his door while pulling out my tips for the night. I haven't gotten too much, but Jack always take a small percentage- for business running costs and that sort of thing.
"Yeah, come on in," he calls and I push the door open with a smile. He looks up at me from where he sits at his desk, his blue eyes gleaming. Jack's about in his late twenties or so. He's what I suppose young women would find conventionally good looking. Blue eyes, and slicked back hair. "Oh, hey Ana. Has was your night?"
"It wasn't too bad," I murmur, purposefully trying to ignore what happened earlier with Mr Richy. I've been trying hard not to think about it or let it upset me, but sometimes it's hard to switch yourself off mentally. "I got a decent share of tips."
"Yeah, honey? What you got?" I hand him over my tips and he counts it out on his desk into two piles. He pockets one pile, handing me over the other. "Not bad for one day's work. You had any problems out there?" It's always Jack's business to know whether something went down. He's sort of here to protect us and make sure us girls are all right.
"Not really. There was just one guy that was pushy, wanting a lap dance for his buddy."
"Oh, yeah, about that. I'll have a talk with Naomi and see if she's free to teach you a little of how it goes in the next few days, all right?"
"Okay, sure." Naomi is another one of the girls that has been working here for a very long time. She's one of the popular ones; Men always love her and want lap dances especially from her. "Well, I'm off now, Jack."
"See you tomorrow at 3.00, honey. Don't forget."
"I won't. Bye." I leave his office, shoving the door closed behind me. I count out my half of the money for tips on the way out the back entrance. And Jack's right; It isn't too shabby for one night. I've got one hundred and eight dollars free to use on whatever I like.
I know I have a utility bill coming up soon at the apartment, so I know I'll have to keep some saved in case for that. But it seems like maybe tonight I can splurge a little in getting a quick bite to eat before heading home.
Shoving the strap of my gym bag over my shoulder, I find the keys to my apartment and step out the back entrance. A few guys are hanging around out back and near the entrance, smoking. I can't tell if they are customers or not. I walk briskly through a cloud of smoke, trying my hardest not to breathe it in.
A long shadow jumps out at me from the corner of my eye suddenly, a tall person leaning off the wall of the clubs exterior, I stop in dread, and then... holy shit!
"Whoa, sorry," I hear a man say in a very familiar voice. "I didn't mean to frighten you!" Even though it's dark and shadowy, I think I recognize that voice. Mr Richy? But I thought he left earlier when I'd told him to go screw himself? Why is he out here? Was he waiting for me?
"Holy crap. You did frighten me!" I clasp my hand over my mouth, breathing heavily, trying to regain my calm. And then I burst out laughing, my heart still hammering in my chest. "What are you doing out here?"
"I was wondering if you'd like to grab something to eat for dinner or if you'd like me to walk you home?"
My fear seems to die down as I process his words. Now bewilderment and disbelief has replaced it completely. What? Richy's asking me out for dinner or if I'd want him to walk me home?
"Your asking me out to dinner?"
"Yes, or to walk you home. Either one."
Um, okay. It's a bit weird and obviously he waited outside the club until he knew I was leaving. I don't even know him aside from him coming into the club almost every night to watch me dance, and also, speaking briefly with him tonight, but... it's strange. While it's flattering that he asked me out to dinner, of course, I'm not sure I could let him walk me home. How do I even know I can trust this man? I'm not completely foolish. I know all about being wary of strangers. Why would I allow him to walk me home when he could easily be a rapist waiting in action or some sort of serial killer wanting to find out where I live just so he could break in and attack me?
But I was planning to grab something to eat on the way home anyway. There's a shop near my apartment that makes delicious freshly made sandwiches and nice coffees. I know the owner pretty well, too. They're not very expensive either. Maybe it wouldn't hurt accepting his offer for dinner, seeing as I was planning on doing that myself?
"Um, sure," I murmur, still breathless with surprise. "Grabbing something to eat with you would be fine. There's actually this, um, place I know where they make really lovely freshly made sandwiches?"
"Sounds great," he mutters in agreement.
And then we start walking together, with me leading the way down the street. Now that we've reached down the road, the streetlamps illuminate our paths better and I can see his face more.
