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For one, I feel like there’s someone else who wants to request me, someone else I can take the much needed money from upstairs. And two, I want to know why Carter stopped me in the middle of my dance.
I’m honestly a bit bothered that he left the way he did. I’ve never had a man turn away from me, let alone one that was seeing me damn near naked.
And the way he was staring at me...He was definitely turned on...It doesn’t make any sense...
“Raven...” The bodyguard clears his throat, knocking me out of my thoughts.
“Yes?”
“Are you going to get in your car?”
“Huh?” I realize we’re standing in the parking lot and he’s holding the driver’s side door open. “Sorry about that...” I slip inside and wait for him to close it.
He walks behind my car and crosses his arms—waiting for me to pull off, watching to make sure no one is following me.
I crank my engine, but before I pull off, I reach into my bra and pull out the money I’ve earned tonight and count: Four hundred dollars. Four. Hundred. Dollars.
Fuck looking for another job this summer.
I’ve officially found my new career.
Chapter 8
Two weeks later...
“Hey! Shakespeare!” Robyn shouts at me, making me drop my pen.
“What?”
“Are you going to go on stage and show the men how well you can write or are you going to dance? I’m trying to help you.”
I sigh and shut my notebook, walking over to where she and Sarah (“Sparkle”) are watching my practice footage from earlier.
“On that last swirl, you need to hold your leg out for a little while longer.” Robyn hops on stage and leans against the pole. “Try and do it like this...” She twirls around and gracefully stretches her right leg—holding it out for ten seconds.”
“And make sure you find a target in the audience so you can keep your eyes locked on his,” Sarah says. “Just pretend like you’re having the best sex of your life with him. That’s what I always do.”
Robyn taps her lips, agreeing. “It makes it look like you’re nervous if you don’t make eye contact with someone. It’s a total turnoff.”
I nod and prepare to redo my routine on the practice pole one last time, but Robyn leads me to the dressing room and starts to do my makeup.
For the past few weeks, I’ve been coming to the club to practice early in the morning—telling my grandparents that the “diner” down the street is training me in intense early morning and late night shifts. I’ve even brought slices of pie home for them, hoping that’ll confirm where they think I work.
At first, they didn’t understand why I would choose to work at a diner that was two hours away, but after I explained that the pay was double and that I’m allowed to work as much overtime as I want, they agreed that it was a brilliant idea.
Then they prayed that I would last for longer than two weeks.
They’re so proud of me that they’ve offered to get me a room at a motel on my workdays to save me the driving time, but I’ve declined. I don’t want to get too comfortable in this town, and with the clients I’ve been encountering lately, I’d much rather sleep at home at the end of the night.
“Hey, hold still.” Robyn snaps her fingers. “This is stage mascara so it smudges easily.”
I stiffen and hold my eyes wide, nervous and utterly terrified about my first live stage performance. I’ve fallen off the pole twice in rehearsals, and I’ve been trying to psych myself up about this all day.
Since it’s a Friday night, the club will be packed to capacity and the men will be a lot more generous with their money.
When Robyn is done with my makeup, Sarah hands me a white button up shirt to wear over my shiny black bra and panty set. Once I have it buttoned, they take turns perfecting my hair—tossing my curls over my shoulder and draping a long strand of pearls around my neck.
“Absolute perfection,” Robyn says, laughing. “A classy stripper!”
She and Sarah look me over one last time and tell me to head directly behind the stage, to wait until the premier performances are over—which will take hours.
Since I’m new, I’ll only get one song instead of the three to five song set that the regulars get. That’s how the newbies have always been treated and I guess it’s a rite of passage, along with the silent treatment that still hasn’t been lifted for me.
With the end of every premier performance, my heart rate speeds up by the second. By the time it’s my turn, I’m wishing that the interlude song will last a bit longer so I can gather my thoughts a little more.
