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I remember seeing them when Brinley and I first pulled up, the man helping the woman from the car. Now, with the way she’s storming off, I’m wondering if she just caught him banging another woman in the hall.
Maybe that’s what all the yelling is about.
Who the hell knows, but this party just got a lot more interesting.
I never would have guessed the snooty actually know how to have a good time.
Perked up by the fact that everybody is whispering about something other than me, I meander through the crowd, helping myself to finger foods and hors d’oeuvres. It saves me money on a quick dinner before work. I sneak some extras into a napkin because you should never give up free food when it’s offered.
Twenty minutes pass as I scan the crowd and walk a slow, snaking path. Nothing of much interest is out here, and none of the other guests are as stunning as the ones I’d seen inside.
I’m about to head back to the mansion when Brinley finds me, her shirt wet and her expression screwed into a tight scowl.
A question is on the tip of my tongue about her shirt, but she rage-drags me back into the mansion before I can ask it.
As she leads me through the mansion, I ramble on about all the men I’ve seen and the couple getting it on so loud everybody could hear it. But she doesn’t care about all that. Apparently, some jackass spilled his drink on her and she is fit to be tied about it.
Unsure what her hurry is, I drop the subject as we tear out of the mansion and back to her car.
I barely have my door closed when she peels away from the place, and we run by her dorm to change.
After that, we’re practically racing to Myth so I can get to work … late as usual.
Okay, we’re not really racing. Brinley has a heart attack if the speedometer goes three above the posted speed limit. But right now, she’s pushing five above the limit, and that’s racing to her.
My boss, Granger, is going to lose his shit … also as usual. But I’ll get away with it because I’m his favorite dancer.
I’m also a piece of ass he likes to think he’ll get to tap eventually. I’m not about to correct him on that line of thinking either. It’s all a part of the side hustle I need to run to pay my bills.
Hear me out on this, and try not to be a judgmental prick.
I can’t afford my life.
Never could.
Starting from age twelve, I had to figure things out and make what little I could to help my mom and brother with the bills.
Mom did what she could. Don’t judge her either. She could never stay in one place, establish roots, or just settle down. It seemed like every time I thought we might stay somewhere longer than a few months, mom got scared and said we had to go.
My older brother, Kane, and I could never figure it out. Not as kids anyway. And every question we asked went unanswered.
Kane hustled, too. He just turned out to be better at it than me. But, he’s a genius when it comes to computers, and I’m not much of a genius at anything.
I’m glad he turned out to be the smarty-pants that he is, though. With all the clickity clacking he does on a keyboard, Kane is able to accomplish tasks that bring in enough money for him to continue supporting mom while also paying for my school.
We made a deal…or rather I should say he made ademand: I go to school and he pays for it. But I have to float the cost of a place to stay, food and everything else.
As far as Kane knows, I work at Myth. I just haven’t told him about the cages. He thinks I bartend and run drinks to tables.
I know my brother. He’d lose his shit if he found out I’m dancing, and he would make a new demand that I find a more acceptable way of supporting myself.
But this is what I’m good at.
So I do it.
What Kane doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
What I can’t make by shaking my ass for the crowd, I make by playing men. They like to think they can fuck me eventually, so they spoil me financially in pursuit. I take the money, and they never get farther than second or third base.
