Revolving Door Read online

  His gray eyes narrow on me with growing suspicion. "Ash, why did you run from your family?"

  This isn’t how I’d expected this conversation to unfold, and I reach up and rub my temple. His reaction—or lack of—encourages me to continue with my confession. "They saw my dyslexia as a flaw. It's not just reading that I’m bad at," I stiffly tell him. "There are other things, and they tried to hide my issues from...well, everyone," I say with embarrassment.

  His face tightens. "They hid you, didn't they?”

  I nod. "They made all my decisions and spoke for me—especially in public. They didn't think I was capable of taking care of myself." My chest tightens as old wounds open. These are things that I don’t like to talk about, and bringing them to the surface just reminds me how different I am from everyone else.

  Channing moves a little closer to me, his eyes seeking mine. "Dyslexia has nothing to do with your intelligence," he says in a firm tone.

  "I know," I say quietly.

  "So that's why you ran? Because of the way they treated you?"

  "They were pressuring me into marrying Hayden. They had my future completely mapped out for me."

  He stares at me for a full second before his brows furrow. "Did you tell them that you wanted something entirely different than what they wanted?"

  "I tried, but they wouldn't listen. My father kept telling me how lucky I was that Hayden was even willing to marry me," I say dryly.

  Channing curses under his breath. "That's jacked up."

  "So I left," I continue. "I took the money I had saved and decided to start new somewhere else—preferably under the radar. Then my money was stolen, and I had to find a job." My face heats, and I confess, "I blew an interview, and without any experience..."

  "You're stripping," he finishes for me.

  I nod. "I don't have to read, and the socialization isn't that bad. I can handle it."

  He thinks over what I'd told him before looking at me intently. "How does stripping make you feel? Honestly, Ash."

  "There are times that it...bothers me. But most of the time I enjoy the feeling of control. All my life I've been told what to do, and there was always pity. I know the men at the club only see me as a stripper, but I still like that they want me. I'm good at what I do..." I blow out a wary exhale, unable to believe how much this conversation has evolved. I'm trusting Channing with it, and it's kind of scary.

  He must read the uncertainty on my face, because he quickly takes my hand in his. "Don't stop now. Don't shut me out," he urges.

  "I like being sexy. It makes me feel good about myself," I finish.

  "Ash, you're sexy when you're not even trying.”

  I manage to pull together a wry smile.

  "What do you think will happen if your parents and ex track you down?"

  The smile I’d had promptly fades. "They'll want me to go back."

  He shakes his head. "You're an adult. They can't make you."

  "A lot was riding on my marriage to Hayden. Including a business merger," I explain.

  Channing studies me, and I can see the wheels turning in his mind. He’s processing everything I’ve revealed to him. "And with your father being in the public eye, he'll want you where you can be controlled.”

  "It's one of the reasons why the club is so appealing. They pay cash."

  He falls silent once more. It's a lot to take in, so I can understand that this is likely the end of our conversation. For now.

  "You're not going to repeat any of this, are you?" I suddenly ask with concern.

  We're still holding hands, and he squeezes mine reassuringly. "I promise you don't have to hide your dyslexia. Not here, Ash."

  "It's what I want," I insist.

  He rubs his face with his free hand. "I won't say anything," he concedes "but I think you're making a mistake by not trusting them."

  It's still my choice, and I'm glad that he's respecting it.

  "What are your plans for the day?" he asks, switching the topic.

  I hesitate. We’re parting on good terms; I don’t want to mess it up.

  "The club?" Channing asks in a careful tone.

  "No, but I do have...lessons and other things to do."

  Questions become visible in his eyes. "What kind of lessons?"

  "Pole dancing,” I reveal.

  His expression tightens, and he carefully releases my hand. "Right," he says lightly. "We both have plans."

  "Channing?"

  He looks at me expectantly, waiting.

  "What are we doing?"

  He sighs. "Hell if I know."

