He leads her through a maze of tables until they get to their booth and then he opens an arm, motions for her to slide into one side while he goes for the other. She's been here before, many times at that, and she gathers from the way he peruses the menu with ease—his eyes are glossing over the words, and she knows he's only doing it so she's not the only one still deciding—that he has too.
She conceals an eye roll and returns to the list in front of her, her bottom lip tugged between her teeth as she considers her options.
He keeps sneaking not-so-subtle glances at her over the tips of the laminated menu in his hands but she just lets it go, pretends she doesn't notice. The waitress will be around soon to take their orders and she needs to have something chosen by then—even though she'll most likely stick with what she knows.
She looks through the different choices, once again toying with the idea of getting something new, all the while knowing too well that she won't.
"Good evening," the waitress greets, her head bowed as she grabs the notepad from her front pocket. "What can I—Rick," she smiles upon realizing who's occupying her table. "And Miss Beckett! What a nice surprise."
He looks at her with a raised brow and she lets out a breath. She hasn't told him her last name yet; she doesn't actually know him, but it seems that Sarah's done it for her. She can't blame the woman, though—she has no idea they've only just met.
"Hi, Sarah," they both greet in unison, smiles on their faces.
"I didn't know you two knew each other," she hedges, her lips pulled up into a small grin as she waves her pen in their direction.
"New friends," Rick tells her, and Kate raises a curious brow. She's not entirely sure she'd go as far as friends just yet, more like acquaintances, but she nods along anyway.
Sarah looks intrigued, eyes widening with interest. "Oh, how'd you meet?"
Kate freezes, her heart in her throat, and her eyes snap to Rick's. This place is on her home turf and these people—these people know her as Kate Beckett, NYU student, the sweet girl with broken parents. They don't know what she's doing, don't know her as Kit, exotic dancer. And she needs to keep it that way.
He catches on to the fear hidden in her eyes, masked with a tight smile and a heaving chest, and he seems to understand.
"The library," Rick answers for her, the lie rolling easily off his tongue. "You know I can't resist indulging in some intelligent conversation with someone who knows almost as much as I do about real literature."
Kate lets out a relieved breath and Sarah nods, accepting his recount of their meeting.
"And by that, of course, I mean my books," he adds cheerily, eyes sparkling when he gets her to crack a laugh.
She huffs. "Please."
"Always modest," Sarah teases before she picks her pad back up. "So, what can I get you two? Your usuals?"
They both give small laughs at their seemingly predictable choices but nod their thanks and hand the menus back to the woman.
Once she's gone and they're alone again, Kate exhales, lets her eyes flutter closed for a few seconds. When she opens them again, she's met with the knowing expression of the man sitting across from her, his blue eyes swirling with so much understanding that it's almost too much for her.
"Thank you," she whispers. "For not telling her—"
He shakes his head. "Of course. I wouldn't do that anyway, but the look on your face... I figured she didn't know."
"No," she confirms. "I've known Sarah for years, I'm pretty sure she still thinks of me as a teenager. I couldn't tell her. No one here knows."
"Is that why you chose to go there?" She quirks a brow. "I mean, that specific club. It's far enough from here—which I assume is close to home since you come here often—so no one will recognize you."
Her eyes widen, both surprised and impressed that he's put it together so quickly, that he's hit the nail on the head.
She gives him a slight nod. "I can't risk seeing anyone I know."
She's come close once, almost had someone she knew walk into the club and spot her. She practically ran into the back room, only narrowly avoiding a broken ankle when she missed a step and went tumbling into the wall. She stayed there for a good ten minutes before she went back out, slowly canvassing the audience until she found the person of interest. Turns out it wasn't even who she thought, just someone who resembled them from a certain angle.
Ever since then she's been extra careful, more on edge whenever the door opens in fear that, eventually, it'll be someone who recognizes her.
She can see a question forming on his lips but he's interrupted by Sarah, who comes bearing their food.
"Bacon cheeseburger, fries, and a chocolate milkshake," she recites as she places the plate down in front of Kate, sliding her milkshake next to her. "And a deluxe burger—extra pickles—with fries, and a chocolate milkshake." She gives Rick his food next and digs into her apron pockets to give them straws. "Enjoy, kids," she adds as she steps away.
