His Stripper (Dance For Me)

He glances at me, and for a moment, I’m convinced he’ll tell me the truth and put some reason behind my feelings, but it never happens. Instead, he just shakes his head and motions for me to follow him. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to the other girls in the dressing room.”

Reluctantly, I fall into step behind him, feeling humiliated. He must regret helping me. He probably thinks letting me stay with him was a huge freaking mistake. And even though I don’t want him to notice how disappointed I am, I’m afraid my emotions are written all over my face.

“Through here.” He opens a door for me and motions for me to get inside. “Hurry, don’t stand around.”

I rush through the doors, and my eyes widen as I enter a world that’s completely alien to me.

The air is heavy with perfume, syrupy sweet and sticky. Girls in various states of undress fill the room, wearing skimpy, sexy little outfits and copious amounts of body glitter. As the door opens, they all turn to look at us, and I flush under their watchful eyes, every imperfection feeling even more exposed as they scrutinize me.

I remember the girl I spoke to when I first came here, Holly. I smile tentatively at her, and she returns it, but I can tell it’s not totally genuine.

“Hey, welcome,” she chirps, coming over and guiding me to the mirrors. “I see you finally got those contacts. You look way hotter without the glasses.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, flushing even deeper as my eyes try to find Myles amid all the girls that have now surrounded me. He’s standing by the door, and his expression hasn’t softened one bit, which makes my stomach fall even more.

“Get her ready, girls,” Myles grunts, his eyes skipping over me as if I’m not important at all. “I have to go.”

He disappears, and the door slams shut behind him. Right away, I feel vulnerable. I’ve never had girlfriends, but these girls seem to have a camaraderie I desperately want to be a part of. I can only hope they’ll accept me.

“We have to find you something to wear,” one of the others says, flashing me a grin. “I’m Trish. You’ve already met the others?”

I shake my head, and she introduces me to the other girls who are all friendly enough. They quickly start putting together an outfit for me, and I’m kind of touched they’re letting me borrow their stuff, no questions asked. After all, I’m just a nameless new girl—they have no obligation to help me.

Or maybe they’re just so intimidated by Myles they don’t dare say no to his direct order to get me ready. I bite my lower lip, teeth digging in painfully as I try not to worry. I should really let people help me instead of questioning their every move. But being careful is in my nature. And besides, Myles seemed different today. Distracted, regretful, and annoyed by me.

The girls fire off questions about my shoe and bra size as they totter on the floor in their sky-high heels. They pull shockingly revealing outfits off hangers. They sit me in front of the mirror, and three of them work on my look—Holly does my hair while Gabrielle and Samantha focus on the makeup.

They explain how the club works, how the stage and lights work, and how to deal with annoying customers. Once they’re done, they decide I’m going up first. I don’t know whether it’s a sabotage tactic, especially since they’ve all been so nice to me. So I just nod and pretend everything is fine as Samantha gives me a countdown until I have to go out.

I’m feeling really freaking wobbly in the platform heels they gave me, and my barely-there pink lingerie hardly covers anything. My nerves are starting to get the better of me, but I grit my teeth together and force myself to stop being such a loser. I can do this. I have to do it because I owe Myles.

The song starts, and the patrons of the club cheer.

“What are you doing?” Samantha mouths at me, making panicked motions with her arms. “Get out there!”

But I’m frozen to the spot, unable to move an inch as I wait for something to happen. But the next second, Holly pushes me out onto the stage, and I stumble like a deer in headlights, landing on my knees.

The guests roar with laughter as I slowly pick myself up, shivering under their eyes. By now, the song is blasting through the speakers. I don’t have a routine, but I can move pretty well, and I always loved dancing. My hips start swaying with the beat of the music while my gaze sweeps the crowd, looking for a familiar face.

But only two men are in here even though they were making enough noise earlier to make it seem like a crowd. Their beady, glazed-over eyes follow my every move as I dance across the stage, the lights blinding me.