Chapter 6

“How did you get into erotic dancing?”

He chuckles at me. “You can say stripper. It’s fine with me. I’m not ashamed of my work.”

I like the thin and small lines around his mouth. I enjoy the twinkle in his eyes. His voice is smooth and sounds caring. There’s nothing I perceive that labels him as an antagonist and someone filled with deceit. “Stripper,” I whisper. “But I’m only saying this because you’ll let me.”

He eventually answers my question with: “I became a stripper by accident. I was at a gay bar in Atlanta, Georgia. Someone dared me to dance. So, I went on stage, did my thing, worked my ass like a pro, made two hundred bucks, and the rest is history. I like dancing. It’s rewarding for me. Good therapy for some rough times in the Middle East.”

“Do you struggle with PTSD?”

“A little. Not like some men and women. I’m lucky, remember?”

He is. I can’t object.