"Chocolate, huh?"
Her eyes pop up to his. "Yes?"
He shakes his head. "I just pictured you as a vanilla girl."
She laughs. "You pictured wrong," she says, picking up her milkshake and taking a sip of it for emphasis. "Always chocolate."
He smiles at her, something in his expression that she can't exactly pinpoint but it kicks up her heart rate, sends shivers down her spine. It's so... friendly. She has to avert her eyes for a few seconds and she kneads her hands in her lap, fingers brushing over her knuckles. When she brings her head back up, his features have changed—they're still painfully kind, but the look of hesitation he wore earlier when he was about to ask a question is back. She wants to shrink into the booth, avoid any and all questions because she knows they'll be personal and she also knows she'll tell him.
There's something about this guy that makes him easy to trust, easy to want to talk to, and that scares her.
She's not used to this.
"Why are you really there?" he asks quietly, looking down before his eyes are back on her.
She doesn't look at him, keeps her gaze locked on the food that she's been picking at. She should've known he wouldn't give that question up so easily.
"I already told you," she says, pushes her fries around on the plate. "At the club. It pays the bills."
He nods. "Yeah, but why are you there? You don't belong there. You know you don't belong there." She chews on the inside of her lip, fidgets uncomfortably in her seat. "You go to NYU, and since I doubt you've been stripping since before you were in college, that means you had another way to pay for it beforehand. So why the change? Why strip? There's gotta be a story."
She lets out a heavy sigh, her jaw set. "What do you want me to say, Rick? That I had family money getting me through Stanford until my mother was murdered and my father drowned himself in the bottle to cope? That I transferred to NYU and chose to spend my college money on a funeral for one parent and rehab for the other instead of on me?"
His breath catches in his throat, nothing short of a small gasp escaping. "Kate, I'm so—I'm so sorry," he breathes, his hand coming across the table to carefully capture hers. "I had no idea—"
"No, I know," she shakes her head, tilts it back as she blinks away frustrated tears. "It's fine. I'm sorry, I just—it's a lot."
He lets out a breath. "I'd say so. How is—how's your father doing?"
She shrugs. "He's coping in the only way he knows how," she says with a sad smile. "He's trying though. They're helping him there. So if I have to keep—doing what I'm doing for a while longer, then that's what I'll do."
"I'm sorry," he repeats, hates himself for it because it's a useless sentiment for the girl who's gone through hell. Sorry does her no good. "If you need help, I could always—"
"No," she cuts him off more forcefully than she'd intended. "I mean, thank you, really, that's too generous of you. But I'll be fine."
He almost starts to argue, wants to assure her that he has more than enough money to help her out, but he can see in her eyes that she's serious about this. So he lets it go, doesn't press any further, just nods with a small smile because that's all he can give that she'll take.
"If you ever change your mind..." His voice trails off at the end but she gets it, understands what he's saying.
They go back to the food that's been long forgotten in the course of their conversation. Kate's burger is much bigger than she remembers it being last time and she taps out about halfway through, any earlier ravaging appetite having disappeared. Rick finishes his but stealthily pushes the rest of his fries onto her plate when he thinks she isn't paying attention. She is, and she sees him.
"What are you doing?" she asks, a brow raised as she catches him mid-fry transfer.
He stills when he realizes he's been busted and she has to stifle a laugh. He looks ridiculous. A dopey, guilty smile on his face, his plate in the air as he pushes the remainder of his fries towards her.
"I thought you could use the extra fries," he explains weakly, his eyes squinted as he looks at her.
She hums. "Normally guys are trying to get me drunk, and here you are trying to fatten me up," she muses dryly.
His eyes shoot hilariously wide, and his mouth drops open quickly. "No, I wasn't—you don't need to—you look great," he rushes out. "But your stomach was rumbling before and I thought—" he stammers, stops mid-sentence when he realizes that she's not glaring at him, but laughing at him.
"You can calm down, Rick," she grins. "But really, I'm full."
