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I give him a blank stare and watch as he laughs at his own joke, as he clears his throat and straightens himself once he realizes he’s not as much of a hard-ass as he thinks he is.
“You’re due on stage in three minutes,” he says firmly.
I’m well aware of that, but since he insists on always having the last word, I nod and wait for him to walk away. Then, when I’m sure he’s gone and no one is around, I jump up and down like a child.
I can’t believe I’m a premier dancer. That means I’m one step closer to getting the hell out of Blythe, one step closer to actually doing something with my life.
“Gentlemen, there’s been a bit of a schedule change tonight...” The DJ’s voice interrupts my celebration and I rush behind the curtain.
“Coming to the stage for the second time tonight...” he continues, and I suddenly realize I don’t even know what songs are going to play. “Please welcome Raven...”
The curtain begins to rise and I hear a raucous applause. As the notes come through the speakers, I recognize the song—“Spaceship Coupe”—a long, eight minute affair that should be good enough.
I walk down the black runway and prepare to do a routine I’ve been secretly practicing for weeks. Scanning the crowd, I look for Carter and smile when I realize he’s front and center—looking like he wants to pull me down from the stage and drag me out of here.
Perfect.
Knowing that he’s watching my every move, I ease through the routine—dancing as if he’s the only man in the room, as if every bend of my body is a signal for him to finally fuck me. Tonight.
I can’t hear the applause and I don’t notice the dollars that are flying onto the stage. Every time I pause for effect or spin around on the pole, I look at Carter. Only Carter.
He shifts in his seat and I swear he’s mouthing messages to me, but I can’t make out any of them.
When the song ends, a short instrumental song begins and I start the tease part of my routine. I want to point to Carter and have him be the center of my attention for the final dance, but I don’t.
I pick the guy sitting to his right and beckon him to stand up and come closer to the stage.
He points to himself, as if to say, “Who? Me?” and I nod, giving him my foolproof smile.
On hands and knees, I crawl to the edge of the stage to meet him, knowing that I’m about to take every dollar in his pocket and make Carter insanely jealous.
The guy is the nervous type—clearly here with friends, so I gently caress his face with my hands and lean forward, whispering into his ear, “If we were alone right now, what would you do to me?”
He swallows and lets out a small laugh. “I....I...”
“You’re not used to letting a woman be in control are you?”
“I...No...”
I lean back and place my hands on his shoulders, noticing that his eyes haven’t left my breasts, so I go for the easy out.
“You can tip me wherever you like...” I bite my lip and lie back, seductively opening and closing my legs.
His eyes travel across my body and I see one of the bouncers glaring at me out the corner of my eye; I’ve been taking things a little too far all week, but I don’t care.
Nervous guy pulls out his wallet and, as suspected, pulls out several bills. Fifty dollar bills.
He drags the dollars against my thigh and gently slips them underneath the thin string of my thong.
I smile at him and arch my back to lift myself from the floor.
He looks completely entranced and stands there dazed, watching my every move.
As the last seconds of my song play, I move my hands all over my body—yearning for more reaction from the crowd, inwardly smiling when I see Carter clenching his jaw.
I stare into his eyes as I slowly stand up, as the crowd cheers loudly. For at least thirty seconds, he and I are the only people at The Phoenix, and a part of me that I can’t explain wants nothing more than to step down from this stage and let him take me away for the rest of the night.
When the DJ’s voice asks for another round of applause, I slip out of my trance and realize there’s money on the stage.
I blow my typical kiss into the crowd and pick up my money, excited to see how much more I’ve earned from dancing a longer set.
I can hardly hold my excitement once I count the final amount, so to be sure I count it over and over again: Sixteen hundred dollars.
I take out a few hundred for the DJ and the bartenders and place it into their lockers. Since I wasn’t asked to assist in the private rooms, I tell everyone I’m going home and get dressed, sending Carter a text that says I’ll meet him outside.
“You know that guy?” Charlie—the newest bodyguard, blocks me from leaving when I approach the exit.