It really isn't everyday I have someone asking to grab a bite with me, but seeing as I rather enjoyed speaking to him in the club tonight, I know I wouldn't mind getting to know him a bit more. And, hopefully, put a real name to the gorgeous face as well, so he isn't just Mr Richy.
"Do you always usually walk home at this hour after you've finished working?" he asks me, finally breaking the silence between us.
"Um, yeah, I do. It's always been fairly safe though. I haven't had any problems."
"And you don't own a car?"
"I don't. Honestly, getting a car is sort of the last thing on my list of priorities at the moment."
"So you don't have a car and you always walk home in the dark?" Mr Richy actually sounds amazed.
"Um, yes," I reply with a laugh. "Why is that so shocking to you?"
"It isn't. It just doesn't seem very... safe?" I think he sounds disapproving, but it isn't like I have any choice. "Aren't you worried when you have to walk home at this hour?"
I shrug, slowing my walk so that we're matching each other's slow, effortless strides. "Not really. I've gotten used to it."
I imagine someone seeing you, a young woman, walking alone, carrying a fairly large gym bag, you'd look like an easy target?"
"Well, appearances can be deceiving," I mutter. "I have my apartment key that I can always use as a knuckleduster. Plus, I'm pretty good at hitting a man in the groin with my knee." There, I am not so defenseless.
"Hmm," he simply says. I wonder what he's thinking or why he made that noise. Why is he even asking me about this anyway?
We walk four blocks until we reach the little place I was speaking about. I point it out to him, and he doesn't say anything as I push my way inside through the door happily. He enters behind me, glancing around as well. Now that we're lit in the deli, I realize how out of place he looks, not only in the sandwich shop, but with me as well. I'm wearing casual clothes, sloppy stuff, and here he is, dressed to the nines in what looks like a lawyer uniform. I know he said he isn't a lawyer, but that's how I think his clothes look.
"Ah, there you are," Harry says behind the counter. Harry's the shop owner, and since I come here practically whenever I can for his delicious sandwiches, we've started striking up harmless conversation whenever I'm in here. He doesn't know what I do for a living, of course. I had lied and said I was a student.
"Hey, Harry," I smile.
"How's the study coming along?"
"Really good. Um, I'll just have the usual, please."
I almost forget about Richy being with me, until I turn and suddenly see him there. He raises his eyebrows at me, "The usual?"
"Oh, it's just a wholemeal sandwich with, um, salad and chicken," I explain, clasping my fingers together in front of me.
"All right." He stops forward and addresses Harry, asking for the usual as well. Then he asks if the store accepts credit cards, which it does, I know that for a fact. Harry and him talk, getting on surprisingly well as Harry adds up all the costs of the sandwiches. And then I realize Mr Richy's actually paying for my sandwich as well...
Harry leaves us to get started on making our sandwiches. I feel so bad now that he's paid for me. It wasn't why I agreed to getting a bite with him at all.
"Thank you," I murmur appreciatively when Richy turns to look at me, shoving both hands deep into his trouser pockets. "I really wasn't expecting you to pay for my sandwich as well. I would have been happy to pay for my own."
"Please, I insist." My mind is suddenly paralyzed with overwhelming fear as he spots one of the tables where I usually sit down to eat my sandwich at.
He gestures at it with his arm, then pulls the chair open for me. I realize we have practically nothing to talk about. I mean, looking at him compared to me, what common interests could we possibly have? He said he owns his own company, whereas I graduated from high school barely three months ago and I took this job where I'm an exotic dancer to save up and afford college tuition eventually.
We're like apples and oranges, Mr Richy and I, I realize as I slowly sit in the chair. He pulls the chair open opposite me and sits himself, running his fingers slowly through his hair. I meet his gaze nervously, and he stares back at me lingeringly, his eyes bright, speculative.
"So what do you study?" he asks with interest, cocking his head slightly.
Study? What? "Um, I... I don't?"
"Right." He blinks at me in confusion, then gestures towards where Harry is behind the counter, preparing our sandwiches. "But you told Harry over there that you study?"
"Oh." Oh, crap. "I don't really study obviously. I mean, I want to, I wish I was, but... I can't exactly tell Harry what my true profession is now, can I?"
Understanding flickers in Mr Richy's gray eyes as he nods once slowly.