"That wasn't funny," he deadpans, but his face breaks out into a smile regardless. A hand comes to rake through his hair, his head shaking as she just continues to muffle her laughter. "I was trying to be a gentleman."
She rolls her eyes. "It was very gentlemanly of you, don't worry."
She eventually turns the questions on him and asks about the bachelor party he's just ditched and his daughter, smiling at the pure love and admiration that pours out of him as he speaks of her. He tells her stories of the girl who is apparently more mature than he is—somehow she has no trouble believing that one—and regales some of their funniest moments.
He's so animated as he talks that she can't help but laugh, and she finds herself wondering the last time she's just enjoyed someone's company this much. She comes up blank after a few seconds, realizing then that it's been that long.
She finally feels like Kate again, doesn't feel like Kit. She's just herself, not the persona that's taken over so many of her nights.
Her attention remains locked on him, the man with waving arms and twinkling eyes, and a genuine smile appears on her face. Maybe she can see herself considering him more than just an acquaintance after all.
A friend.
"What did I tell you," she growls, the sound coming out somewhere between playful and a true warning.
Bobby's hands are roaming again, palms splayed at her lower back as she rolls her hips above his. She keeps her face from his view when she gives his lap dance, both so she doesn't have to look at him and so he doesn't see her constant grimaces of pure disgust. She can't let it show—not after Victor, her boss, made it a point to pull her aside and inform her that she's to keep him happy.
She's still not sure whether she meant him him or Bobby, but she figures it's best to just assume both. When Bobby's happy, Victor's happy. And when Victor's happy, things go a bit smoother than they do when he's not. Especially for her. He's a big man, one hundred percent Italian—from Brooklyn, though none of them ever bring up his rumored associations with certain crime families—and it's easier, safer, to be in his good graces.
So she bites her tongue, pushes back the wave of distaste that washes over her every time she feels his grimy fingers move over her skin.
"Come on, Kit," he drawls, his voice laced with alcohol and desire. "Why don't you be like the other girls for once, huh?"
Her hips still and she pulls back slightly, keeping her head dipped. "And how is that?" she breathes, nipping at his ear in an attempt to just shut him up.
His hands vacate her back and find her arms, tugging her until she's forced to face him. "You already know, sweetheart." His voice is a low groan. "Let me take you out of here, go somewhere more private. Put out a bit, babe."
She doesn't have time to react before he grips her waist, slams her body down onto his. The surprise makes her gasp, her hands falling to brace herself on the edges of the leather seat. He mistakes her gasp for one of pleasure—god, never—and he surges his hips into hers, his hands coming around to hold her steady.
"Stop," she barks, low but commanding. She shakes his hands away from her and moves one leg off him before the other, effectively breaking the straddling position he's pulled her into.
He's pouting from his spot below her. "Why are you such a bitch lately? We don't even have to fuck yet, just a little extra. I think I've been pretty patient, Kit."
Her eyes burn like fire as she takes in what he's saying. A part of her wants to laugh. The other part of her wants to rip his throat out with her bare hands. Despite her desire to choose all of the above, both of these are likely to backfire on her, so she settles for cocking her head, letting her tongue dart out between her teeth as she narrows her eyes.
She's not even sure what part of that sentence is the most revolting.
The fakest smile she can muster forms on her lips. If only looks could actually kill. "You knew I didn't do that when you decided to become one of my regulars, Bobby."
There's no public list of this information, no official record of who does what—both off the books and on—but everyone knows. Word travels fast, the details get around, and you go to the girl who will do whatever it is that you're looking for. Depending on the case, some do more than others.
He beckons her with one of his fingers and she's about to refuse when she notices Victor watching from a far corner. She doesn't make eye contact, only sees him from behind the curtain of her hair, but his attention is on her. So she puts the seductive facade back into play, plasters on another grin, and leans into the man.
The smirk on his face is sickening, but she doesn't react. He grabs behind her neck, dips her into him and kisses just below her ear. His other hand snakes into her bottoms, places a wad of cash in the hem before he releases her and slaps her ass as a goodbye.
