Lawrence swallowed through the lump in his throat. The dancer–Clementine, her name was on the website–would show up at any second as they ticked by, having just passed ten-o’-clock that evening. He sat at the edge of the cheap hotel’s king-sized bed, his right leg bouncing up and down rapidly and mindlessly. His heart hadn’t raced this fast in . . . *years*. Not since Ella was born five years prior and he got to hold his tiny daughter in his trembling hands for the first time as she wailed at the top of her little lungs–
*Knock, knock.*
Lawrence shot to his feet, gulped, and walked to the door. He pressed his left eye to the peephole and there he saw the back of a woman’s head. She had . . . orange hair? Like, bright orange, almost like a–
*Clementine*, Lawrence thought and mentally face-palmed himself. He took three deep breaths and pulled the door open. He saw from the girl’s back that she was very short but looked taller because of her stripper heels. She was slender with gorgeous dark-skinned legs and a teeny waist, but had hips and an ass very visible in her mini black slip dress. She was hugging herself and shaking a little, probably because it was chilly since it was pouring that evening.