“You would know, you are the town bicycle,” Lainey smiles and Brynn flips her off.
“I used to date Rafe,” she says, and I stop.
“You did?”
She nods and sits down on the bench. “It was short, hot and…a mistake. If you think wearing a wig at the bar and pretending to like getting your ass smacked every time you turn around is a full-time job, just wait. Being arm candy isn’t as sweet a deal as you may think. It’s all about them, and how good you make them look. There’s zero gratification for you.”
“So, what are you suggesting?” I ask.
“Make him want you,” she says with a smirk.
“Jesus,” Lainey shakes her head.
“Don’t you have a shift to start?” Brynn asks her. Lainey looks at her phone, then rolls her eyes.
“Don’t be a stranger,” Lainey says, hugging me.
“We’ll talk every day, I promise,” I tell her, and she reluctantly walks out, leaving Brynn and me alone.
“So you can’t have him. Fine. But you can make him wish he could have you,” she says. Then she grabs my hand and pulls me out the door. We head to the back, through the hall and to the ring. The room is dark, but she flips on all the lights and then hops through the ropes.
“Well, come on,” she waves to me.
“What are we doing in here?” I ask.
But Brynn doesn’t answer me. She just smiles and pulls her phone out. After two clicks, a song comes on over the P.A. system. It’s a song I know, from going out with the girls. I think it’s called Tipsy. Still, that doesn’t really explain why we are here.
Suddenly, Brynn starts dancing. It’s a routine with overly exaggerated moves. Something you’d see on a stage…possibly at a strip club. It’s not the kind of dance I typically do, but I’m intrigued.
When the song ends and the room is quiet again, Brynn is frozen in a pose, smiling down at me.
“What…was that?” I ask.
“That,” she says, lowering her arms and standing up straight. “Was a Ring Girl routine.”
“A Ring Girl routine? For what?” I ask.
“There are 5 of us. Never more, never less. Unfortunately, with you no longer beingallowedto work here anymore, we’re out one. We can handle it on the floor, but our dance routines need a fifth person,” she says.
“I didn’t know Ring Girls danced,” I say.
“Between matches from time to time, yes. It keeps the guys in their seats, especially if the fighter they’re putting money on is losing,” she tells me.
I hate the idea of it. I took tap, ballet, and jazz dance classes, not twerking.
“What’s in it for the dancers?” I ask.
Brynn hops down and circles me. “Hundreds of dollars raining down on us during the routine, and even more shoved into our shorts. That’s what’s in it for us,” she says. “Now, come on.”
“What…why? You want me to dance?” I ask.
“Why not? Don’t you like dancing?” she asks.
Brynn puts the song on loop, and we head to the Ring floor. It only takes about ten minutes for me to learn the routine, and she cheers.
“Damn, girl. You catch on fast!”
“I may or may not have been an aspiring dance major,” I tell her.
