“Millie?” Dax’s hands drop to the desk beside him, gripping the edge.
“Sorry, I just… I can’t right now. Not tonight.” I shimmy my leggings back into place and take a step back. Shame settles over me and I find I can’t meet his gaze, too worried I may see his disappointment.
“Alright,” he says, followed by a loud crack. I look up to see him roll his neck and shoulders, each of them popping. “Probably for the best, anyway. I need to get the payroll done.”
“Yeah, probably.” A nervous laugh escapes me as I scramble to grab my things. As I head for the door, he calls for me.
“Hey, Cheeks?”
I turn to see him watching me. There isn’t a hint of annoyance in his face, but there is a flash of worry beneath his cool surface.
“Have fun out there.”
I force a smile. “Always do.”
The awkwardness melts away the further I get from his office. Unfortunately, I can’t shake the way he made me feel with that one long look on the way out. The more I think about it, the more I feel like he was anxious, not angry. But why? I can only think that he believes he did something wrong, when in reality, it’s me. I’ve let this thing go on so long between us that I’m not really sure how to end it. All I know is that I don’t think I can kiss him again, not when Gray is the one on my mind.
In the dressing room, I down my second bottle of water since walking off-stage. I need to pull out and stash all the cash tucked in my panties and garters, then freshen up before I hit the floor. It’s a full house tonight, and with that many patrons, there’s more than one opportunity to snag a private dance or two. I think about checking on Gray, but with a cursory glance at my phone, I see no missed calls or unopened messages.
He’s old as fuck, Millie. You don’t need to babysit the guy,I tell myself, stunting my disappointment. It’s only a little rude that I haven’t gotten a single message after I spent all that time teaching him how to do it.
I mean, we even went over gifs and memes! I expectedsomething.
“Whatever,” I mumble as I tuck my phone inside the drawer of my vanity. I put the cash in with it, then turn to freshen up my make-up.
“Hey! Millie, are you back here?” I hear one of the girls call. Not a second too soon does Kendra pop back into the dressing room, the reflection of her appearing in my mirror. I top off mylip gloss and turn to face her. She hasn’t gone on yet, but she looks like she’s just run a marathon.
“What’s up?” I ask.
She points to the door behind her. “Someone is out there asking for a dance.”
I give her a weird look. “And, what? You couldn’t do it?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “The guy said he wants you.”
I point a finely manicured nail to my chest. “Me? He specifically requested me?”
She nods. It isn’t uncommon for a patron to request a specific girl, but usually that’s something they book in advance before opening. Dax and Trace, our bartender, manage the schedule like a couple of hawks. They text us ahead of time to let us know if we’re booked, and then Dax or a bouncer escorts us to the room. It’s kind of a hassle, but there was an incident a while back that made Dax reconsider his processes. In fact, he changed so much that the club doesn’t manage the way most strip clubs do anymore. The regulars didn’t mind, though. They seemed happy enough to book their private dances according to their schedules. Happy customers, happy employees.
String Theory prides itself on boobs, butts, safety, and consent. It’s in the mission statement.
So, Kendra coming to grab me herself instead of Trace or Dax is a big red flag. I stand and cross the room, noticing for the first time the weird, glazed over look in her eyes. There isn’t much about Kendra that I know, except that she comes from a pretty rough family and an even rougher relationship. She’s dabbled with drugs, and I know a haze when I see one. Having a junkie mother isn’t a one-up over anyone, but it does help me recognize when someone is a little in over their head.
“Are you okay?” I ask, reaching for her. She sways on her feet, a frown overtaking her lips.
“I’m fine!” she snaps, avoiding me altogether. “Just go already.”
“Chill, Kendra. I’m gone.” I throw my hands up between us and shift past her to the door.
Out in the hall, past the stage door, I head for the floor. The music in the club greets me, bumping to the beat of whatever new song Jay has playing. There’s more than a few girls on stage, with patrons crowding every available space. I steal a glance toward the bar, noticing that Trace has her hands full. I hurry over to help when she catches my eye.
“You’ve got a John waiting for you in room two,” she says when I pull up behind the bar.
The fact that Trace knows about the guy makes me feel a little less uneasy about the whole thing. Maybe Kendra really was just gone in some kind of haze.
“Bottle service?” I ask over the music.
“Never hurts.” She winks. “Can you make it there alone?”
