by Alexis Daria
She pulled up her music library and skipped through songs, looking for something that fit how she felt now.
An hour and many notebook pages later, she hit on something. It had more of a pop beat, but it was undercut by dramatic violins. I am a masterpiece, the singer repeated throughout the song. You ain’t seen nothing yet. Just watch me fly.
Natasha listened, jotting down the lyrics, which gave her chills. This was the song. From burned to fly, it was a phoenix story. She could adapt the existing choreography to tell a story of triumph, of personal faith and trust.
Flexing the toes of her right foot, she was tempted to jump up and move. Her best choreography ideas came to her this way, inspired by feeling and a song that hit all the right emotional notes. The dance came through her like a download. It was happening now, but she couldn’t dance.
Well, no. That wasn’t entirely true. She couldn’t put weight on her right ankle. There was a difference.
It took some back and forth, but she got her laptop, speakers, and camera set up in Dimitri’s studio. In addition to those, she dragged in the desk chair from his office. She cast a worried glance at the shiny floor, but something told her he wouldn’t care. Once everything was ready to go, she sat in the chair and propped her crutches against the barre. Keeping her phone in her lap to control the music, she started the camera and the music and rolled into the center of the room.
When Dimitri appeared in the doorway a while later, she wasn’t even surprised.
She stopped spinning in the chair and turned off the music. “Hi.”
A small smile played on his lips, and his eyes were full of . . . something. Affection, maybe. “Hi.”
She rolled back over to her equipment and turned off the camera. “I took your chair,” she said.
“So I see.” He walked into the room, hands in pockets.
She entered a few commands on her laptop to get the video import started. “Sorry. I said I wouldn’t go in your office.”
His brows drew together like he was annoyed. “And I said it was fine. You’re allowed anywhere in this house.”
He came closer, and she bit her lip, focusing on the laptop screen. She’d just been naked with this man in broad daylight. It was ridiculous to feel nervous. He wasn’t even doing anything. He was walking toward her, fully dressed.
But she was starting to believe he might be telling the truth about his feelings. And it was a dangerous thing for someone who’d never thought she’d ever have something like what he offered.
Hope. That was it. That was the thing fluttering in her chest like a bird trying to fight free from a cage.
Accurate. She’d kept that emotion locked away for a long damn time.
He stood over her, looking at her setup. “I’d ask what you’re doing, but it’s obvious. Trying to dance without using your feet?”
“Just the one foot.” She lifted the right, still wrapped. “I can use my left just fine.”
To prove it, she dug into the floor with her bare left foot and sent the chair spinning in a circle.
He grabbed the armrests, bringing it to a stop, and leaned down, putting his face close to hers. Natasha swallowed. He still wore that unreadable smile, and his chocolate brown eyes had grown even more intense in their focus on her.
“Tasha.”
“Uh-huh.” Her pulse pounded in her throat. Madre de dios, he was so handsome. So intense. Her skin itched to be touched by him, to feel his strong hands skimming over her. His hot mouth, the rasp of his beard, his tongue . . .
“You asked if I was jealous.” His voice was rough, grating, like it hurt him to speak. “Yes, damn it, I was jealous.”
She sucked in a breath. Dios, what did she say to that? But he wasn’t done.
“I was jealous every time I saw you smiling at another man, knowing he was getting close to you, fearing you were letting him closer than you let me.”
Her mind flashed to all the times she’d flirted with other men while Dimitri was around. Rocky Lim, Jackson García, at least a handful of others. Yes, she’d wanted to inspire jealousy in him, to get him as twisted up inside as she felt. But she’d never known it had worked.
His eyes bored into her, and the smile was gone from his lips, now set in a stern line. “It killed me every time I had to walk away from you, which is why I always came crawling back. I don’t intend to leave again. So, you can have my desk chair. You can have my studio and my pool and my bed and anything you want that’s in my power to give you. Got it?” She nodded, struggling to breathe.
“Good.” He gave her a searing kiss, then leaned back. “Let’s get you ready for our date.”
“Date?” She let out a nervous giggle to cover how much his words had affected her. “That’s a first.”
He frowned, and paused in gathering her equipment. “Haven’t we been on a date?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
He cheeks grew hot. “You’ve never asked me.”
Eyebrows drawn together, he put the laptop back on the stool she was using as a table and took her hand. “I’m asking now. Natasha Díaz, will you go out on a date with me tonight?”
