“Yes,” I say, just as a man in a button-down leans in with a neon drink and a smile that has worked for him in the past. “No,” I correct. “Because men have eyes and arms.”
“Put Pru on the phone,” he says.
“Absolutely not,” I say. “You two will compare notes and I will end up in a bunker. I am going to dance on a table.”
“Don’t—”
I take the phone away in my pocket and stand because the MC is motioning me to the catwalk and because I am made of poor choices. The crowd cheers. I laugh. The lights burn hot on the top of my head. The rails are knee-high. I am not going to fall. I am going to do a small victory dance and then get down and drink water like a grown-up.
I climb onto the table at the end of the catwalk, plant my feet, and sway like someone who grew up in kitchens with music and learned to close her eyes when she danced so she wouldn’t see who was watching. The floor jumps with the bass. Women point and clap. A hand reaches up from the floor to offer me another drink. I shake my head. The world tilts a degree, then corrects.
My phone vibrates against my thigh, and I grab it.
“I told you not to do that,” Cayce says, low. “I’m six minutes out.”
“You’re home,” I protest.
“I was,” he says. “Now I’m not. Stay where you are. Do not get off that table without my men at your elbows.”
“Your men?” I say, indignant and too pleased. “Are they the ones with ears?”
“They are the ones with restraint,” he says. “Hold up your left hand.”
I roll my eyes but do it. Across the dark, near the entrance, three men raise hands in answer. They had been here the whole time. Of course they had.
“Those are yours?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says. “And they’re yours. Keep your hand up until the crowd sees they’re watching you. It will work like a fence.”
“Bossy,” I say, but I obey. The nearest men in the audience clock the signal and back half a step because they weren’t looking for trouble, just fun.
The MC hustles back over, evaluating me for signs of imminent disaster. “We good?”
“We’re good,” I say, and then into the phone, “We’re good.”
“Five minutes,” Cayce says. “Don’t do anything you’re going to have to explain.”
“I’m going to have to explain everything,” I say. “Is your ladder lonely?”
There’s a long exhale on his end that sounds like patience being counted. “Dance,” he says, resigned. “Then sit. Be my good girl.”
“Yes, sir,” I say, too sweet.
I dance. I don’t get wild. I move like myself and not the woman the crowd wants. It doesn’t matter; they cheer anyway. Pru screams approval from somewhere I can’t see. When the song ends, the MC helps me step down from the table to the safety of the catwalk. I wobble once and then steady.
“Water,” he orders into my ear like he’s family. “Now.”
“Yes, sir,” I say again, and take the bottle he hands me.
I’m three swallows into obeying when the room changes. It’s subtle at first, then all at once. Heat changes. Focus changes. The crowd’s attention slices toward the door like a school of fish turning at the same instant. The security guy lifts his chin. The dancer nearest me smiles in a “we have company” way that is not about male attention at all.
Cayce walks in like he owns the entire freaking building. He doesn’t push. He doesn’t have to. The path makes itself. Behind him, two men you don’t want to meet in an alley hang back a pace, scanning. He doesn’t look at the stage first. He looks at the room—exits, corners, anyone who seems to be paying too much attention. Then he finally looks at me.
My stomach drops like I missed a stair and then evens out because the look on his face is not anger. It’s possession edgedwith relief he doesn’t bother to hide from me. He nods once. I nod back, my lips pulled up in a drunken smile.
His men flow to the catwalk and take positions below me. They turn their backs to me, eyes outward, a tight perimeter for a queen who insisted on a table instead of a throne. It’s ridiculous and it’s exactly right. No one touches me. No one comes too close. I feel stupid and safe at the same time.
Pru, on the other hand, has found the main stage and climbed up. She’s doing a competition grind with two dancers while the third pretends to faint into the footlights. The crowd is living their best lives cheering for my girl. Pru is too. I love her for it. I also wince because I see Tiernan before she does.
