Page 19 of Duty

“Lesson learned.”

“You know the deal, huh?”

The bookie shrugged. “If you have to step in, and you don’t retrieve one-hundred percent of the debt, then my cut drops back to ten percent. Yeah, I got it, Andi.”

“You do good business, Nathaniel. Keep doing that.”

Nathaniel didn’t even seem to hear Andino—his attention was focused on something else over Andino’s shoulder, and the widening of his eyes before a low whistle split through his lips cut through the noise in the room.

“Damn, girl,” Nathaniel muttered appreciatively, “it’s been a hot minute since you danced, hasn’t it?”

What in the hell?

Turning to see what had the bookie distracted was probably Andino’s biggest mistake of the evening. He couldn’t afford to be off his game when he was doing business, even if it was with someone he trusted, but the second he saw her on the stage dancing, that’s exactly where Andino found himself.

Off balance.

Stunned.

And entirely stupid, too.

He hadn’t seen the woman since that day he walked Snaps in the park. And she certainly didn’t look like she did that day, either.

Then, she’d been wearing running clothes, with her blonde hair streaked in bright colors pulled up into a pony, and little makeup.

Tonight, she wore a black leather body suit that was made out of criss-crossed strips that covered her body from her ankles to her neck. The strips of leather strategically covered any part of her that someone might really want to see—but it still left enough to look at that there was nothing for the imagination to wonder about.

As she did a quick spin around the pole by using one hand to keep herself steady against the metal, he got a peek at how the strips of leather fell below the curves of her ass, and the G-string she wore under it. And the colorful spread of multi-colored stars tattooed across her back, and down her spine.

Jesus.

He suddenly found himself to be ridiculously interested in just how many stars he might be able to count on her body if given the chance.

Those patent black pumps on her feet had to be at least six inches tall, but every step she took made her body sway in the best fucking way possible.

She was soft curves.

Toned lines.

Creamy skin.

Covered in ink.

Black hair pin-straight down to her sexy-as-fuck ass.

The black hair was new.

Andino hadn’t known what to expect, but the moves the woman made on the pole were not it. She didn’t grind, and shake her ass, but rather, used a mix of acrobatic moves and dances in such a way that he barely even noticed she wasn’t taking anything off. Not that she needed to with how much skin that damn outfit—if you could even call it that—was showing, but still.

His daze was only broken away from her when during a move where she swung around the pole while upside down using her fucking ankles and feet hooked one over the other to keep her on the pole, Nathaniel chose to do that goddamn whistling thing again.

A hot shot of something hit Andino in the gut hard, fast, and entirely unexpected. He gave the bookie a look, and snapped, “Would you knock that the fuck off?”

Nathaniel’s gaze widened. “What—do you know how often she dances? Never, Andi. Not anymore. Mind your own, and let me enjoy the show.”

He had a good mind to punch Nathaniel in the mouth, but he glanced over his shoulder instead. The woman was back on her feet, and winking over her shoulder like she hadn’t just spent twenty seconds upside down and swinging around a pole.

There were cherry blossoms tattooed on the side of her neck.