She pressed her lips together because she wanted to grin, and she wanted to accept. Still, there were other things to consider. “You know we can’t date. If anyone sees us, I’ll get fired.”
He shrugged. “Too bad, because I’m really good at the goodnight kiss.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I know. But don’t forget my rule.”
His gaze heated. “We’ve already broken it. And I have a good date in mind.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“I thought we’d go see some naked women, then eat a meal I don’t have to pay for.”
She swatted him in the arm, laughing. “No wonder we’ve never been on a date before. You’re terrible at it.”
He shrugged, and grinned. “Don’t worry, I’m really good at the goodnight kiss.”
She snorted. “I think we’ve blown way past goodnight kisses.”
His smile was full of dark desires. “You’ll see.”
A thrill raced through her. Despite her trepidation, she couldn’t wait to go out with him. Okay, so they still weren’t going off to do things most couples did, especially on a first date, but they’d never gone out alone together like this. And truth be told, she was curious about the restaurant.
But a little voice in the back of her mind refused to be silent. Bad idea, it warned. You’ll get caught. And then what? You think he’ll stand by you? You’ll never be good enough for him.
It was an echo of the phrase that had haunted her for her whole life. You’ll never be good enough.
No. Inner doubt be damned. Donna and The Dance Off be damned. She was going on a date with Dimitri, and fuck anyone or anything who tried to get in her way.
31
Nerves made Natasha antsy as Dimitri drove them to Babe Planet. It was one thing to joke and flirt at home about going to the strip club where she used to work, but actually doing it was something else entirely.
She fiddled with the seatbelt buckle, watching cars streak past them on the freeway. What the hell was she thinking, bringing Dimitri to this place? It wasn’t the worst, as far as strip clubs went, but it wasn’t the best, either. The thing that set it apart, according to some of the other women she’d worked with, was Jeff, the manager. Sweet and compassionate weren’t usual qualities one found in these kinds of places, but because Jeff was in charge, he determined the tone. So even though it wasn’t a job most of the women had set out to do, when they found themselves at Babe Planet, it wasn’t so bad.
From the beginning, Natasha had been up front about her plans with them. They’d known she was there temporarily, to save money until her friend got to LA. Then she would quit. Still, they’d invested time and attention in her, teaching her and giving her room to adjust. They’d been more like family to her than her own relatives back in New York and Puerto Rico, but that might have had somet
hing to do with her mother alienating everyone else in the family with her bitterness.
“You okay?” Dimitri glanced over at her as he drove.
“Yeah. Sure. I’m fine.”
“You’ve chewed off all your lipstick.”
“Coño, really?” She flipped down the visor mirror, and sure enough, the red she’d painted on before they left the house was nearly gone. She rummaged in her bag for the tube, then reapplied.
By the time they parked, Natasha was ready to jump out of her skin. This was a terrible idea. She shouldn’t be here at all, let alone with Dimitri. They should leave. Skip the show and go straight to the restaurant. Or go home. Or anywhere other than here.
What would he think of her? Yeah, he’d been all sweet and accepting in the hot tub, lulled by sex and bubbles, but he might not be so nonchalant when faced with the reality. And, god forbid, what if they were recognized? She’d gotten caught up in his passionate words, in the idea that Donna and The Dance Off weren’t a threat to her very survival in this city. They should turn around right now and go home.
But then Dimitri was at her door, helping her out. “Let’s go.”
Taking hold of his hand, she swallowed back her doubts and excited the car.
They’d debated whether it looked worse to walk with a cane or crutches. Natasha felt like crutches indicated a temporary injury, but Dimitri argued that a cane would be better for navigating tight, dark spaces, like the strip club.
In the end, after a lot of testing, she’d worn the boot he’d picked up for her after her first hospital visit. He wasn’t happy about her walking on her ankle yet, but she wasn’t going to sit around forever. And as she pointed out, she wasn’t alone. He was there to help her.
She didn’t miss the way his chest puffed out at that.
Entering the Planet was like the weirdest kind of flashback. The bouncer didn’t recognize her, and he didn’t bat an eye at her boot as he checked their IDs. Inside, it smelled the same, a combo of vodka and perfume. The décor was mostly the same, too—lots of plush red material and shiny black surfaces, and mirrored walls so you didn’t miss anything if you turned away from the action on stage. Tiny lights twinkled on the ceiling like stars, the only nod to the “planet” in the name. Natasha had always thought they should have tried harder to adhere to a sci-fi theme, but she didn’t own the place.
