11. Messiah

"You get five minutes," she says, grabbing the money.

"Five?" I nod, reaching into my pocket.

Counting out the bills from the wad I brought specifically for tonight, I throw seven more twenties down between us.

"Forty minutes," I tell her. "Just about as long as an awkward first date."

"This is in no way a fucking date," she growls.

Ah, but it is. Granted, I would want to have a date with her somewhere more conventional. Somewhere we could sit close together and talk. Hell, maybe even somewhere that might make her fucking smile.

"Want food? Did you have dinner tonight?"

"No."

"No to the food now or earlier?"

"You paid me to sit here, not talk," she comments.

Her eyes wander away and I can see she is avoiding my gaze. The waiter comes back with the drinks and I slide the two shots toward Angel as I order a glass of water as well, another drink for me, and my two favorite appetizers.

"Kevin said you have had a bit of a rough year."

"I don't need you or Kevin commenting on my life."

I nod, tipping my glass to my lips. She doesn't touch the shots in front of her.

"So, were you this spicy before or is that a new development?"

Her eyes narrow as she leans her elbows against the table. Even that glare makes my dick hard. The lights are too dim to see the real shine in her eyes, but I can see the gears of her mind turning. Reaching for one of the shots, she dips her head back and swallows it down. She doesn't even wince from the burn of the liquor. Her throat undulates as she swallows, and I have to shift my position before my aching cock breaks through my zipper. She sucks on a lime and then drops it down on the table.

"Who even are you?" she asks.

"Messiah."

"That isn't a real fucking name."

I nod, scratching at my chin. "Actually, it is. I know Angel isn't yours. How much would it cost me to get it?"

"Five thousand dollars," she answers.

"Shit," I chuckle. "I'll have to get it next time then."

She rolls her eyes as she swallows down the second shot.

"How about you use that money to buy some food," I tell her, running my finger around the rim of my glass.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Saw you out in Garfield the other day," I remind her. "I know the kind of people who hang around there."

"And yet, you were there."

"Business," I inform her.

Her body turns away from me and she watches the dancer on stage. Even when trying to pretend I don't exist, I can't stop staring at her. The sadness is heavy in her eyes. I don't know if anyone else sees it, but I can see the slight droop in her eyelids. She rubs her fingers together as she watches the dancer, stuck in her own thoughts.

"I'm not going to judge you," I tell her, hoping she can hear the honesty in my tone. "I just think you are looking a bit peckish is all.

"I live in Garfield," she states, turning back to me.

"Long way from here."

"Not on the L train."

I nod, tapping my empty glass on the table. We don't speak for a few minutes as the dancer leaves the stage and a new girl appears. Another girl brings back the drinks and food and I slide a basket of mozzarella sticks toward her.

"Eat," I say.

Her eyes dart down to the basket of fried cheese, but I can't read whether or not she is disgusted or actually considering it.

"How old are you?" I ask.

"How old are –"

"Thirty-seven."

Her jaw flexes as she takes a slow breath, looking back at the stage. "Twenty-two."

Nodding, I pick up a cheese stick and pop it into my mouth.

"Have you always lived in Chicago?"

"Yes."

She fights to avoid my gaze as she watches the stage.

"I saw your dance the other night," I tell her. "Not bad."

"Yeah, well –" she purses her lips as she thinks, then glances at me and shrugs her shoulders. "Everyone has to start somewhere."

There are long minutes of silence as I try to think of what to say to her and she gives me a short answer in return. She doesn't eat and I sip my drink slowly as I sit and take in the sight of her.