Toxic Girl

Chapter Twelve

I roll my eyes when T- Pain’s “I’m In Love With A Stripper” plays next. The crowd still goes wild over this song. I swirl around on the pole, spreading my legs wide, before stopping to seductively remove my top. I’m wearing a pink leather top that zips up at the front, so it’s easy to remove. I’m all about convenience. When I woke up this morning, I made a decision. I’m quitting Toxic. There is no way I can be a Toxic Girl and have Grayson, so something has to give. I’ll have to think of something else to pay off the debt. I’m wondering how much people are paying for organs on the black market these days when the song changes to “Drunk In Love” by Beyoncé; I slow down my moves, grinding on the pole in time with the music.

By the time my shift is over, I’m exhausted. I get changed, scrub my makeup off, grab my bag, and call a cab. One of the bouncers waits outside with me, making sure I get in safely.

“Thanks,” I call out to him before I close the door. It takes me fifteen minutes to get home. Anaya is at her boyfriend’s, so the house is empty. I take a long bath, relaxing my body, and then I get into my pyjamas. Around three am, I finally fall asleep.

“How many more hours are you going to spend here?” Grayson whispers to me, taking the empty seat next to me. I shiver a little as his warm breath blows on my ear.

“Just another hour or so,” I say, closing the textbook I was reading and moving on to the next one. He looks around the library, taking in its near vacant state.

“Does anyone even come here anymore?” he asks dryly, looking vaguely amused with his brows raised.

“Yes,” I say. “They do. Me for example.”

“Yeah but… you’re weird,” he says, leaning over and kissing me chastely on the lips.

I close the book. “I’m not going to get any work done with you here, am I?” I ask, fighting a smile.

He grins wolfishly. “I have a surprise for you. I’m a little impatient.”

I instantly perk up. “A surprise?”

“Yes, a surprise.”

I grab my books and stand up. “What are we waiting for then?”

He chuckles and takes my books from me, carrying them in one hand and taking my hand in the other. We exit the library and get into his car, and then drive straight to his house.

“Exactly what kind of surprise is this?” I ask as we walk to his front door, suspicion lacing my tone.

He looks at my face and starts laughing. “What’s going through your head right now?”

I look down at his crotch area and wiggle my eyebrows. He laughs even harder. I roll my eyes and pry the keys out of his fingers, unlocking his front door and walking in. I can still hear him laughing at the front door. Idiot. I walk into the dining room, and my breath hitches. He’s put candles, fancy plates, glasses, and cutlery out. A huge bouquet of red roses stands in the centre, with a card addressed to me. I smell the roses before opening the card. It only has two words written on there, in his messy, scribbled handwriting.

Just because.

“Just because what?” I ask aloud, playing with a rose bud.

“Just because I wanted to show you how much you mean to me,” he says from behind me. I turn to face him. “I don’t need a special occasion to show you that.”

I smile. “I love the roses, thank you.”

He returns my smile, walking toward me and pulling out a chair. “Sit, please,” he says. I do as I’m told, sitting down while he lights the candles. He goes into the kitchen, returning with two plates filled with food, and places them in the centre. He returns to the kitchen and comes back in with another two bowls.

“Feeding an army?” I ask playfully, peering into the dishes.

He grins down at me. “Just wanted to make sure there were things you like.”

“Did you cook this?” I ask, my mouth watering at the roast chicken.

“Maybe,” he replies, kissing me on top of my head. He brings out a bottle of wine and pours me a glass. Red—my favourite.

“Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” he replies, sitting down next to me.

“I feel really fancy right now,” I say, earning me another amused look. I wink at him and watch as he serves my plate first, asking me what I want, before serving his. The meal is delicious. Afterwards, I help him clean up, ignoring his protests, and we sit on the couch and share some cookies and cream ice cream, eating straight out of the tub with two spoons.

Best date I’ve ever had.

“What time do you finish work tomorrow night?” Grayson asks me the next week, lifting me onto his lap. I wrap my arms around his neck.

“Why?” I ask.

“I thought I’d come and pick you up. You can stay the night at my house,” he says as he nuzzles my neck. Pick me up? Yeah, I don’t think that will go down well.