  Nineteen

  Channing

  I leave Ash’s bedroom, dragging a hand through my hair as I close the door to give her privacy. I’m still blown away by what she’d revealed, and it’s left me feeling conflicted. When I turn away from Ash’s door, I note that Harper has just opened hers, and she stares at me with surprise but says nothing. I’m not in the mood to explain, so I walk to my room and close the door behind me.

  Things just got real.

  Now that I know it was Ash’s dyslexia that she’s been hiding, I’m feeling more protective of her and determined to prove that her dyslexia doesn’t have to hold her back. Damn her parents and ex. They clearly did a number on her self-esteem if she thought something like a learning disability would turn people away from her.

  After walking to my desk, I pull out the chair and sit down. It’s important that I decide how far I’m willing to go with Ash. I’ve never wanted a relationship, but she’s not the kind of woman you bang when the mood hits. Odds are she’s an ‘all in or nothing’ type. Those are the ones that I stay far away from, but if I stick to just friendship, I’m always going to want more. I’ll be jealous every time she meets someone new. On the other hand, if I try a relationship with her, I put my emotions at risk. I might end up like Gabe and Colt—miserable as fuck.

  Ash giving a lap dance flashes in my mind, and it leaves an unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach. If we do explore this attraction and aim for something real, I’m not down with her job at the club.

  This whole thing could blow up in my face, and even knowing that, I still can’t walk away.

  Twenty

  Ashton

  I spin around the pole in Layla’s basement, and I’m trying hard to remain focused, but I know that my movements aren’t as fluid as they could be.

  Layla’s silent as she watches me dance and execute the spins to music. When the song fades, she walks to the stereo and turns it off. She then crosses the room and pauses directly in front of me.

  I step away from the pole and await her critique as I catch my breath.

  “You seem distracted. Want to talk about it?” she asks kindly.

  With a wary sigh, I rub the stiffness that’s formed behind my neck. “It’s that obvious?”

  She smiles wryly. “A little.”

  “I just have a lot on my mind.” I can’t get my earlier conversation with Channing out of my head. His reaction had been so unexpected, and it’s left me wondering if I’ve been making my dyslexia into something bigger than it should be. I keep forgetting that Channing and the others didn’t grow up around wealth like I had. They’d accepted each other’s flaws and supported one another. Whereas in my father’s world, flaws are a weakness, and a Delegrave never shows their weakness.

  Layla motions to the sofa situated across the room. “I’m a good listener,” she offers.

  I could use someone to talk to, so I nod with agreement and follow her over to it. Earlier, she’d set a few water bottles on the floor beside it, and she bends down to pick them up before we sit down.

  She hands me a bottle. “So, what’s going on?” she asks with interest.

  Where do I begin? It’s probably best to keep it simple. “A while back, I hooked up with one of my housemates. It was a spur of the moment type thing,” I explain to her.

  Layla’s lips curve into a knowing smile. “I’ve been prone to a few of those,” she
admits.

  “Things were awkward afterwards. He made it clear that he wasn’t interested in pursuing things further,” I add.

  Her blue eyes turn serious. “Were you?”

  I twist the cap on the bottle and shrug. “Maybe in my dreams. I knew nothing would come of that night, so it wasn’t like I was expecting anything anyway.”

  She nods and patiently waits for me to continue after I take a brief sip of water.

  “He found out I was lying about my job and followed me to the club the other night,” I say, unable to hide my disappointment. I wish he’d never seen me there.

  “I see.”

  “Yeah,” I agree with her tone, knowing what she’s thinking. “He disapproves of what I’m doing, but he insists that he’s not judging me for it.”

  Layla studies me. “Does his opinion matter to you?”

  “Oddly enough, yes.”

  “Do you think he cares about you, or do you think he was just curious about what you were doing with your time?” she asks tactfully.

  “Both,” I say honestly. “He’s curious about my past. He’s also told me a few times that he doesn’t want to develop feelings for me and yet he’s…”

  “Still there,” she finishes for me.

  I nod and take another drink from the bottle I’m still holding.

