Six months later. . . .
The little hairs on the back of my neck stand up and without having to turn around I know William Fox is close by.
When I got the job at Panic, I was happier than I’d been in years. Knowing how packed the club gets and the prices of the drinks, I knew my tips would double my income. But then I crashed into Fox. Literally. And that feeling of happiness changed into something I hadn’t felt in years.
For a long time my existence has consisted of work, sleep, eat—rinse and repeat. I’ve been so focused on survival, I’ve pushed all my needs and wants aside for so long that I hadn’t realized how much I’ve missed having a connection with a man. And, the connection I had with Fox was serendipitous. It was immediate, intense, and electric. I’m not talking love at first sight. No, I’m talking lust and hunger, and a desire to pull that thick beard toward me and kiss him with reckless abandon.
Sometimes I think I can feel his deep, gravelly voice when he’s near or maybe I can just sense he’s in the room by the way women turn their heads and stare.
Even after half a year of knowing the man, I still don’t really know much about him except that people seem to gravitate toward him. He’s charismatic and funny and talks a lot. I also know he’s confident and a little bit arrogant, and there’s an air to him that screams money and power.
From the moment he crashed into me, I’ve known we’re as different as two people can be. From his designer suits to the way he styles his hair; the man is obviously well-off. He always smells of that men’s cologne, the expensive one that they give samples of at the mall. I don’t know how much a bouncer at a nightclub can possibly make, but Fox has it in spades.
And because life isn’t fair, God has been abundantly kind to the man by not only blessing him with wealth and charisma, he also has sex appeal the likes of which I’ve never experienced, which is why every time he walks by, I want to jump him like a cat in heat.
So, naturally, I avoid him. And have since the day I crashed into him.
I ignore the little pinpricks on the back of my neck and refuse to look back at him.
My palms sweat and my heart starts to beat faster every time he’s near. On a normal day, I’m awkward, but when he’s around I’m just . . . weird. I mean, the man had to ask me for his hand back when we first met. I was mortified.
I see the way other women look at Fox; the smiles that spread across their faces when he lets them into the club. As if he’s Saint Peter standing in front of the pearly gates. Except club Panic isn’t heaven and Fox is no saint.