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“First,” I tell her, “don’t compare yourself to anyone else. You do you, and you’ll be just fine. But if you want to see, I guess I can do a demonstration for you guys.”
She nods, and I realize that the whole group was waiting to see if I’d agree. I really don’t mind. I perform all the time and enjoy it. It’s like my therapy, allowing me to live in the moment, creating a connection that threads from the music through my body to the audience.
It’s a powerful rush, whether I’m dancing ballet or seduction or even working the pole. There’s no pole here tonight, but that’s okay too.
The women all crowd over, sitting on the floor and leaning back against the mirror with cupcakes in hand. I click into character, hitting Play on the stereo and striding to the middle of the floor as Imagine Dragons fills the room. It’s not a routine I normally do, but I love it nonetheless.
Before my first hair flip, they’re caught in my trap, cupcakes forgotten and mouths hanging open as I sway my hips, dropping to the floor in a slow plié and letting my knees splay wide. I stretch one leg out, letting my fingertips dance from my ankle to my hip before turning to plant my hands, lifting my hips in a sexier version of downward facing dog.
I dance and move, tease and tantalize until the final notes of the song ring out, and I let my eyes drop for a beat before looking up through my lashes at Sarah, making the bride feel extra-special as a way of saying thank you.
The women all clap, one hand popping against their other wrist so they don’t drop their dick cakes.
“Wow,” the maid of honor says. “I want to do that!”
I smile at the praise, but more importantly, seeing these women empowered and happy in their own sexiness and cheering on their fellow females is pretty amazing. It gets me through the cleanup, which actually isn’t so bad as the designated driver makes sure all the garbage is hauled out.
I lock up the studio after the bachelorette party leaves, loving that not only did I make half the rental fee, but the maid of honor tipped me rather generously too.
It nearly made up for my missing one of my usual performances at Petals tonight. A piece of me wishes I could just go home, put on sweats, and curl up on the couch, but I promised Dominick, my boss at Petals, that I’d be in for my late-night performance. He’d been understanding about the missed time, and he probably would’ve given me the night off if I’d asked, but I need the money, so I can’t skip the whole night even if I wanted to.
As I walk to my car, I scan the deserted lot. There are security lights so it’s not dark, but the emptiness makes me feel vulnerable. I swear I can feel eyes watching me, following my every movement.
On stage, that’s what I want. Here, alone in the parking lot, it feels spooky. It’s been that way since that night, even if I’ve been able to get past most of it.
Still, I glance under my car and in the backseat, just like those Facebook warnings tell you to, and hop in, immediately locking the doors.
I pull out of the lot, laughing at myself a bit. I’d planned to stop for a Monster Zero on my way to the club, but with the way my heart is racing, I think I’ll skip it and use the adrenaline pumping through my body to perk me up after the long day for my performance tonight.
Chapter 2
Dominick
I watch her from my vantage point across the parking lot. Allie doesn’t know it, but as soon as she started teaching classes at Encore Studio, I rented a second-floor apartment in the strip mall.
In theory, it could be a safe house. In reality, I know what it is. It’s my blind, though I’m not hunting her, merely watching her to keep her safe. Sometimes, I come here to keep an eye on her myself. Other times, I delegate the task to one of my men, but tonight, I’d wanted to be here to make sure the bachelorette party hadn’t gone astray. Judging by the smiles on everyone’s faces when they left, it’d been fine.
She hurries to her car, looking around as though she can feel the weight of my gaze upon her. Perhaps she can.
The thought gives me pleasure.
I stand in the darkness, knowing my black suit and dark hair hide every trace of me through the tinted glass. I wait until she pulls away before heading to my own car.
I don’t need the GPS tracker I had installed on her car to tell me where she’s going, but I turn the app on anyway, letting the glowing green dot of her car soothe me as I start the car. It’s not my usual Mercedes, but rather a nondescript black Lexus sedan, like so many others on the road in East Robinsville.
