Waking up the next day was horrible but if I wanted that new Michael Kors bag, I had to get up. That's my motivation to go to work; find something I want online and go to work to get the money and buy it when I finish paying my bills.
Me and Ashton talked a lot yesterday. We talked about our favorite movies. Our favorite foods and restaurants. We talked about our favorite tv shows and sports. We talked about some deep shit too.
Ashton invited me over to his house again tonight to hang out again. I'm actually really excited. Learning more about Ashton makes me want to hang out with him because he is such an interesting person.
Ash: picking u up after work still?
Me: yup! See you at 11!
Once I put on my lingerie, I step onto the platform, turning and flipping on the pole.
Having Ashton not be here makes me hate my job more. When Ashton is here, I get more confidence for some reason even though his presence is intimidating sometimes because he's a guy and I'm a girl. I don't even know what I'm talking about.
Once work is over, a feeling in the pit of my stomach starts, feeling it do flips or some weird gymnastics shit.
Am I really this excited to hang out with Ashton or am I this excited to leave work? Let's say both.
Ashton's Range Rover waits outside of the club. His head is looking down at his lap, most likely on his phone. I hold onto my purse in one hand and phone in the other as I walk to the car.
I feel a lump in my throat appear as I walk closed and closer to his car. I pull on the handle multiple times until he unlocks the door.
"You know that doesn't unlock the door right?" Ashton chuckles.
"I always do that," I shrug, buckling my seatbelt as he drives to his house.
"Michael's Xbox broke so you might finally be able to meet him," Ashton tells me. "he never leaves his room unless it is extremely urgent. We're sometimes surprised he hasn't peed himself because he never stops playing video games."
"Okay, I don't think he wants you to tell me this when I don't even know him."
"He'll probably kill me because... you're you and he's him,"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You're pretty and he gets embarrassed in front of pretty girls."
"But that shits embarrassing and if I looked like Ugly Betty, he'd probably still be embarrassed because that shits not cool. Don't y'all have like 'bro code' or some shit guys only have?" I shrug off his compliment, feeling like I would say some stupid shit or show my feelings.
"I mean sure, I guess," he shrugs. "but if one of your friends told a hot guy something embarrassing wouldn't you be mad?"
"None of my friends know you."