"So you were waiting for me, huh?" I ask, even although I already know the answer. "You were waiting for me outside so that you could run into me?" It's obvious that he was. I'm not sure what to think about that honestly. I don't know whether to find it unnerving or opportunistic and flatteringly persistent of him.
"I was, yes."
"And don't you find that to be sort of... stalkerish?"
"Maybe." He smiles at my words, an amused smile. "Perhaps it was a little 'stalkerish' of me, as you put it. But seeing as you left so abruptly inside the club, I felt I had no choice but to track you down."
"No choice?"
"Yes. I wanted to... apologize for insulting you in there, like you said."
Oh, yes, that. Now when I think of it, I'm sort of embarrassed by my behavior. Maybe I was slightly overreacting? But honestly, I was offended in some ways. I didn't want him to pay me just for talking, as if it costs money to do such a thing.
"Well, thank you for apologizing." My voice is soft, breathless. "And your forgiven. Just please don't try offering me money again. Especially not right now."
Richy smiles again at my words. Damn, he has a really nice smile. "Consider me warned."
Suddenly, Harry interrupts us, carrying over our sandwiches on two individual plates. I smile at him thankfully while he urges us to enjoy happily. Since I'm starving, I dig in, grabbing one half of my sandwich. When I take a large bite of it, cramming it in, I look and see Richy hasn't dug into his sandwich yet. He's staring at me while I eat rather impolitely and greedily.
"Harry makes the best sandwiches," I tell him after swallowing down my mouthful. I wipe my mouth on the back of my hand hastily, paranoid I have food on me, because all he's doing is staring. "I come here practically all the time. Try it," I push him, a little unnerved by his staring.
After that little bit of encouragement, he finally picks up his sandwich half, biting into it. Drinking gin and tonic from a glass, and now... eating a mouthful of bread and chicken salad filling, he looks too great. I catch myself staring at his mouth as he moans in agreement over how good Harry is, his tongue darting out to lick his lips.
"You're right," he murmurs after swallowing. "Harry does make good sandwiches."
I take another huge bite of my sandwich, and then I realize I'm eating in an unladylike gluttonous way. I finish chewing my mouthful slowly, then wipe my mouth quickly on the back of my hand after swallowing. When I look back over at Richy, I see he's eating very slowly, very cleanly- if cleanly is even the right word for it. He eats like what I assume a posh person would eat like.
"Sorry if I'm eating real quickly," I murmur apologetically. "I'm just usually famished after work. I know you probably wouldn't think it would, but you wouldn't believe how much dancing takes it out on you."
He swallows his own mouthful, then licks his lips. "I have no doubts that it does."
"So you said you aren't a lawyer?" I prompt, curious for more. I want to know more about him, but he doesn't seem like he wants to give too much away.
The corners of his mouth twist into a faint smile. "No, I'm not a lawyer. I meant that."
"And you own your own company, like you said?"
"Yes, I do." He sits up more straight in the chair, his eyes on nothing else but mine. "I'm not sure if you've heard of it, but it's called Grey Enterprises."
"Nope," I admit, wiping my mouth again on my hand. "Sorry but I don't think I have heard of it."
He shakes his head a little. "It doesn't matter."
"So what do you do at this Grey Enterprises?"
"Well, I'm head CEO which means that I'm in charge of employing over forty thousand people. I also helped establish the company with a close colleague and old friend of mine." He sighs loudly, heavily, through his mouth. I get the feeling he finds it mundane, speaking about it. There doesn't seem to be any passion in his eyes when he speaks of it. "We deal mainly with telecommunications. We also invest in manufacturing and that sort of thing." He definitely doesn't sound too eager to talk about it. I wonder why. His explanation, it sounds almost scripted, like he's used to saying those same words to people all the time when explaining what his company is.
"You don't sound very enthusiastic about it?" I observe, then take another nibble out of my sandwich.
"Well, I don't mean to be. I'm proud of my accomplishments and the businesses success, of course. It just gets tedious after a while, speaking about it to others."
He finds it tedious. Hmm, I figured as much.
"And so what about you?" Richy asks. He pops a bit of the salad filling into his mouth that's fallen out of his sandwich onto the plate. He chews in that slow way again, his gaze on mine with nothing but unwavering interest. His gaze is so intense, his eyes such a deep gray. I don't think I've ever met a man with such deep gray eyes before.