  “Sounds to me like you have a decision to make.”

  I look at her questioningly.

  “You either let him in or keep him at arm’s length,” she says simply.

  Her response has me frowning. “But he doesn’t really want to be let in.”

  “Maybe not, but he’s sure working his way towards it. What’s he like? Is he kind? Arrogant? Demanding?” she asks with inquisitive eyes.

  I set the bottle aside and concentrate on our conversation. “He’s…kind and patient. He’s easy to talk to.” I think back to his encouraging words about my dyslexia. “He encourages me when he thinks I need it, and he’s protective of those he cares about,” I tell her, thinking of Quinn and Harper. After all, they’re the reason he’s been digging into my past and trying to figure out my secrets.

  Layla looks intrigued. “Is he sexy?”

  “Very.”

  “Sounds like he’s a good man.” She turns serious. “Just be careful, okay? Focus on how he makes you feel. If you notice that he’s making you feel ashamed of your job or treats you like you’re always wrong and your opinion doesn’t matter, walk away from him,” she warns. “Respect is everything in a relationship,” she adds.

  “Is that what happened to you?” I ask cautiously.

  She looks at me with a hint of sadness lurking in her eyes. “More than once.”

  “I’m sorry,” I automatically say, wishing that there was something more I could add, but I’m not sure what to say.

  “Don’t be. I don’t want a man who’s going to tell me how things have to be. I want a man that’s willing to stand beside me.”

  I nod and chew my lower lip, thinking. “I’m worried he’s going to hurt me,” I reveal.

  “You mean break your heart?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ll have to decide if he’s worth taking that chance with.”

  She makes it sound simple, but it’s anything but. I rub my face, wondering if maybe this is a conversation that isn’t necessarily needed at this point. “I’m getting ahead of myself. We’re not even dating.”

  “Maybe not, but if he’s involving himself in your life, it might head in that direction.”

  I can’t imagine dating someone like Channing. He should have a strong, intelligent, successful woman at his side. I’m not any of those things, at least not yet.

  “Do your other housemates know about the club?” Layla asks, cutting into my thoughts.

  “No, not yet.”

  “You don’t think they’ll be supportive?” she questions.

  “I don’t know,” I say truthfully. “I think Quinn and Harper would be, but maybe not so much the others,” I say, thinking of Gabe.

  “Tell you what, if it turns into a complete shit show, you can come crash on my couch until you find a new place,” she offers.

  I blink at the unexpected offer and then hesitantly smile. “Thank you. That’s really kind.”

  She smiles. “I’m not just a fellow dancer or your instructor. I’m your friend.”

  ***

  Late that afternoon, I return to the house and find that Channing’s car is parked out front. As I park mine, my heart turns over in my chest. I don’t know what will happen next, and I warn myself to let him be the one to make the next move. That is if he still wants to. He’s had all day to think upon our morning conversation. Things can change in a matter of seconds, and I don’t want to have expectations.

  I climb out of the car and grab my shopping bags before going inside. The house is quiet, and I go straight to my room. I drop the bags on the bed with every intention of going back downstairs to make something to eat, but when I turn around, I pause.

  Channing’s lounging in the open doorway of my room, and my heart skips a beat. “Want to go out and grab something to eat?” he asks lightly.

  I wasn’t expecting him to approach me this soon, so this is a welcome surprise. “Sure.”

  His eyes run over my outfit. “Ready?”

  “Should I change?” I ask, looking down at myself. I’m wearing black leggings, a pale pink tee with a V-neck, and black ballet flats. Channing happens to be wearing jeans and a tee, but men can get away with that anywhere they go.

  He shakes his head, and I see a hint of appreciation in his gaze. “You look great as you are.”

  My face warms from his compliment. “Thank you.” I turn and pick up my purse where it’d fallen to the bed with the day’s purchases.

  Channing escorts me out of the house and into his car. As I slide into the passenger seat and reach for the seatbelt, I realize that this is beginning to feel like a date. But it’s not.

