I take in the surrounding costumes. There’s a sparkling Peter Pan, a hero in a red cape, a few Mad Hatters, and a variety of half-naked princesses. All swaying and gyrating on the dance floor.
Light from the oversized chandelier sparkles across the room, dancing along the pink walls and reflecting in the glittering costumes. It’s simply spectacular.
I wish I could take photos so I’d remember it all.
As I twirl my way through the dance floor to explore the rooms I’ve not seen yet, a remix of one of my favourite Taylor Swift songs comes on.
I can’t leave this room yet. I have to dance.
And I’ll dance as if I’ll never see these people again—because I won’t (and who cares, anyway).
Throwing my hands up to the beats, I sway my head and hips from side to side and let my body move where it wants and how it wants. Singing along with the hit, I keep up with the fast rhythm. Someone next to me laughs, and I break out into laughter too.
The chorus starts, and it’s just me and the music.
It fuels me, and I can’t stop smiling. I haven’t felt this alive in months! In years!
There’s a mechanical sound, and the enormous rose on top of the bar turns towards the dance floor. It stops with a clang, making everyone go ‘oooh’.
“What’s happening?” I ask no one in particular. The flower opens and puffs out a cloud of rose petal confetti that floats down over the cheering crowd.
Wow.
They’re falling like large snowflakes, catching the light on their waydown.
I spin slowly and marvel at the sight of this place, turning my face up again to the flower petals dancing in the air.
The crowd is swaying and grinding. Is everyone buzzing from the Damiana thing I served them? Is this how orgies start?
A hand finds my butt again, and I tap my shoulder. But of course, the security guards are not looking out for me after my shift ends. I swivel to find the same green man from earlier. He has a pointed mask and a wicked smile.
“Please stop that,” I say and twirl away.
Not long after, he’s back, his voice loud in my ear. “You don’t know who I am. I could be your fantasy.”
“You’re more like her nightmare,” a deep voice says from behind me. “I believe the lady said ‘no’.”
I turn to see a broad chest, and need to tilt my head up to find his … face. I’m dumbstruck. It’s Robin Hood, I believe. An extremely appealing Robin Hood. He has a dark mask and a low-hanging cowl, but that jawline, those lips…
“She can speak for herself,” the green shit says.
“I believe I already did,” I say once I find my voice again, but I’m speaking to Robin Hood’s pecs, so it might lack the punch I was going for. His short-sleeved brown tunic looks tailored to him. Hugs his muscles with perfection.
Unashamed, I let my gaze travel. Muscular arms. Mmm. Soft-looking skin.
He’s exquisite.
Don’t ogle the clients. Rule number one. Or maybe it’s number seven, but regardless, no ogling, no touching. But is he a client now that I’m off my shift? Kirsten didn’t specify.
“Thanks,” I mutter, still to Robin’s chest, and inch past him and away from the dance floor. I grab another Damiana sparkler from a walking poppy flower and catch my breath.
Yikes, I just realised how long it’s been since I noticed aman. They’re all over, all the time, but it’s not been on my agenda, so no one has registered.
I down the drink that I’m not sure even has alcohol in it, but it leaves me with a gentle and comforting buzz, regardless.
The confetti-rose goes off again, and I stare up at the floating petals as a dark, hooded figure fills my view.
“Want another one?” Robin asks, nodding his head toward the bar. “I’m getting a drink.”
