Page 40 of After Midnight

My eyes flash to her. “No, he’s definitely not.”

She arches a thin brow, full lips pressing into a smirk as she gestures to the numerous pizza boxes littering the room. “Then what do you call this?”

Some of the other girls in the room murmur their agreement.

I look at the note again. Looks like it was printed at the pizza place and delivered along with the food.

See you soon, Tiny Dancer.

—S

It’s been almost two weeks since Sebastian was last here, but it feels like so much longer than that. I’ve been trying—and failing—not to count the days until I see him again. LGC was in the studio this week working on their new album, so Sebastian couldn’t leave Cali. But he’s coming to visit me again on Monday.

Just thinking about it, about seeing him, makes my stomach twirl like it’s the one on the pole.

Behind me, the door to the dressing room opens, and Dolly leans in to say, “Hey, Mirage, your regular is here.”

Her words snap me out of my daze.

James.

I turn and lift a hand to her. “Got it. Thanks.”

She nods once, then heads back out onto the floor.

“Don’t let him see you looking like that,” Fantasique says.

I slide the note into my locker before going to one of the mirrors to touch up my hair and makeup. “Like what?” I ask while wiping a smudge of mascara from beneath my eye.

“Like that.” She waves a hand at me. “You look lovestruck, honey.”

A zing goes through me, straightening my spine. I meet my own eyes in the big mirror. Do they look more twinkly than usual?

With a quick shake of my head, I grab the straightener that’s lying on the vanity and pull it through my hair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say to Fantasique.

She just clucks her tongue at me.

Hair and makeup now touched up, I take one last look at myself in the mirror, then draw a breath and head back out onto the floor.

It’s hot and stuffy in here despite the AC pumping, and Bunny is onstage dancing to one of Beyonce’s country songs, making the wannabe cowboys holler as she takes her top off. I move through the crowd, searching the VIP booths for James.

When I find him, he’s already looking at me, watching me weave through the crush of people, and I immediately go into Mirage mode: small detached smile, air of caring just a little less than he’d like me to.

I step up to his booth, where he’s sipping at a half-empty glass of gin, though he can’t have been here for more than ten or fifteen minutes. He already looks ready for a refill.

“I wondered if you were coming to see me tonight,” I say as I lean a hip against his table.

His pale hair and the flecks of gray in his trimmed beard catch the light. He’s wearing a tie, but he’s already loosened it, even though that’s something I usually do for him once we’re in a private room together.

Shrugging one shoulder, he takes another drink from his glass before saying, “Long day. Work kept me.”

He told me once that he’s in private equity, but I don’t know if that’s true or not. All I know is that he’s here every Friday night, in this booth, nursing a gin while he waits for me. And that’s all I need to know.

Absently, he rubs at the ring on his left hand with his thumb, though I don’t think he knows he’s doing it.

And suddenly, without meaning to, I’m thinking of Sebastian again.

Would he ever be like this? Go to strip clubs on Friday nights while his wife is at home? I see a lot of married men in here; some aren’t even ashamed of it. Sure, sometimes couples come in together, and there are plenty of female customers in Caliber as well. But I’ve always felt disenchanted by it all.