The Player (Chicago Bratva 8)

Watching Nadia take it in is far more entertaining. The dancers are on stage doing a group dance. Tonight they are a troupe of five women and one drag queen, but it varies week to week. They have individual pieces and a few group pieces. Their art involves lip sync, dance, strip tease and performance art. They’re not super polished, but it doesn’t matter–it’s their raw presence that makes the crowd love them. That and the sexual nature of the show.

Nadia clearly loves everything she sees. Her expression is rapt and full of light. She radiates pleasure and life.

I’m in love.

Wow. First time for everything, right?

I mean, this has to be love. The way I feel with Nadia is like nothing I’ve experienced before. She makes me feel like a different person. A better version of myself.

I don’t want to drink or smoke around her.

I want to write songs.

Now she has me thinking I might even man up and put some effort into making the band into more.

After driving back to Rue’s neighborhood, we stopped in at a pizza joint to fill our bellies then came in here to get a table. I ordered a Coke and Nadia’s drinking Sprite. She said she shouldn’t drink because she’s on anti-anxiety meds. I don’t have any urge to touch alcohol or weed around her.

I feel the need to stay sober around Nadia. It’s not just because I feel protective but also just because I don’t want to miss anything. Not a single nuance or word she utters. I want to absorb it all. She is light and unicorns. And yes, sometimes puddles, but I would take a thousand rain showers and mud puddles and punches in the jaw for a night like this.

The dance ends, and she cheers, looking at me to see if I’m as enthusiastic as she is. “I love it,” she tells me. “I want to join them.”

“What?” I lean forward to make sure I heard that right.

“I want to join them. I want to be a burlesque dancer.”

I absorb that. It makes sense. The dancers own and control their own sexuality. They’re on stage. They’re in charge. In control. After what Nadia’s been through, it makes sense that she’d crave that sense of ownership and control over her body and how it is viewed.

“Awesome,” I say, determined to make sure it happens. Even if it means talking her through a dozen panic attacks to get her there, I will make sure she gets on that stage if she wants to.

“Do you think I could?”

“I’m sure you could,” I say. I’ll help make it happen if she needs me, but I have little doubt she could arrange it all on her own. All she needs is a little encouragement and a nudge. “Talk to Danica. Maybe they have classes or something.”

She nods. “When I show her my costume ideas I will ask her.”

“Perfect,” I agree.

I can’t imagine it wouldn’t work out–so long as Nadia doesn’t have a panic attack on stage. But I would be with her to make sure it didn’t happen.

As I contemplate all the untapped potential lurking within Nadia, I suddenly understand what she meant about me blocking my own success.

If I believe she can do anything she wants to–and I do–why wouldn’t I believe the same of myself? I haven’t done much with my life, but it doesn’t mean I can’t. Nadia sees potential in me, which is more than I see in myself.

“Let's go back to your place.” Nadia’s lips at my ear. She's turned on by the show. I love it. I didn't expect her to want to return to my place, but I'm down. I'm more than down. I'm freaking ready.

I throw a tip on the table and stand up, grabbing her hand. Her smile is wide as I lead her out the door. We jog for the van, just like we did last time. Like we can't wait to get our hands on each other again. I am definitely in love.

Totally and completely in love.

Nadia

“You sit here.” I point to the armchair in the middle of Flynn's living room. I want to do a striptease. I want to be like those women on stage tonight. Sultry and seductive. Holding all the power.

Flynn drops into the chair, his eyes darkened with desire.

“I need stripping music,” I tell him.

He calls up “Sexy Back” on his phone, and it starts playing through a speaker in the kitchen.

I prance around the room finding the beat. I stop and swing my hips, sinking to a squat, then rising again.

Flynn groans in approval, his thumb resting on his lower lip.

I remove my clothing piece by piece until I’m in nothing but my panties. Some of my moves are sexy. Some are silly. It doesn't matter because Flynn appears to be enthralled by everything I do. At the end of the song, I straddle his waist, undulating my hips over his hardened cock.