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I flip my head over and start to fluff up my hair. I'm back on stage again soon, and my feet are killing me. It's so damn busy tonight, I've done more private dances than any other night.
"You okay, Ailbhe?" Tamara asks. "You seem distracted today. Is it your da again?"
I sigh as I flip my head back and face Tamara. "He's an arse. Ruairi came home tonight after Mikey called him. He's angry that I didn’t call him."
Tamara and Kelsie wrap their arms around me. God, I have the best friends ever. When I started working here, I was worried I wouldn't make friends. I'm a little awkward and don't make friends easily. But then I met Tamara, and we hit it off immediately. Kelsie started not long after we did, and it was as though the three of us had known each other for years. Our friendship is easy and we get along so well.
"He's home," Kelsie says. "It may not be what you want, but I think it's what you need. Let him help you, Al. You need someone to ease the burden."
She's right, I do, but I hate that he's sacrificing his education to do it.
"It's all going to be okay," Tamara promises me. "You've already shown you're more than capable of taking care of those kids. Never doubt just how amazing you are."
Tears spring to my eyes. Fuck, they're the best.
"No crying," Tamara says. "You've got to get out there."
She's right, I do. I shake my head and blink furiously to stop the tears from falling.
"That's it. Now go out there and put on the best performance of your life. It's a packed crowd, honey. You're going to make a fuck ton of money."
I laugh. She's right—the busier it is, the better the tips, especially at this time of night.
She slaps my arse and I can't help but giggle. These girls always know how to cheer me up.
An hour later and I'm exhausted. Not only have I been up on stage, but I've done seven private dances for the entire night. I earned nearly seven hundred euro tonight, which makes it my biggest night yet.
"Ready?" Kelsie asks as she links her arm through mine.
I nod. "Yep. Do you need a lift home?" I ask. She doesn't drive, and it's late. I'd rather she didn’t walk home or even get a taxi at this time of night. Tamara's already gone, and as always, Kelsie and I are among the very last to leave.
"You're sweet," she says as we head for the exit. "But my dad's waiting outside."
"How is he taking you working here?"
She lifts her shoulders and shrugs. "Eh, not much he can say. Times are tough and you've gotta do what you've gotta do. I need money to go to college, and as I'm studying at Trinity, I'm able to live at home, which means I'm able to contribute to the household. That's taken a lot of stress off my parents."
"I wish my da was so understanding," I say with a sigh. "Mine just bitches about it."
"That's because he knows he's failing and that it's his fault you're here rather than doing what you always dreamed of."
Cold air hits us as we exit the building. Her da's car is idling at the curb. When she sees him, she grins at me. "I'll speak to you tomorrow. I want to know how you and Ruairi get on. It's been a while since you saw him last, Al. You know you've missed him."
"Yeah, I have," I admit softly.
"Go easy on him, yeah?" she says as she walks toward her da's car.
"I'll try," I reply, reaching for my keys and moving to my car.
"Who's Ruairi?" I hear a deep, baritone voice ask from behind me.
My pulse races and I can't help but release a squeak. "Christ on a fucking bike, Preacher, you can't go around scaring people like that," I hiss as I press a hand to my chest, feeling the thump of my heart. It's like I've run a marathon the way it's racing. I turn around and face him. Even though it's the middle of the night, I can still see him thanks to the moon shining brightly in the sky, along with the lights outside of the club. They illuminate him perfectly.
God, he's so damn handsome. Those dark brown, intense eyes of his; the ones that look as though they're searing through my soul and makes my heart race with just a glance. I scan his face, loving his beard and chiseled jaw. He's so fucking gorgeous. But as always, he ruins it all by opening his damn mouth. His brown hair is long and reaches his shoulders. I remember how soft it is. I ran my hands through it when we fucked. He’s got tattoos that cover his arms, legs, and torso. The biggest one is the insignia of the motorcycle club he belongs to. The man is six-foot-six. He’s a giant compared to my five-foot-seven. He makes me feel small, which is a feat in itself. His body is solid muscle, and it felt good to have his arms around me. But damn, he’s an arsehole.
"You didn't answer my question. Who's the guy?"
I shake my head. "It’s none of your business."
