Chapter 61 Birthday Boy

Chapter 61 Birthday Boy
~SCARLETT.
I lay flat on my stomach, chin resting on my crossed arms, staring at the scratched-up headboard in front of me. I'd been fixating on those faded streaks in the wood for four days straight because if I didn't, I'd start thinking about other things. Dangerous things.
Like Liam's hand.
My body still remembered every inch of it, burned into me like a brand. After he left me on the floor, I didn't move for ten solid minutes. Couldn't. I just lay there, heat pulsing through every nerve ending, legs trembling, and chest rising too fast as anger coiled deep in my gut.
When I finally stood, my thighs were jelly and my ass was on fire. Performing that night? Not a chance in hell. I limped to Rick's office, mumbled something about food poisoning, and braced for the explosion.
He didn't disappoint: face red, stapler slammed, ranting about "lost profits" and "useless girls." I tuned out halfway through.
Told him I'd be out the next day too, just to drive the point home. That earned another tantrum, one I walked away from mid-sentence. 
Now it's been four days, and I still haven't gone back. 
He's called every single night, left voicemails like a clingy ex. I finally told him I'd be back tomorrow, just to shut him up. And maybe... maybe because I missed the stage. Just a little.
Today, finally, my ass had stopped throbbing. Liam's hand had to be made of steel. Or perhaps he'd trained with Satan himself. Either way, he wasn't laying a hand on me again.
Groaning, I peeled myself off the bed, sheets sticking slightly to my skin. I was in an oversized T-shirt that barely skimmed my thighs, a thong, and gray socks. The mirror in the corner caught my eye as I crossed the room. Turning, I lifted the hem of my shirt to glance back. The red had faded. The handprints were nearly gone.
But staring at them stirred the anger all over again.
I let the shirt fall and exited the room before it could take hold. Liam hadn't shown up again in four days.
He said he'd be back.
So where the hell was he? And what the hell was he planning? 
I shoved the questions aside and headed toward the kitchen. Maybe he'd finally gotten the hint and given up. 
My stomach growled as I shuffled across the wooden floor. The fridge offered one option: a grease-stained, half-forgotten pizza box. Good enough.
Tossing a slice onto a plate, I shoved it into the microwave. The quiet hum of the heater filled the house. Lavender still lingered faintly from the candle I'd burned the night before.
The microwave beeped just as the doorbell rang.
I froze.
Rick? No. He wouldn't dare show up now, not after I told him I'd return tomorrow.
Liam? My pulse jumped.
But no... Liam wouldn't ring the bell. He'd pick the lock instead, stroll in, and make himself at home.
Still, I wasn't taking any chances.
I grabbed the nearest weapon-a frying pan-and crept toward the door. Peeking through the peephole, I blinked.
You've got to be kidding me.
It was him. Birthday Boy from The Velvet Fang. The one I'd grinded on like my rent depended on it.
He was standing there, holding a little bouquet of sunflowers and looking freshly scrubbed, like some college-boy version of Prince Charming.
I stared, debating if I should just back away and pretend I wasn't home. But curiosity, and let's be honest, boredom, got the better of me.
Heading back to the kitchen, I shut off the microwave, and muttered, "This better be good," as I dropped the pan into the sink.
Then I walked back to the door, unlocked it, and pulled it open, right as his hand lifted to knock.
He looked... taller than I remembered. Still had that clean, boy-next-door charm-wide amber eyes, toned build. Cute, in a safe, boring kind of way.
But then his gaze dropped. From my legs... to my thighs... to where the shirt barely covered anything at all.
Seriously?
Whatever flicker of attraction there might've been? Gone in an instant.
"Hey. Eyes up here, freshman," I said, lifting a brow.
He flinched like I'd splashed him with cold water. "Sorry! I wasn't trying to-uh-sorry."
I started to shut the door, but he panicked. "Wait! Please... I didn't mean to make it weird. I just... I just wanted to check on you."
Pausing, I narrowed my eyes. "Check on me?"
"I haven't seen you at the club since that day," he said, shifting awkwardly. "I stopped by a couple times. One of the girls, Rose, I think, said you were sick. And she, uh... she gave me your address.
I stared at him, stunned. "She did what?"
Of course she did. Petty bitch.
"She said you were cool with it!" he rushed to add, like that magically fixed things. "I swear, I wasn't trying to be creepy. I just wanted to see if you were okay. And maybe..."
He looked down at the flowers in his hand like he expected them to talk for him.
"Maybe...?" I prompted, already bracing to slam the door in his face again.
He took a breath. "I wanted to ask if you'd be my date. To a family event."
Silence stretched.
I stared. "You came to my house. My actual address. To ask me to be your date to some family event?" 
He nodded, scratching the back of his neck like he finally heard how insane that sounded.
Leaning against the doorframe, my arms folded slowly. "Right."
"Let me guess. You thought one lap dance scored you extra credit, huh?" 
The sarcasm practically oozed.
"You college boys always think a hard-on and a little mystery gets you a fantasy sequel."
He winced. "That's not-"
"You figured Red was hot, a little dangerous. Maybe you tell your dorm buddies she liked you, gave you her address. Now she's showing up to dinner to meet Mommy and Daddy, like some stripper-turned-love-story."
His brows furrowed. "No, I-"
"You wanted a souvenir. Something to brag about."
His mouth opened, but this time, no excuses came. He just looked at me, so intensely it felt like he was gazing deep into my soul, then said quietly,"I like you."