I shrug, dropping my eyes down to my half-eaten sandwich, "What about me?"
"How old are you?"
He's asking me how old I am? I lick my lips, bringing my gaze up to his again. "Haven't you heard it's rude to ask a woman her age?" I murmur, teasing a little.
He shrugs, still not breaking his eye-contact with me. His head tilts to the side a little.
"Well, if you must know, I'm eighteen."
"Have you graduated from high school?"
I don't even know why he has to know that. "I have. A couple of months ago, actually." I drop my eyes to my sandwich again, picking the half of it up carefully between my fingers. "I couldn't afford to pay for college so I decided to work for a bit and gain a bit more life experience until I can fully afford it when the time comes. I hope to be in college by next year."
"And you assumed becoming a stripper was an excellent way to gain life experience while working to get some money saved up?" I stare at him carefully, judging his expression while biting another chunk out of my sandwich. I can't tell if he's being rude or sarcastic or not.
"It was the only job I could get right now," I admit. "I took what I had to get, even if it... wasn't my ideal career path."
Richy picks up his own sandwich off his plate, holding it tightly between his hands, beginning to eat again.
"And besides, being an owner of your own business, I'm sure you know everything about what it's like to have to make some sacrifices in life," I add thoughtfully. He pauses mid-chew to meet my gaze again. "I'm sure you had to sacrifice some of the things you wanted in order to really get by. And that's what I feel like I've had to do. I wanted to badly start attending college but knew I couldn't afford it and seeing as I kept getting knocked back for jobs, this one at the club was the only one I'd found where the boss was willing to give me a chance right now."
"And what about your family?" he murmurs, raising his eyebrows.
"What about them?"
"Well, couldn't they have helped you with putting some money towards helping you pay your tuition to get into college?"
I know that some kids expect their parents to do that, but with mine, it isn't possible. My mom barely even makes enough money to support just herself, let alone save some away towards my college tuition. "It's really not that simple," I explain quietly. "My mom barely even makes enough money to support herself. And my father died a long, long time ago. It hasn't been easy."
"So how does your mother feel about what you're doing now?"
"She doesn't," I admit uneasily. "I mean, I lied to her. She thinks I'm working near here at a grocery store. I could never tell her where I truly work, of course."
"Just like Harry," Richy points out, jerking his chin towards where Harry's counter is.
"Exactly. Honestly, I'd rather no one knows right now."
"Because you're ashamed?" He guesses curiously.
"Not necessarily," I confess after a moment of thought. "I just know my mom would worry if she really knew. And also, that others would probably judge me. There's this... stigma attached to being an exotic dancer, I've noticed. It's just easier if no one knows." I finish the last bit of my sandwich off while seeing how much he's eaten of his. He's barely even touched his. "You don't like your sandwich?" I ask.
He glances down at it, as if only just remembering it's there. "It's not that I don't like it. It's just... distracting, listening to you."
"Distracting?"
"I find you to be extremely intriguing," he breathes, and then he reaches over, putting his sandwich on my plate. "Eat it," he urges, in that bossy way I've noticed he used earlier tonight. "Something tells me you need it more than I do."
I bite my lip, glancing down at his half-eaten sandwich. Then I decide to let it go. He's right; I'm still really hungry, even if I do feel sort of guilty eating his as well. "You sure you don't want it?" I ask uncertainly.
"I'm positive. Besides if I'm hungry, I can always easily get something to eat later."
"Suit yourself," I murmur, smiling thankfully. I pick up his half, sinking my teeth through the bread eagerly.
All the while, I'm aware of him watching me, examining me. Why does he stare? Does he feel sorry for me? Does he feel I'm some sort of charity case?
His words come back to me. Me? Intriguing?
I certainly haven't been described as intriguing before.
"Are you an only child?" he asks suddenly.
"Um, yes. Why?"
"I want to hear more about your family. Why can't your mother afford to help you with putting you through college?"
Wow, he's asking some really personal questions. I have no idea when he cares. "Depends on why you want to know?"
Richy rests on elbow on the table, bringing up his hand towards his face. He uses his fingers to stroke around his chin, his mouth. "Because, it's like I just said. I happen to find you intriguing."
"There's nothing honestly all that intriguing about me," I mutter with a shrug.
