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"Uh, just a beer, thanks."
She walked to the tap and pulled the lever. I caught myself staring at her bottom, which curved out from her slim waist with just the right amount of subtlety. I pulled my eyes away before she turned back around.
"So, when you're not dancing, you're stocking shelves?" I asked as she headed toward me.
"Yes." She placed the beer on the counter. "My prim and proper ballet teacher, Miss Katherine, would spin in her grave like a top if she knew where these dancing feet had landed me."
"Ballet teacher? So you're classically trained."
A laugh shot from her mouth. "If I was, I wouldn't be standing here behind this bar counter filling a glass for a dark, handsome stranger who has seen me stripped down to a g-string. Miss Katherine was the sister of my fifth grade teacher, Miss Lightman. Miss Lightman always saw me dancing around the playground, pretending to be a ballerina." She shrugged. "Yes, I truly was a dork. But a graceful one, apparently, because she told her sister, who was the real thing, a ballerina, that is, but retired. Miss Katherine ran a dance studio near the school and was generous enough to let me join her classes for free. She even bought me my first real ballet slippers. But that dream came to an end almost as quickly as it started."
I pulled the bowl of peanuts closer. "That's too bad. What happened? An injury?"
Even without mascara, her long lashes were a rich deep black. She gazed down and pretended to scratch a spot off the counter, but I saw nothing. "No injury. I moved schools, so I was too far away from the dance school." It was obvious from her tone that there was more to the story than just a simple move to another school.
She looked up with a smile. "Anything else?" Her voice had that slightly husky grind, like Stevie Nicks on the concert finale. It was the kind of voice you'd want calling out your name in the middle of a good, long fuck.
"No." I picked up the beer. "This is perfect. And I'm sorry if I pulled you off your work in the storeroom."
"That's all right. My back needed a break." She reached behind to rub her back and innocently sent a wave of pressure to my cock as her breasts pushed against her sweatshirt. "Liquor bottles are heavy." She tapped the counter. "Just whistle if you need a refill."
"Thanks."
She headed across the bar to the back room, and I found myself peeking over my shoulder to watch her leave. She moved quickly and gracefully, as if she had ice skates on her feet instead of sneakers. It was one heck of a package, seductive curves contradicted by a sweetly innocent smile. A cheery demeanor dropped over a husky, sultry voice, and she moved like a ballerina. Maybe I gave up on my plan too soon. But why the hell would a woman like that, a woman who was being showered with money on stage every night, bother with a warped asshole like me?
Rocky's heavy, plodding footsteps sounded behind me. He walked behind the bar with a bottle of window cleaner and a rag draped over his shoulder. "You're in here early," he noted as he sprayed the cleaner on the mirrors lining the back of the bar.
"Yeah, I found myself with nothing better to do than have a beer."
His thick arm rubbed circles in the cleaner, making more streaks with each wipe. "These mirrors get so damn sticky."
"Ah, those are supposed to be mirrors," I quipped.
"Funny." He continued with his task.
A box slid across the floor in the back room.
"You have the dancers stocking shelves for you, eh?"
Rocky turned around with his cleaning tools. He glanced toward the back room and moved closer to me so he could lower his voice. "I felt bad for the kid. She needed some extra hours, so I told her she could come in early and help me with the stockroom." He leaned closer. "She was living with a real asshole, and she couldn't take him anymore. The girls aren't allowed to bring boyfriends into the club when they're performing." He tilted his head back and forth. "Boyfriends tend to get dangerously jealous when their sweetie is up on stage getting howled at by other men."
"Yep, that makes sense."
"The guy Shay was seeing showed up a few times in the parking lot. I keep a close eye on my dancers, and I can tell you, I came damn close to walking out there and laying the guy flat. He was always grabbing her and being rude and rough. I'm glad she's free of him. I think she's living in her car while she’s saving up enough to get a place. Everything is so damn expensive around here. I'm hoping she'll stay in the area. She packs this place every night."
"Seems like she'd earn enough in tips to have a place by now."
