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Chapter Nine
Shannon
I meet Jamie in the parking lot at The Sixth Floor. He’s out front with Preston, Tucker, Drake, and Trent waiting for Bex Bryant and Taylor Bradshaw. I’ve heard of the girls in passing but have yet to meet them. Bex lost a bet to Preston earlier. Her dare was to dance in the competition.
A few of my sorority sisters ate some bad Chinese food and have been in the bathroom all day, so Bex and Taylor are doing us a huge favor. Abby was having a stroke earlier over our sisters missing the contest. She had everyone in our chapter house panicked. When I told Jamie through text, he offered me a solution.
“Shannon.” Jamie taps me on the shoulder to catch my attention and then points at two unusually tall girls who are approaching us. One with long blonde hair stands next to Preston, the other of equal height with brown hair at her side. “This is Bex.” Jamie points to the blonde. “And her friend, Taylor. They’re the girls I told you about.”
“Oh, hey.” I close the distance between us, greeting them with a friendly smile. “You two are such lifesavers.”
“I don’t know how to dance,” Bex admits.
“Yes, you do.” Taylor smacks her arm. “Bex is being modest.”
“Okay, fine.” Bex holds up her hands. “But if we lose, don’t blame me.”
Taylor moves forward, close to invading my personal space. “So, what do you need us to do?”
“It’s nothing special. Just have fun. We have a few moves we’re planning to do. But we don’t have to do anything choreographed. Move your hips to the beat and do whatever feels natural to you.”
“Are we ready to go inside?” Jamie asks me.
I nod. “Yeah, all set.”
The Sixth Floor, a two-story club located on the Philadelphia waterfront, is the hottest spot in town. Colored lights shoot through the white cloud of smoke filling the club. The air is thick, so heavy and dense that it’s hard to breathe.
I inform the bouncer we’re part of the competition, and he leads our group through the crowded club. It’s an old warehouse converted into a large, open room with long wooden bars on each side and stairs which lead to the VIP area.
After we say our goodbyes to the men, Bex and Taylor walk next to me behind the bouncer. We navigate a narrow hallway, moving to the right to allow girls with trays of drinks to pass. The bouncer stops in front of a red door at the end of the hall and pushes it open to reveal the dressing room. Girls in short skirts and tank tops flock to the mirrored dressing tables. They take turns applying makeup and fixing their hair.
Some girls walk around in their panties and no bra. The bouncer stares at the naked girls, holding out his hand for me to enter the room, his eyes not leaving the girls. Already irritated, I blow past him. Bex reads my mind and slams the door in his face.
The bass thumps through the club, and even in the dressing room, the music vibrates beneath my five-inch heels. Girls are gathered in front of a long row of vanities, forced to share with each other. On nights like these, when the entire Greek community is obliged to come together, the claws come out. Two girls are already fighting over the last can of hairspray.
“One minute,” a woman yells from the corner of the room with a clipboard in her hand. “Let’s go, ladies.”
A minute later we’re ushered into the main room of the club, where girls are dancing inside cages suspended from the vaulted ceiling. To win the contest, we have to dance on top of a long mahogany bar at the center of the club. Everyone can see us as we climb onto the bar.
“No touching!” the bouncer yells at a guy who tries to grab Taylor’s leg.
Holding on to the pole in front of her, she shakes him off. The bouncer grips him by his shirt and pushes him further into the crowd surrounding us.
I slide my hand down the metal pole. It’s slick with sweat, the bar wet from drinks spilled on the wood. The announcer says a few words, and then the DJ’s beat fills the club causing the room to come to life. The people below us are dancing and drinking, grinding on each other as we work the poles.
Abby and Jordan came up with our choreographed routine. It’s the same ass-shaking bullshit they force us to do every time. I love to dance. Most of the time when I cook, I sing and dance, which is why I want to name my bakery Shake-and-Cake. But dancing on bars isn’t the same. This is stupid and degrading.
I sway my hips from side to side following the lead of my sisters. We have to win. Abby will never let us live this night down if we don’t come in first place. The song is almost over, so close to the finish line when a girl in our group trips and falls forward. She tumbles into the arms of a tall, dark-haired guy I recognize—Preston Parker.
