His Exclusive Stripper: You Are Mine Don

Evelyn’s POV

“This man is just taking too long,” I grumbled while tapping my pen on the desk.

I was wasting enough time as it was, listening to a lecture I had already read a lot about, and the man had nothing new to offer.

When the professor said the last sentence, I was standing up. With my back strapped over my shoulder and my notebook in hand, I left the class of murmuring students through the back door. I was already late.

This professor for the semester's course was always so damned slow, I whined in my head. It was already 5 pm now, and yet I could not go grocery shopping or get my nails done... it was a long list of things I had to do.

I quickly reached the bus stop in time because the bus had just arrived. “Ticket, please,” the driver said, and I handed it to him. He punched a hole in it and handed it back to me, and I moved in to find a free seat at the back of the bus, where I wouldn’t be disturbed.

I was proud of being able to support myself through college. Now, I am in my last year as a business administration major. If only the job that I had was something I could openly talk about. Being a stripper was the only thing that could pay my bills in the way I needed them to, and it was where I met my boyfriend so that I couldn't be so ungrateful.

The bus stopped right before the grocery shop, and I hurried out. I had to be home within the next thirty minutes if I was going to be able to get my nails done on time. It was either that or I would have to ask one of the other girls in the club to do them for me quickly. They always did a shabby job, and I didn't trust anyone but myself to care for my things—makeup, nails, and hair.

I used the self-checkout counter and speedily scanned what I had picked, paying with my credit card and leaving the grocery store in quick strides.

Once I got home, I replaced my glasses with contact lenses, which amplified the glow of my eyes. My manager said they were gorgeous eyes and made me look exotic.

It increased the allure of my face, and I could understand why no one could ever link the idea that daytime me was a glasses-wearing, sweatpants, jeans, and hoodie-clad girl. Eve, my persona for performances, was anything but a quiet, introverted girl from college.

Before I had a shower and began to do my hair, I heated the frozen pizza meal I had gotten, grating extra parmesan cheese on it before eating two delicious slices. Usually, I did not eat until I got home after work, so this was the only chance I would have before then.

Contrary to what most people thought, most of us working at the strip club always stayed in our homes with a face full of makeup. It would be a dead giveaway to the neighbors, too.

I waved to Mrs. Dedrick, who watched me leave from the third floor with a polite smile. She always gave me those looks, and I didn't have the nerve to ask her why.

“Where to?” The taxI driver asked me as I boarded, and I gave him the address. How he hesitated after hearing it made me want to roll my eyes at him. If he wanted to judge a paying customer, that was his choice.

Seconds later, he shifted his car into gear and began to drive, muttering something I didn’t care to hear under his breath.

I was used to others' looks and whispering behind my back or under their breath about me and my work. Of course, they never dared to say such things to my face because most of them were cowards.

I had lost both my parents, who were only children of their parents and had been plunged into a world with no one to hold onto who would support me and care about me.

To me, keeping myself going this far alone was an accomplishment, no matter how I did it.

As the taxI rolled up to the strip club, I saw the neon signs loud and clear. Delight’s Strip Club, the signage said, along with the image of a woman in lingerie.

After paying the disgruntled driver my fare, I quickly exited the cab and rushed towards the back door. I passed the dimly lit entrance, with a short queue of about four or five men waiting for the bouncers to search their bodies.

I spotted my boyfriend's platinum blonde hair, though, as he searched the body of one of the men. As if I had called his name, Charlie raised his head and spotted me. Our eyes met, and I felt warmth and joy from seeing him.

“Hey,” I smiled at him, and he nodded and winked.

My boyfriend, Charlie, was a charmer. I liked everything about him; his six-foot height and bulk made me feel safe and protected. Even his crude humor, which I could only shake my head at with a rueful smile when he spouted jokes.

I often wondered if he cared that his girlfriend was a stripper, but once, when I asked him about it, he shrugged and replied that he had dated an escort once and was used to the life of girls like me. I didn’t want to think about that too much, but I was happy he loved me as I was.

But I had to take my mind off him, for I was shortly prepping for my set.

The other girls were loudly talking about one thing or the other, making good background noise. The music's bass pounded through the entire club, even in the dressing room. And it was igniting a fire inside me like it always did.

Gone was the sweatpants set, and I put on the black lace lingerie set and black platform studded heels for the stage performance I would be having. It also came with matching satin gloves and a mask. I applied dark red lipstick and liked how it put everything together. I was ready.

And I heard my name being called. It's time for Eve to dance.