"Well, I happen to disagree." He stares at me, obviously waiting for me to start talking more about myself. I don't; Instead, I start eating his sandwich while staring back at him, blinking slowly, meeting him eye to eye. After a second, I see something resembling annoyance pass across his face. He sighs loudly. "You don't like to give much away about yourself, do you?"
"Not really, no," I admit truthfully. "But that's only because there isn't really anything to give away."
"Do you-" He starts, but then he stops himself. He strokes over his lips with his thumb. "No," he mutters quietly, but I'm not sure if Richy's speaking to me or not. "Maybe I shouldn't ask that. I don't want to insult you again like I had apparently earlier tonight by wanting to give you money."
"What?" I ask, curious. He's got me intrigued. And he dares to say that I'm the intriguing one? "Whatever you want to ask, you can ask me. Just this once, though."
"Well, do you..." He hesitates again, licking his lips slowly. "Do you... have sex?"
I almost choke on the piece of chicken I'm chewing. Talk about personal. "Do I have sex?" I repeat out loud, struggling not to laugh out of sheer nerves. I cannot believe he's asked me that. "Why? We just started talking tonight and yet, you want to know if I have sex?"
"With the other men at the club? Do you have sex with the other men?"
He did admit he was worried I'd get insulted again, but I pressured him to come out and say it. So I can't really get insulted, can I? That's going back on my word. "I know some of the girls that do, on the side. I've heard it's a quicker way to get better tips. Not sex, per se, but... sneaky handjobs on the side." I know this for a fact, because some of the girls that I'm close with, they have confessed this to me. They' may have even suggested I start doing it, which I haven't, of course. But, there are times where I wonder...
"So you don't?" he demands.
"No," I whisper quietly, shaking my head. "I don't."
Mr Richy nods once, seeming satisfied by my answer. What? Would it make a difference if I did?
"I'm an exotic dancer," I point out. "I think of myself as just a performer, an exotic dancer, an... adult entertainer. Not a prostitute or anything like that." This conversation has turned me off the rest of the sandwich. I cannot eat anymore, my appetites gone. Really, I'm full anyway, considering I ate all of my sandwich and now, he's given me his. "I'm done now," I murmur, dusting off my hands.
"Can I walk you home?"
Now he wants to walk me home? I'm unsure what to do or how to answer when he stands from his chair, tucking it back in underneath the table. Should I let him? I don't even know him and he's a stranger. Who knows? He may end up being some sicko who wants to kick his way inside my apartment just so he can attack me? But staring at Richy thoughtfully as he waits for me, combing his fingers through his hair, he doesn't seem like a danger to me at all.
He's been fine so far. He hasn't been rude, he's just asked some extremely personal questions. He brought me dinner. Can I trust him knowing where I live?
I get up from my chair, tucking it in, still undecided on how to answer. I go to grab my bag, but he beats me to it. He reaches down, grabbing the strap on my gym bag, hoisting it up easily over his shoulder. I guess that's that then.
"We all done here?" Harry asks, glancing between us. He's come out from his behind counter to collect our plates.
"Yeah, we're done now, Harry," I say to him. "Thank you for the sandwich. Yours are always the best!"
"Oh, thank you, sweet girl."
I wave back at him with a smile as Richy holds the door open for me, then we head back out onto the street.
"How far is your house from here?" he asks, readjusting the strap of my bag around his shoulder. It's unbelievably nice of him to carry it for me.
"Just up the street," I tell him. "We just need to cross the street and then we're pretty much there. It's really close."
We start walking while I get my keys ready. Now it isn't so much the potential danger of letting Richy, virtually a stranger, walk me to my house that worries me. It's the state of my apartment.
This neighborhood isn't exactly fancy, and it was the cheapest one-bedroom rental apartment I could find that was closest to the club so that I can get to work easily on time. I don't have much furniture, with only being able to afford a few basic essentials from thrift shops or from people who wanted to give stuff away for cheap. I'm embarrassed for him to see where it is that I live and what it looks like inside it. It's the reason why I haven't asked anyone to come over; Especially not my mother for a visit.
We reach my apartment and I push open the gate, letting him through. The sensor lights flicker on, lighting up our way to the front door. What little of my garden is mainly dirt and weeds. The white paint on the apartment is chipping off the boards due to natural ware and tear, and my landlord doesn't really care about sprucing the place up.
