My Wish Upon A Star

Chapter 6 - This is a Taxi and You're Not Wearing Pants

I was already an insensitive bitch then though, so I was okay with it and I was now a knowledgeable promiscuous little slut out in the wild. It was my time to shine.

Maybe if I had spent more time sitting on a chair studying and not sitting on some strangers balls swiving, I would have gotten my damn Bachelor, instead of you know, fucking one. Obviously, dropping out and taking crappy jobs was a much better career choice—not. I was an idiot.

I leaned my head on my palm, my elbow resting on the table in front of me, my other hand still holding my glass, and puffed a breath to the strand of wild curly hair that was trying to hide my drink from my eyes. I finished it, and then got up, pulling my dress down a little but it just showed more boobs so it was kind of counterproductive.

I searched Victor in the crowd. He was at the bar talking enthusiastically with a group of friends. He looked happy. And it was hard for me to digest because this wasn’t my kind of crowd. My kind of crowd didn’t rent bars or hire high price strippers. My kind of crowd got drunk off Listerine and stole stop signs.

“Fancy meeting you here,” a voice whispered, right beside my ear, and I jumped in surprise, almost dropping my empty glass. I covered my heart with my hand, trying to recompose myself while I glared at the responsible. “Seriously, should I really be worried about you stalking me?” Stranger-Danger guy aka Landon asked.

If it would have been anyone else, I would have thrown their drinks—because mine was empty—in their faces, but it was just so crazy that I was in the same place as him again, in a town with almost nine million people in it, that I refrained from doing it. “What are you doing here?” I asked him, wide eyed. I had honestly believed I would never see him again. At least never as soon. It had been barely two weeks since I had last seen him.

“I used to work with those guys,” he explained, motioning with his chin towards one of the boxes where the high class strippers were shaking what their mama gave them, his face leaning in towards mine so I could hear his voice over the loud music.

“In a strip club?” I shouted back, a grin on my face.

“Your name,” he replied.

My smile dropped, my eyebrows frowned. “What?” Maybe he hadn’t heard me over the music. Or maybe I hadn’t heard right over the music. Or maybe he was just dodging the question.

“I’m not answering anything until you tell me your name,” he specified.

I rolled my eyes but forfeited. “Danika.”

“Danika?” he pressed.

I raised an eyebrow. “Do you plan on Facebook stalking me?”

He grinned, showing all of his perfectly aligned white teeth. “Maybe.”

It wasn’t like I probably didn’t already have a bunch of stranger perving on my Facebook profile anyway. “Danika Wisher.”

“I used to work in a circus,” the answer came automatically.

“Bullshit,” I snorted and pointed towards where one of his ‘ex-coworkers’ was spinning around a pole with the hand that was holding my empty glass, “these guys are high class strippers.”

“Are they talking their clothes off?”

I slapped his shoulder. “Damn it Landon, give them a minute, we barely just met them.” We looked in each others eyes after, and both burst into laughter. It was kind of wrong, how comfortable I felt with that Stranger Danger Boy.

“I still wasn’t a high class stripper, I was a circus performer,” he tried to assure me.

As if. If I could move like these guys could, I would be stripping my way to fame, and maybe do a movie about my exotic life, like Channing Tatum had. And I’d have a better plot line. But just as many sexy naked chests.