  Or is it?

  I have absolutely no idea where Channing’s head is at.

  The car starts, and Channing smoothly backs out of the driveway. My eyes linger on my window, and I feel uncertain. What should I say to fill the silence? As my eyes slide forward, I note that Channing seems completely relaxed. As we slow for a stop sign, he reaches for the radio and turns it on low. Music fills the silence, and after a few minutes, I begin to relax.

  After about a ten-minute drive, we pull into a restaurant, and my nerves reappear once more. I’m more comfortable in casual surroundings, but this is neither casual nor classy. It’s somewhere between.

  Channing parks the car, and I’m quiet as we climb out and walk to the building’s double doors. As he holds the door open for me, I flash him a nervous smile before stepping into the cool, air-conditioned foyer where a hostess waits behind a podium. She greets us with a smile and reaches for two menus.

  “Table for two,” Channing tells her.

  The restaurant has an open floor plan, and I’m a little overwhelmed by the sea of tables. As we follow the young woman to a table, I try to give myself a pep talk. I need to stop living in the past and expecting to be publicly criticized for my failings. Channing has given me no reason to feel this way.

  We’re led to a corner table near large windows, and as we take our seats, the hostess hands us our menus and tells us our waitress will be with us shortly. After she leaves, I glance around the room. We seem to have the corner to ourselves.

  Relax, I mentally chide to myself.

  Channing picks up his menu. “Have you been here before?”

  I shake my head and pick up my own. “Have you?”

  “Nope. I’m a drive-thru type of guy.”

  “Me too,” I say with a smile. I turn my attention to the menu and stifle my nerves as I begin to slowly read through it. Hayden had always grown impatient with me and would order for us both before I had a chance to choose anything. I’d hated being treated like a child.

  Channing takes
just as long as I do to choose a meal, and I wonder if he’d had that much of a dilemma, or if he’d done it deliberately to put me at ease. I’m not sure how I feel about the latter, but there’s no point in dwelling over it.

  When our waitress arrives, we’re ready to place our orders. Once we have our drinks, and orders have been given, we find ourselves alone.

  I search my mind for something to say. To be honest, I could sit here all day and just stare at him without saying a word. He’s just so damned nice to look at. His gray eyes look striking today against the darkness of his tee, and I like how the fabric hugs his muscular frame. Channing’s the full package: intelligent, sexy, kind, and honest.

  Channing, unaware of my thoughts, leans back in his chair, looking relaxed. An easy smile is etched across his features as he meets my gaze. “So, tell me Ashton Delegrave, where do you see yourself in ten years?” he asks with genuine interest.

  I reach for my iced tea and take a sip before setting it down to answer his question. “I don’t know,” I say truthfully. “I just want to be happy.”

  “What were your plans before your money was stolen?”

  “I wanted to get an apartment and make it my own,” I say wistfully. “I had planned on simply enjoying life until I found a job and began to plan for my future.”

  Channing nods. “Do you have plans for college or any interests in furthering your schooling?”

  “No, but I’m assuming that might come with time. Right now, I just need to concentrate on my finances.”

  “Quinn said you weren’t heading anywhere specific?” he questions.

  I shake my head. “I’d assumed that I’d settle in a small town or something, but I didn’t have a set destination in mind.” I look at him curiously. “I never asked, what are you majoring in?”

  “Business. I’d like to build my own business and make a place for myself in the community,” he explains.

  “Do you have something in mind?”

  His eyes light up, and he leans slightly forward in his chair. “I would love to open a youth center of some sort. Maybe have it be a gym for sports activities, and then a youth camp with free admission for kids that can’t afford the fee. I’ll have to bring in some sort of revenue though to keep it afloat. There are other gyms in the area, but most are just for weightlifters. There’s a private gym that Colt’s joined, but that’s mostly for serious boxing or MMA types. I’d like basketball courts, volleyball, you name it.” He grins almost boyishly. “Maybe even a parkour course or something—get the kids motivated to stay active.”