"I'll break you," he tells her, leering as if he hadn't just been shot down for the fiftieth time this month. His tone makes her nauseous. "You'll love it."
She just gives him a tight lipped, practiced smile and waves her fingers, accidentally brushing against his groin as she stands up. He grunts, eyes dark and clouded, but she just turns, swings her hips as she moves away, successfully leaving him uncomfortable and unsatisfied.
She grabs the money he's given her once she's no longer in his line of sight, can't hide her surprise when she counts it—it's double what he normally gives her, and she's positive this is some sort of down payment for what he believes is to come.
The thought makes her cringe, but she rolls the bills back up anyway. If he wants to dish out the cash for something she's told him she won't do, then that's his own fault. She's got rent to pay and an education to keep up; she's not about to turn it down. Him? Absolutely. He might as well be six feet under. His money? Never.
Harsh florescent lights beam down and illuminate her sweaty body in a glow, bringing out the glitter that paints her like a canvass. It makes her skin sparkle with every twist of her limbs, makes it shimmer when the light hits at different angles. It's scorching on stage and her long, flowing curls are soaked, stick to her back until she swings her head to settle it on the opposite shoulder. This is the only reason she's grateful for the tiny outfits. She'd be dying with any more clothing than she currently has on—which isn't much, just small booty shorts with lace detailing, a strappy bikini style top to match.
She sinks down to her knees, spreads them with her hands braced in front of her. A twirl of her head, another flip of her hair, and she can hear the men in front start breathing a bit harder, a bit faster. She goes back on her haunches, drags her hands down her breasts, trailing them over the open skin of her abdomen and down her thighs.
A few particularly... affected men come up to the edge of the stage, a handful of bills held in their outstretched fingers. She bats her eyelashes and makes sure there's a twinkle in her eye, a seductive smirk on her face as she calls them closer. She cocks her head, bites her bottom lip when she knows they're watching. All of their eyes are on her, transfixed as she brings them in, teeters them on the edge.
An act or not, she's proud of the way she can incapacitate these men.
Her tongue comes out to sooth the skin abused by her teeth and she lets out a small chuckle at their slack jaws, lust filled eyes. They move closer, hands gripping at her hips and others sliding down her thighs. She doesn't falter, just continues to gyrate her hips against the stage floor as they pull at the edges of her bottoms. Their fingers linger as they leave the bills, but she swats at them playfully, shakes her head.
They eventually go back to their seats and she gets up slowly, does one last swing around the pole before she saunters off stage and retreats down the stairs. She's about to run behind the curtain when she hears someone call her name, and she feels a large hand grab at her forearm.
She swivels around instantly, ready to deal with another vile, insistent—
Oh. She's met with a pair of sparkling blue eyes instead.
"Rick?"
He smiles. "You really are memorizing, you know."
She opens her mouth, glad the awful lighting hides the warmth she can feel rushing to her cheeks. "How much of that did you see?"
"Enough," he chuckles, a grin on his face. "I have seen you perform before, you know."
She breathes, knowing it's true. He's seen her wearing less at that bachelor party a few weeks ago, but it doesn't make it any less awkward standing in front of him with practically nothing on. In the middle of a sea of disgusting men, no less.
She shakes her head. "I—What are you doing here?"
"You said you usually get off around this time," he says with a small shrug. "Thought I'd come see if you wanted to get a coffee."
A smile graces her lips. "As much as I'd love a coffee, I'll regret it later when I can't sleep," she sighs. Coffee is one of the things getting her through, but if she doesn't get any sleep she'll be dead on her feet in her 8am.
"A muffin and a walk through Central Park, then?"
He's looking at her with hope in his eyes but no expectations, something she's realized she doesn't see often. There are always expectations.
She softens a little. A muffin does sound nice, as does spending some more time with him.
"Sure," she agrees with a nod, her gaze just about meeting his with the assist of her heels. "I'll go get changed." She throws her hand behind her, gesturing to the room before she heads back there.
She bounces out five minutes later in jeans and a light sweater, but she doesn't go back out onto the floor to meet him.
