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I hesitate before replying. I know none of my friends will judge me for taking a burlesque class, but I don’t want to explain that a dream inspired my sudden interest. Especially when Rachel will insist it was some kind of premonition. She loves finding magic in everything, and my weird dreams are like catnip to her witchy brain. I’ll just have to leave the dream part out.
Mona: Don’t laugh, but it’s a burlesque performance prep class over at Ignite Fitness. If I’m going to be a spinster, I might as well be a sexy one.
Grace: Girl, please! You’re 29, not a senior citizen. There’s plenty of time to find someone! Plus, you’re already sexy. Hopefully, this class will show you that!
Rachel: What Grace said. That sounds like so much fun. I know you’ll rock it. Let us know when the performance is!
Grace: My date for tonight fell through…would it be okay if I joined you? I’ve always thought burlesque would be fun, and Zack will shit himself with jealousy if I take my clothes off for an audience.
I laugh to myself. Things always come back to her ex-husband, Zack. Grace is on the warpath to prove how much he lost out on, and a burlesque performance certainly would piss him off. It’d be nice to have a buddy for the classes. Even if said buddy is a smoking hot blonde with a body to die for. I like the way I look, but when Grace is in the room, no eyes are on my chubby ass.
As much as she insists I’m sexy, Grace seems oblivious to how sexy she is. When we were in high school, she was a gangly nerd that fit with my weird self. She developed some curves in junior year, and it was like a whole new world opened up to her. Guys were attentive and flirty, girls wanted to be her friend, and people started going out of their way to be nice to her. She denies it, but as someone standing on the outside of the hot person social bubble, the difference between how we get treated is clear. Guys barely even look at me, their eyes sliding off me to her, as if I don’t exist.
Not that any of that is Grace’s fault. I love her and cherish our friendship. Taking this class together would be a chance to see her more, which is always a good thing.
Mona: Come with me! I was so anxious about going alone, so it’d be awesome to have you there.
Grace: Rachel, come too!!
Rachel: Oh, hell no. No way. The only person seeing me take my clothes off is Jessa.
Grace: FINE. Lame.
Rachel: Could we try for game night on Wednesdays instead? I miss seeing you guys.
Two nights a week with something to do? Take that, hermit me!
Mona: I could do Wednesdays!
Grace: Yeah, I’m down. I know y’all miss me kicking your ass when we play Dominion.
Rachel: Hah! I’m going to beat you next time.
It’s time for work, so I close out the chat and walk the 20 feet into my home office to boot up my computer. A few hours later, Devi finally replies.
Devi: Damn! I want to take a burlesque class. Whose stupid idea was it for me to have a baby?
Devi: JK, I love Priya. I just wish I could go. Wednesdays should work for me though, for a new game night! Dustin’s mom said she can help watch Priya on Wednesdays and Thursdays, so I might get some sleep.
Mona: That’s such good news! I can’t wait to see you all.
My cheeks hurt and I realize it’s because of how hard I’ve been smiling this morning. For the first time in a while, I’m excited about what the future holds.
4
“Come on, take me somewhere interesting.” My eyes twitch with fatigue as I trail a few cars behind a champagne SUV. Today’s gone by at a snail’s pace until now, which is typical when I’m tailing someone. After hours spent on the job, I’m eager foranythingto happen.
I’ve spent an uneventful day following Lydia, the suspected cheating wife of my client, Kelly. Most of which took place outside a nondescript three-story building in an office park. Not the most thrilling place to spend hours, but I didn’t want to risk her leaving in the middle of the day and needing to start the entire process over on Monday.
Plus, I don’t think I could handle another day of having nothing to do but think. In the past, I enjoyed the calm of letting time pass during surveillance gigs. I could sink into my latest knitting project and catch up on my favorite podcasts. Now every time I try to knit, my yarn turns into a tangled mess and the laughter of the podcast hosts grates on my nerves.
I trail Lydia for about ten minutes before she parks in front of a bar called Nightlight on the outskirts of “downtown” Moonvale. If you can even call it that, with its sparse handful of blocks of historic buildings and shops. Lydia told her wife she’s going out to farewell drinks for a departing coworker. Which I thought could be a cover for going to see her “accountant” for a late-night liaison.
But apparently not. Maybe Mr. Johnson reallyisjust an accountant and Lydia hasn’t been having an affair. My gut tells me otherwise, but it’s not a perfect barometer. Just years of insight and weak empathic powers I inherited from my mom. When I got close to her at a coffee shop a few days ago, Lydia radiated guilt and shame, mixed with anticipation. If it’s not an affair, then I hope this bar will help explain what’s causing her distress.
I park a few spaces away from Lydia, in front of a place called Ignite Fitness. A pale blonde woman glares at me from her car—I must have snagged the spot she wanted. Not that there aren’t plenty of other spaces further down the street. I wait in my car, pretending to check my phone, since the bar looked pretty empty from the outside. I catch the blonde giving me a dirty look in my peripheral vision as she heads inside the fitness studio and a zing of energy crackles through me as I’m hit by a tsunami of emotion from her. Anger blended with potent sexual cravings.
The succubus part of me stirs awake, thirsty for more. Not for this woman, though she’s objectively gorgeous. No, instead my mind flashes to the woman I saw last night. Of her robe falling open as she bent over and the perfect, full teardrop breast tipped with a dusky brown nipple spilling out for me to see.
