“The boss is waiting for you in the backroom,” Big Joe tells me just as I cinch the belt of my robe.
I look up at him as if he were insane, trying to ignore the thrill that runs through me. “Why would Yoly want me back there?” I question him, referring to the lady who hired me, even if I know better. I know who’s waiting and I’m excited about it. I should be panicking.
“It’s not Yoly. It’s Mr. Anthes. He wants a private dance.”
Electricity sizzles through me at his words. I’ve been thinking about Roman ever since our kiss, so much so that it worries me. I had been beating myself up ever since my last encounter with Roman. When I showed up the following day and went through my sets and Roman wasn’t around, I felt a keen sense of disappointment when it should have been relief. Stupidly, I had this anticipation running through me about seeing him again. When he was nowhere to be found, it bothered me. After a few days, it became apparent that he lied. He wasn’t planning on seeing me soon. I didn’t play his game and he was gone. That pissed me off, even if it shouldn’t. He’s got my head all fucked up, and that’s dangerous.
It didn’t change the fact that I obsessed over it, and the more I thought about it, the more pissed I became. I’ll admit that a lot of it was because he awoke things in me I have spent years trying to forget. To put it plainly, I was horny. It’s been a long dry spell—three years, to be exact—and with one kiss, Roman brought things out in me that I’d buried deep. He succeeded so much that I’ve been having dreams about the man. The fact that he disappeared for two weeks and then just shows up out of the blue demanding a dance pisses me off. The bastard knows I don’t do private dances. He just expects me to fall in line, like he’s doing the stripper a favor and now she has to entertain him. That’s the feeling that smacks me across the face and I hate it. It’s a reminder of why I hate dancing.
“I don’t do private dances,” I insist, while in my head I’m busy trying to figure out what in the world I’m going to do. I can’t risk him getting rid of me.
“You explain that to the boss. I’m just the messenger,” Joe says, and it might be my imagination but I think the man is avoiding looking me in the eye. “Come on, Ana. It’s not like he’ll force you to do something against your will. You work for him. He’s entitled to make sure you can dance.”
“So he does this to all of the dancers?” I question, knowing he doesn’t.
Big Joe pulls the door open and waits for me to walk past him. “You’re the first dancer we’ve hired in a while.”
I can’t argue with that, but I think we both know what’s going on. In fact, I think the entire room knows what is going on. It’s not my imagination that the other dancers and people in the backstage area get quiet. I reach the door and glance behind me. Every dancer here who’s putting on makeup or just taking a cigarette break have stopped to stare at me. The room that was crazily busy just a minute before is now deathly still and quiet.
“Hurry up, Ana. Mr. Anthes doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
I pull my robe tighter around me. I’m annoyed enough that I will give him his dance, one he won’t forget any time soon.
Nerves are trying to get the better of me as I stop by the small rack that contains my costumes. I grab one that makes me laugh. I think it fits Roman. Then, I grab the royal blue G-string and ignore the way it reminds me of Roman’s eyes. Right now I have one goal in mind: make Roman see what he’s missing and leaving him with his jaw dropped. I can do that. I mean, it’s just tempting and teasing. That should be easy enough.
I waste no time getting dressed, then make my way to the private room closed off from the rest of the club. I stop at the door and inhale. Then, I push onward. My entrance is a side door that’s designed for the bouncers and dancers only, completely closed off from the dancing area and surrounded by one-way glass that allows you to see into the room. Safety. It allows the dancers to see who they will be performing for first, a precaution that Roman himself put in when one of the girls had trouble with a crazy stalker-fan. Back when Big Joe was trying to convince me to dance, he told me everything, thinking it would make me more comfortable. It’s not about the dancing, though. It’s boundaries. Dancing for someone personally feels like I’m giving a piece of myself I shouldn’t. This job already does that little by little. Still, Roman thinks he can take what he wants when he wants? I’ll let him know that goes both ways. I thumb through the preloaded music and pick the one I want. Normally there’s someone controlling the music, but Big Joe said Roman wanted privacy. Bastard.
The music starts pouring out of the sound system. That’s my cue. The moment of truth. I walk out.
“You’ve kept me waiting, pet.”
I inwardly grit my teeth and ignore him. In fact, I give him my back, trying to gather my nerves. I let my body loosen up, sinking into the music and getting lost. My hips start moving to the beat and I admit I give my ass a little extra kick when I move it in rhythm to the music, knowing it’s mere inches from his face.
I can’t help but wonder if he likes my costume.