I think I hear Mr Richy sigh loudly from behind me while I push the key into the lock. "So this is where you live? This is your neighborhood?"
I glance behind my shoulder at him while jiggling the lock, trying to get it to open. It gets stiff and jams sometimes, but it's still secure. Since I can see him through the sensor light, he appears... dismayed? He's tense as I finally manage to get the front door to my apartment open with some serious elbow grease.
"What's wrong with the lock?" he asks, and he doesn't bother hiding his distaste.
"I have trouble opening it sometimes when I get home. It's really unpredictable, but it locks okay from the inside."
"Have you notified your landlord?"
"I don't think my landlord even truly cares, to be honest. It locks from the inside when I go to bed. That's what I need the most."
I hesitate as I fully open the door, glancing back at him again. God, do I really want to do this? Do I really want to put myself through this and embarrass myself by letting Richy see my private place?
But I decide I have no choice. My stomach is filled with uneasiness as I flick on the light, my apartment becoming visible. I have no shoe rack, so some of my stilettos and sneakers are lined as neatly as possible by the wall to the side of the front door. Richy's careful not to trip over them, I notice. I try not to look at his face as he steps in, looking around. I only have a couch that I got off someone who was giving it away, and the fabric is torn and ratty with stains. They had a child that apparently loved eating food and dropping it on it.
I also have a small coffee table near the couch. I don't have a TV but I decided that's okay and that I don't really need one. I read more than I do watch TV anyway. But what I mainly care about, what I'm most proud of, is what's on the wall opposite us. My book collection.
I managed to score a large bookshelf very cheaply. I have multiple books on it, some second hand copies, some I got cheap from garage sales. Reading is my main enjoyment in life, something that pulls me through. So long as I have running water, some food, electricity, and books to read, then I am truly happy.
I outstretch my hand for my gym bag of gear, which he slides off his shoulder to hand back to me by the strap. I drop it on the couch while watching him check out my pad. He walks around the room, looking my couch and my coffee table. Then he strolls to where my books are, and where my little kitchen area is. I cannot believe I actually have someone like him in my apartment.
It's almost hilarious, how badly out of place he looks. Here he is, this gorgeous man, dressed head to toe in the finest of menswear, standing inside my small apartment that has strains on the walls and floor that I can't get rid of.
"Yeah, so... as you can see, this is my apartment," I murmur nervously, watching him.
He runs his fingers through his hair as he enters my kitchen, glancing in my sink. There's a few glasses that I haven't gotten around to washing up yet sitting on it. Housecleaning hasn't been a major priority at the moment, but now I wish I had put in some effort earlier on this morning before I left; I've always been too busy getting ready to leave to make it to my shift on time. He opens a few kitchen cabinets, inspecting my almost bare pantry and small grouping of kitchen utensils. I notice he even switches on the taps, fiddling around with the hot and cold water, testing the water running pressure with his fingers. What is he even doing?
"Tiny," he mutters, as if in shock. "It's tiny in here."
"Well, there's just me living here, so it's all I need."
I watch him walk around the kitchen, then he heads to the other rooms where my bathroom and bedroom is, helping himself, peering around. I follow him, bemused as he switches on the bathroom light, inspecting my sink and bathtub closely. All my make-up, hair products, and lipstick are lined along the sink. What is he looking for?
Shaking his head, he brushes past me, entering my bedroom this time. He flicks on the light, glancing at my bed which, thank God, I made neatly this morning before I left and the built-in wardrobe. I gaze at him while playing with my hands nervously as he wanders into my room, stepping near my bed. And then I realize what he's seen down on the floor near my bed.
"Why do you have a jar filled with dollar bills near your bed?" he asks slowly, and as he turns to look at me, he blinks at me, puzzled.
"I put most of my tips in there at the end of the day," I admit with a shrug. I don't know whether to laugh when he glances down at the jar again. He seems so confused. What? Richy hasn't put money in a jar before?
"You don't have a bank account?" He looks horrified.
"I do, but, um... it gets annoying going in there all the time to get the cash deposited into my account. Usually, I wait until it's at least a third full before I make the trip."
"And you're not concerned in any way about someone breaking in to steal it?"
"Sometimes, I am, sure."
