“Oops, sorry!”
I always forget I shouldn’t technically be working here because I’m under twenty-one but honestly, it’s one of the least shady things that go on at Dreams.
“How come you’re working on your birthday?” Kiara asks. “Surely you could have got the night off, Little Miss Banging-All-Four-Owners?”
I flush. “I could have, but Marnie is visiting her mom and I wanted to come in. I like working.”
Kiara looks at me like I’m crazy. I know why. None of the guys understand it either, but I like to work. The energy and the orders and the girls. I like mixing drinks and feeling social and productive and making my own money.
“Whatever,” Kiara says. “So just Doc is taking you out? What about the other guys?”
I feel a little squirm of embarrassment. Everyone at work knows about my dating situation. Before I started, I wondered if I’d keep it a secret but considering all the guys come in on my shifts to hang out with me—and make sure no one hits on me—that was never a real possibility. At first, I was uncomfortable because I thought the dancers and other bartenders would think I was a slut. But unconventional relationships aren’t so strange here. Some of the dancers are sugar babies and a few of them are in throuples or dating married couples. Kiara is living with three other girls that she hooks up with. When I was in school, I thought relationships went one way—marriage and kids and maybe divorce and new marriages and kids. But one of the many things I’ve learned at Dreams is that human relationships come in all shapes and sizes.
“Yeah, just Doc tonight,” I tell Kiara. “The guys all want to do something special with me one-on-one. Yesterday Bobby took me to the movies.”
“That’s pretty lame.”
“He hired out the whole theater and got them to showA Streetcar Named Desire.”
“Less lame. Although what the fuck isA Streetcar Named Desire?”
“It’s an old movie. It’s black and white and has Marlon Brando in it.”
Kiara’s nose wrinkles. “How does someone your age like black and white movies?”
I feel the stab of grief that comes whenever I think of Zia Teresa. She was the one who watched old movies with me. Cheesy Elvis films and Gone with the Wind and The Sound of Music.
“My Zia—my auntie—liked old films,” I tell Kiara. “She was the one who showed me Streetcar. And Marlon Brando, the lead, wassosexy.”
“Lemme look him up.”
As Kiara Googles Brando my mind circles back to my birthday date with Bobby. I’d never tell Kiara, but he went down on me while the movie was playing. It was so insane to orgasm while staring into the face of the guy I had a crush on when I was younger, but amazing too. Plus, Bobby kind of looks like Marlon Brando. They have the same clean-cut handsomeness and big muscular shoulders.
“Okay, yeah, he’s hot,” Kiara says with the tone of someone who doesn’t really care. “So, what are you doing with the other guys? Did the huge one take you to the shooting range or something?”
I smile. Given that Adriano is six-five with a cheek full of scars and a Glock perpetually strapped to his side, it’s an easy assumption to make. But the reality is too unconventional not to be funny.
“We hung out in his cabin by the woods,” I tell Kiara. “He painted me.”
My co-worker’s mouth falls open. “Like…with sex chocolate?”
“Like with brushes and paint. On a canvas.”
I laugh at her shocked expression, knowing I could never explain how romantic it was. Or how artistic Adriano can be. Some people know he does tattoos—all four of my men wear his ink—but no one knows he’s an amazing painter. I didn’t know it myself until six months ago. He took me to this special meadow where he’d set up a picnic for both of us. We drank hard cider and kissed and waited until I was really tipsy and then he asked to paint me.
“Why?” I asked, flattered and confused.
“Because you change so much,Pryntsesa. I need to capture the way you are now, at this age and time.”
My heart stopped a little at that. “Will you not like me when I get older?”
He kissed my hand. “You’re more beautiful by the hour, but it’s like a solar eclipse. It’s over before I know it. I need to preserve some part of you, exactly as you are now.”
“Wait, so were you nude while he painted you?” Kiara asks.
“Um, a little bit?”
“Holy shit.”
