She is even more beautiful tonight. Her blonde hair is short, falling down in a straight, silky and sleek golden halo at her shoulders. It’s beautiful, but too controlled. In too much order. It’s not hard to imagine it rumbled and messed up in bed, though. Her whole body screams sex, with the way her hips move and the way her legs tighten against the pole as she gyrates around it. It’s enough to make any man wish he was the object she was holding on to, which explains why she’s developed such a large following in a short amount of time. Big Joe wasn’t kidding when he told me she had become popular. The men here are all screaming her name. She doesn’t notice, I can tell. As far as she knows at this moment, the room is empty. She’s lost in the music and has tuned out all of the screaming.
I don’t allow the men to touch the dancers. My girls don’t dance for singles. I pay them fucking well. If the men want a lap dance, then and only then can the girls allow that. It’s always in a separate room and only with a bouncer in attendance. Big Joe told me that Ana flat out refuses private dancing. I found it odd because I’ve checked into her pretty thoroughly. The woman is one step away from being homeless, yet she still turns down extra money. I watch as she rotates around and around the pole, defying gravity. Her spin begins to slow down and she slides to the floor, driving the men crazy. She’s smiling.
There’s a monitor hanging over my booth. I’ve never really used it since I rarely make the time to come here. Tonight, however, I am using it. I’ve been using it the entire time. The men are going crazy for her, salivating and dreaming of taking her home tonight. They’re so lost in her body, they don’t even realize that she barely notices they’re there to worship her. Ice. It’s a name that fits her. It’s a name that begs an answer to the question: what could make her melt?
My eyes are continuously drawn to her hip. There’s a tattoo with the word: “survivor”. Just what has she survived? I wanted her from the moment I saw her, but given what’s going on with her brother, I couldn’t be sure what she was like in person. Now I know. Intriguing. I definitely want to taste her. Perhaps the most interesting thing is that I want to taste her more than once.
“What do you think, boss? I’m telling you, she doesn’t mean to give you trouble. She’s a good kid. I’d hate to see her get mixed up in bullshit and get hurt because her brother’s a dick-wad.”
“Bring her to the back. Shut down any other dancers for the room until I’m finished.”
“Boss, Ana doesn’t do private dances.”
“Don’t give her a choice. I’ll be waiting,” I tell him, leaving without further comment.
“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.