He turns to look at me, both hands on his waist as he shakes his head at me. Suddenly, Richy looks so ashen for some reason, like he's in a state of serious shock. He mutters something unintelligible to himself, then he plops down onto the edge of my bed, glancing around my bedroom again while shaking his head. One hand goes to rest on his chest, while the other he uses to rub his face with.
Crap. I realize I've left a few clothes messily on the floor near my bed, some a few bras and panties. I really wish I'd cleaned this morning.
"How do you possibly live like this?" he asks breathlessly.
I almost laugh at his reaction and how badly he's taking this. I guess it's specifically the reason why I haven't had any people over to see how barely I get by and live with the bare necessities. "It's quite easy when you get used to it. I mean, I know it looks bad, but-"
"-Bad?" He mutters over me, shaking his head again. "You don't even have a television?"
"Well, I don't really need one. I like reading more anyway. When you live like this, you realize what's important and what's just considered a luxury. Reading's just as good as a television for escapism anyway, I find."
"And your mother is fine with letting you live like this?"
"Actually, my mom doesn't know what my apartment looks like," I point out.
Richy runs his hand through his hair again, frowning, as he glances up at my bedroom ceiling. There's a few cracks and mold growing, but there isn't anything I can do about that either.
"Jesus," he mutters softly. "This is fucking appalling." It's the first time I've heard him curse since meeting him properly and speaking to him tonight. "I never imagined you living in a place like this."
"Me? You never imagined me living in a place like this?" I can't tell if he's trying to offend me or not.
"Isn't it obvious?" He swears again, tossing his head. "Your a fucking goddess!"
A goddess. I'm a goddess. No one has ever said something like that to me before. I've had some men at the club complimenting me when influenced by alcohol, but I've never been referred to as a 'goddess' before. It's incredibly sweet of him. And hot.
My first instinct is to laugh it off. "A goddess?" I murmur shyly. "No, I'm no goddess. Aphrodite's the goddess. Or Hera. Not me. Thank you, though."
"Well, I beg to differ."
"What did you imagine for me then?" I murmur, confused.
He runs his hands over his face before meeting my gaze again from where I'm standing, in front of him, several meters away, while he sits there, on the edge of my bed. It's so strange having a man in my room, especially a man as fine and as Mr Fancypants as Mr Richy obviously is.
"Honestly?" He arches his brows at me, his throat moving as he swallows. "Anything but..." He glances around my bedroom again. "This." He exhales out his mouth. "Someone like you, I thought would be... having the very best bed sheets covered in silk and a fucking diamond chandelier hanging on the ceiling. Not... a dump like this." He glances up at me quickly, to make sure he hasn't offended me by calling my place a 'dump', I guess.
"Well, it's my home," I murmur defensively with a shrug. "This is how I have to live. There's not much else I can do about that."
He nods once, meeting my eyes again. "Can I stay?" he asks in an unexpectedly soft, throaty voice, surprising me.
I feel the air leave my lungs as his dark, deep gray eyes slowly roam down my body. First, my face, then my throat. Then lower, past my jacket, my jeans.
"Stay?" I repeat unevenly, my mouth turning dry. "You mean... um, stay here?" He nods once more, his eyes turning softer, earnest, as his mouth parts. "As in stay for the, um... night? In my bed?" I'm surprised I can manage to sound so calm when asking it. No one has ever been this bold before, asking me if they can stay in my bed with me at my apartment.
But as I figured out tonight, I assumed Mr Richy was somehow different. There's something about him.
His directness, it's sexy. Everything about him is, really, though. Weird to think about someone I hardly know, a stranger I've barely met, but it's true.
"Stay in your bed with you for the night, yes."
"Why? Because you want to fuck me?" I cannot believe it comes out of my mouth, but it does. My voice is strong, filled with playful taunting.
Richy's mouth opens wider at my words, and then he closes his mouth hastily, trying to hide a smile as he recovers.
"Honestly? Yes," he breathes sincerely, his voice low. "Yes, I want to fuck you. Frankly, I've never wanted someone so much in my entire life until... I saw you for that first night, dancing in the club. So yes."
Hope you liked this chapter? It was longer than the others. Do you prefer longer over shorter or don't mind as long as its regular chapters coming in? Hope I am writing Ana and Christian's characters okay too? I feel like I'm not eek.