"Rick," she calls in a hushed whisper, waits until he looks at her to motion for him to follow. "Let's go out this way."
She leads him through a side door, smiling when his hand instinctively lands on her back to guide her out.
"How many entrances does this place have?" he asks once they're outside.
"Three. Side door, back door, and the front door."
He looks at her. "Any reason we didn't just use the front door?"
She shrugs, bites at her lip. "One of my... clients, I guess you'd call him. He's usually gone by now, but he was still sitting there and I didn't want to have to walk past him."
He stops them in their tracks, turns to put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Is he a problem?"
"It's a strip club, who isn't a problem?" she quips, watching as his brows raise. "I mean—he's just a new level of disgusting, that's all. Doesn't know how to keep his hands off of me, doesn't take no for an answer."
She's adds the last part quietly; they're still fairly close to the club, and the last thing she needs is for someone to overhear her complaining about any of the costumers, regardless of whose regular they are.
"He touches you even after you tell him to stop? Has he—He hasn't taken it too far—" His eyes search hers, so serious, and she has to look away. "Kate—"
She wraps her fingers around his arm, shakes her head. "No, no," she assures him, noticing how he breathes a sigh of relief. "He's just handsy. He's mad that I won't take him in the back room and let him fuck me just because some of the other girls will. It's not a big deal, I'm fine."
He wants to tell her that it is a big deal, that just because she's a stripper doesn't mean he can touch her if it makes her uncomfortable, but he swallows his concerns. She's been opening up these past few weeks and he won't overstep and ruin that.
"I can punch him if you'd like?"
It's such a genuine offer that she has to laugh. "As tempting as it is to watch someone knock him out, I'd rather you not get an assault charge on my account."
He grins. "Let me know if you change your mind."
They get muffins from a small corner bakery and decide to eat them as they go instead of sitting inside. The park is lit up, street lights blanketing everything in a faint golden glow that's captured her attention.
It's beautiful, reminds her of just how captivating the city can be. The streets provide much of the noise around them, cars honking and speeding by even as the night drags on. There are other people in the park but they're spread out, some laying in the grass, others having quiet conversations on one of the benches. It's been far too long since she's done this—relax and wander around at night, basking in the stars and the subtle lighting of the city.
"This is delicious," she says, biting back a moan as she picks at the tip of her muffin. She almost refused a second one, but she figures she'll just work it off tomorrow night anyway.
He laughs, nodding in agreement. "I told you the lemon glaze was heavenly," he teases. "This one's actually really good, too."
"What'd you get as your second choice?"
"Snickerdoodle," he says. "Wanna try it?"
She only thinks about it for a second before he's holding it out towards her, encouraging her to take a bite. "Okay," she says, leaning forward until she's able to take a small bite out of the corner. She laughs into it as she tries to avoid knocking it out of his hand, and then she's pulling back, covering her mouth with her palm as she chews.
"So?" He's looking at her expectantly, brows raised as if she's a world renowned chef that's about to decide whether or not his muffin gets a Michelin Star.
She nods. "Not too bad, actually."
"Right? I'm always skeptical of cookie-turned-muffins but I'm pleasantly surprised."
She laughs. "What are you, some kind of muffin connoisseur?"
"I could be," he nods thoughtfully, laughing when she just rolls her eyes. "It's getting kind of cold, do you want to head back? I could walk you to your apartment?"
She hadn't realized that she was actually shivering a little until he brought it up, but now that she's aware of how cold the night air has become it's all she can think about. Her arms curl into her body as the breeze rips through her sweater, the remainder of her muffin secured safely in her left hand.
"Sure, I'd like that," she agrees, startling when he takes off his jacket and drapes it over her shoulders. "Oh—thank you." She bites down on her bottom lip. "And, thank you... for tonight. For the muffins, and the company."
He smiles at her, eyes brightened under the street light. "Nothing else I'd rather do."
I'm so sorry about the wait on this one. It wasn't cooperating with me at all, and I'm still not sure how I feel about it but I hope you guys enjoy, and I'd love to hear what you think! Also, I'm pretty sure this'll have two more chapters.