“I’ll come to yours after if you like,” I say. He studies me, his eyes narrowing. He knows something isn’t right. I know that he knows something isn’t right. I’ve decided to work for one more week before I tell the boss I’m quitting. I really need the money right now, and I’m trying to save every cent. It also gives time for my boss to find a new girl to take my place.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?” he asks. His tone is light, but his eyes say otherwise.

“Nothing is going on,” I say quickly. Maybe even a little too quickly.

He sighs. “Why won’t you let me in?”

“I’ve let you in,” I scoff.

His lips tighten in displeasure. “You’re still keeping things from me.”

“Can we just enjoy the evening, please?” I ask, looking around the bar we’re at. The place is packed, and at some fancy hotel. Apparently, Grayson comes here all the time, because he keeps stopping to say hello to people.

“Fine, but this conversation isn’t over,” he says, kissing me on the nose.

“I couldn’t be that lucky,” I mutter back. He cradles my face and kisses me, a kiss much too hot for public. “Gray,” I pant.

His eyes warm. “I like you calling me that.”

“Good,” I reply, staring at his lips.

“Do you want another drink?” he asks.

I look down at my now empty vodka orange and nod. “Yes, please,” I tell him. As he orders me another drink, I see someone walking up to us.

“Grayson,” she says, batting her lashes. I recognise her as Dylan—the girl whose house the party was at. I don’t miss the way that Grayson stiffens a little at her presence.

“Dylan,” he says, nodding his head at her. “Have you met Paris?”

“No, I haven’t,” she says, smirking. What the hell is her problem? Grayson puts his arm around me and squeezes gently.

“Paris, this is Dylan,” he says, handing me my drink.

“Hi,” I say, bringing the glass to my lips.

She raises a finely arched brow. “So you’re the one hogging all of Grayson’s time.”

“Dylan,” Grayson snaps, the warning in his tone unmistakable. My eyes dart between the two of them.

“So how do the two of you know each other?” I ask, trying to keep my tone even.

“Family friend,” Grayson replies at the same time Dylan says, “We used to date.”

Silence.

“Well, isn’t that… awkward,” I add when no one says anything. I down my drink in two gulps and place the empty glass down on the table. Grabbing my clutch off the table, I stand up, getting off Grayson’s lap. He follows suit, standing and leading me out to his car, leaving Dylan standing there alone.

“She’s your ex? I knew you weren’t a saint before you met me, but why lie about it?” I ask as soon as we get into the car.

“I didn’t want you to get upset,” he says, starting the engine.

“Lying upsets me!” I snap, looking out the window.

He sighs. “Our dads work together. I’ve known her for years. She’s really good friends with my sister.”

“Did you sleep with her?” I ask, already knowing the answer. No woman gets that look of possession in her eyes without having a taste. I look over at him to see a tick in his jaw and know that’s my answer.

“Yes,” he replies reluctantly, “but it never meant anything.”

“And now?”

“And now we’re just friends. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Paris,” he says, looking over at me.

“Sorry you didn’t tell me or sorry you got caught lying?” I ask, my voice breaking.

“Fuck,” Grayson says, pulling over onto the side of the road. He turns to face me, his eyes full of worry and panic. “She doesn’t mean anything to me. You do. You mean everything. You can’t hold my past against me, Paris.”

“You’re right, I can’t. But I expect you to be honest with me,” I tell him. I’ve been honest with him about everything… except that one thing. I push that thought out of my mind. I’ll have to deal with that later. And face the consequences too. Fuck, I’m the biggest hypocrite.

“Look, I slept with a fair few girls before we started dating. I’m not exactly proud, but I’m not sorry either, because it was before you. I am sorry I didn’t tell you, and you had to find out like that. And that is me being honest.”

“Okay,” I say, flicking the polish off my nails. What the hell else can I say? I’m not being honest with him either. This relationship is doomed for failure once the truth comes out.

“Hey,” he says gently, reaching out and taking my hand into his. “Are we okay?”

I look down at our threaded hands. “Yeah, we’re okay.”

But I don’t know if that is the truth.