Alex sits back in his chair, one arm stretched along the back of the booth, the picture of relaxed arrogance. But his eyes tell a different story. They track my every move with laser focus, cutting through the haze of club smoke and lights.
He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t wave bills like his friends. Just watches, his expression unreadable except for the slight tightening around his mouth.
I snap my focus away, redirecting my attention to the rest of the crowd. Professional. I’m a professional.
I work the perimeter of the stage, collecting tips, offering smiles to the faceless men and women who press money into my waistband, brush fingers against my ankles, murmur compliments I barely register.
All the while, I feel Alex’s gaze burning into me.
Backstage, I gulp water from a bottle, trying to wash away the bitter taste Alex’s presence leaves in my mouth. Through the curtain, I hear his friends—loud, boisterous, clearly well into their drinks already.
“You’re pulling a crowd tonight,” Mark says, appearing beside me with a towel draped around his neck. “Those college boys at the VIP table are dropping serious cash.”
I grunt noncommittally, wiping sweat from my chest. “Rich kids slumming it for a night.”
Mark grins, counting a stack of twenties. “Let them slum all they want if they tip like this. The blonde one just gave Rina a two-hundred-dollar tip.” He glances at me. “You know them or something? The dark-haired one keeps watching you.”
“Or something,” I mutter, reaching for my body spray.
Mark studies me for a moment longer. “That guy… he’s the one from the frat house, isn’t he? The one who grabbed you?”
Fuck. First Rina noticed him, now Mark. Alex isn’t particularly subtle, but I was hoping my coworkers wouldn’t notice him.
I close my eyes briefly. “Yeah.”
“You want me to tell security?”
“No. No, it’s fine. I’ll handle it.”
Mark doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t push, and I’m grateful for it. “Your call. I’m up next.”
I nod, watching him head toward the stage. Through the gap in the curtain, I catch glimpses of Alex’s table. His friends are ordering another round of top-shelf liquor, one of them peeling bills from a money clip thick enough to choke a horse. Beside them, Alex sits slightly apart, nursing what looks like club soda, his attention focused on the stage as Mark begins his routine.
I turn away, stomach churning with a complicated mix of emotions. Anger, yes, but something else too. Curiosity. What is he hoping to accomplish by bringing his friends here? By making this so public?
I finish touching up my makeup and make my way toward the bar. Maybe a shot of something strong will burn away this knot in my chest.
Caty stands behind the bar, her movements a blur as she mixes drinks for the growing crowd. Her eyes light up when she spots me.
“There’s my golden boy,” she says, sliding a bottled water toward me. “Have you seen the crowd tonight? We’re packed to the rafters.”
I twist the cap off the water. “Yeah, I noticed.”
“Those college boys in the VIP section are spending like it’s going out of style.” She nods toward Alex’s table.
“They’re just looking for a thrill. Before they go back to their trust funds and country clubs.”
Caty shrugs, unbothered. “Their money spends the same as anyone else’s. And they’re keeping it classy, which is more than I can say for most of the bachelorette parties we get in here.” She begins mixing a row of cocktails. “The dark-haired one’s been asking about you.”
My grip tightens on the water bottle. “Has he?”
“Wanted to know when you’d be on again. Said he and his friends came specifically to see you perform.” She glances at me. “You’ve got a fan, honey.”
I force a smile, not wanting to worry her. “Lucky me.”
“Maybe you could give them some special attention during your next set?” She winks.
I laugh, the sound fake even to my own ears. “Sure. I’ll give them a show they won’t forget.”
