Olive comes to my side, looping her arm through mine like she did outside, only my stomach is a lot more wishy-washy than it was then. If I’m being honest, things are a tiny bit distorted. I haven’t had this much alcohol since I would hit up parties with Everleigh and Sylvia our freshman year. I’m worried that between my last two shots, I’ve done myself in. More so when Olive’s body moves in slow motion beside me. She drags me over to where a group of women line up. “Do you want me to do it with you?” she asks.
I shake my head a little too vigorously. “No. I’m going to get up there and jiggle my tits and take home the grand prize.”
“I don’t know if there is one.”
I scoff, my head suddenly seeming ten pounds heavier. “There’s always a prize.”
“Maybe I missed it on the sign-up sheet?” We walk to the end of the bar near the bathrooms and staircase. I note the thin chain secured into two hooks before the first step. “Are you sure you don’t want me to do it with you?”
“No way I’ll win if I go up against you.”
Olive laughs. “You’ve had one too many shots, but I kind of like this side of you.”
“And you’ll buy me another when I’m named reigning champ?” It comes out as a question, slurred beyond recognition. Olive’s smile almost looks like it stretches off her face when I look at her, and then I frown.
“What’s the matter?”
“You’re so pretty. How am I not that pretty?” I sneer at her. “It’s disgusting.”
She holds me by my arms. “Youarejust as pretty as me. Maybe even more. All these guys are going to pop boners once they see your nips.”
All these guys.
But none of them are the one I want.
God.I miss he-who-I’m-not-supposed-to-think-about. I wonder if it’s even remotely possible that he could be in the crowd tonight. I bet he has better things to do. Like stay away from me for instance. Or go to that chocolate warehouse to fight.
My head snaps up, my eyes darting around the room. Moving so quickly only intensifies my dizziness, and I stumble back a step.
“Whoa there,” says Olive, gripping my arms. “You sure you’re good?”
My chest is awfully tight, my heart beating against it like it doesn’t want to believe I’m doing this. Sadness overcomes me, and it’s immense. Like trying to walk in three layers of clothing that are soaked and dripping wet.
Stupid, stupid clothes.
Stupid water.
Stupid Colson.
A rage rips through me in the next breath. I tear my arms out of my sister’s grip. I turn on my heel, push through to get in line, and wait until someone guides us to a room in the back where we can keep most of our clothes while we’re on stage.
Two girls go out through an entrance that’s attached to the stage and the back end of the club. I wait my turn, standing next to a woman whose name is Yolga. In minutes, it’ll be me and her on the stage. I barely need to look at her to see she’s a lot prettier than me, her body tight and voluptuous in all the areasthat count. For a second, I think about all the eyes that are about to be on us. But then it falls away, and my thoughts shift to
Me.
Colson.
Life.
I stagger on my feet and fix my hair, flipping it over my shoulder. A hiccup bubbles up my chest and “S&M” by Rihanna spits through the surround sound. The bartender announces it’s time for the next rotation and introduces Yolga and me as we climb our way up the few stairs to the stage.
My six-inch high heels—a pair that belongs to one of the club’s regulars—hits the surface, and a wave of heat rushes through my body. The weight of a thousand eyes are on me as I sashay my hips and stop at one of the poles. Yolga takes her spot at the one next to me, looking like she was born to be in front of an audience. It takes every bit of control to keep my ankles from rolling when I walk. Having the pole to lean on helps, but I’ve never twirled around one in my life. My body doesn’t know how to blend in with it and use it as a prop.
From the corner of my eye, Yolga begins moving her body in ways I couldn’t if I tried—even with my yoga background. She hooks her leg around the pole and slides into it. Then, she drops down to the stage and crawls her way to the edge. I don’t realize I haven’t done much of anything until a whistle pierces my ears and someone shouts, “Come on, honey, move a little for us!”
My entire body blushes, including the skin covered by my lavender lace bra and skimpy matching bottoms. The lights on me turn ten degrees warmer. Perspiration forms along the back of my neck when another deep voice bellows from the dark, “Unclasp that bra, sweetheart!”
I look at Yolga as I curl a hand around the pole, my head tilting in time with her body even though I’m barely moving.Come on, Violet. You can do this.It’s up to me to put on show for the crowd. To give these men exactly what they want.