As usual, the clientele was mostly men, but there were always a few women. It seemed like there were more women tonight, maybe because of the burlesque show. A group in the corner looked like a bachelorette party.
Natasha didn’t recognize the bartender or either of the waitresses making the rounds. But then, it had been over five years since she’d worked here, and her tenure had only been for a few months. It was kind of a letdown, though. She’d expected to see a familiar face, or for someone to remember her. She’d amped herself up for it, and now the nerves and adrenaline had nowhere to go.
Dimitri led her to a trio of armchairs. Once she was settled, he stood with his hands on his hips. “Crap.”
“What is it?”
“I want to get us drinks, but I don’t want to leave you here alone. You should come with me.”
She shook her head at him. “Don’t worry, Macho. I used to work here, remember? I’m fine. Besides, no one is going to mistake me for the talent.” She plucked at the modest neckline of her simple black mini dress, the nicest of the few wash and wear dresses she’d brought with her since most of her going-out wardrobe had been ruined or was back at her apartment wrapped in airtight plastic. She wasn’t even wearing heels. She couldn’t, with the boot. “Go get us drinks. I need one.”
Maybe then she’d forget about being here.
With a nod, Dimitri headed for the bar, and she let out a breath. If he got the sense that she was bothered by being here, he’d probably insist they leave. And while part of her wanted to leave, the part of her that loved dance was also curious about what Renee had in store. While she waited, she turned her attention to where two women twined around poles at either end of the narrow stage. One of them was quite good, her body strong and flexible, but the other relied more on bouncing her fake tits around.
Natasha glanced down at her own breasts, and the fairly modest amount of cleavage showing above the neckline of her dress. The irony was, she’d gotten the boob job after working here, using money earned on this very stage. Babe Planet clientele appreciated a good show, which was why the better pole dancer would take home more tips tonight than the bouncing boobs. Patronizing the clients with talentless jiggling wouldn’t make you more than a few pity tips, no matter how pretty your face or how good your boob job.
Dimitri dropped into the chair beside her. She reached for her drink, then snatched her hand back. Alarm streaked through her. The man in the other armchair wasn’t Dimitri.
The man smiled wide. “Maya.”
The name gave her a jolt. No one had called her that in years. All the adrenaline she’d entered the Planet with came rushing back. Of all the people to recognize her, why did it have to be this guy?
The rank smell of liquor and sweat emanated from him. Natasha fought the urge to wrinkle her nose. Already, old habits fell back into place, just from being here. Keep boundaries, put the men in their place, but don’t make them feel ashamed. The final rule was twofold. Men who felt shamed didn’t spend money and didn’t come back. But a drunk man, when embarrassed, was dangerous. In those cases, they called in the bouncer to handle it.
“Hi, Rob,” she said, keeping her tone even.
If he wasn’t gone by the time Dimitri came back, this could end badly. She kept her voice low, but firm. “Are you here alone? Where are you sitting?”
“Maya, you haven’t been here in such a long time.” He leaned toward her and slid a hand down her arm. “You were my favorite.”
Ick. Gently, she plucked his damp hand from her and returned it to his armrest. “No touching, Rob. Remember? And I don’t work here anymore.”
Slight emphasis on “work.” Maybe reminding him that she was a real person with a job, and not his personal fantasy, would help establish boundaries.
Nope.
His eyes lit. “That means we can touch each other.” He pitched forward toward her again.
Reflexes kicked in. She planted her feet on the floor to spring up and away, but her ankle twinged, throwing off her balance. She fell back onto her seat. Throwing up an arm across his chest, she held his weight off her as he tried to clutch her arms with cold, clammy hands. So gross.
“Rob, go back to your own seat.” She made her voice low and severe, hoping it would cut through the music and his own drunkenness. “Go now.”
“Yeah, Rob.”
Natasha’s pulse picked up at the sound of Dimitri’s deep, commanding voice. He was there, one of his big hands clamping onto the back of Rob’s neck. Rob flinched, and once he’d released Natasha, Dimitri tossed him back into the empty seat. Then Dimitri sat across from him and leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs. His hands hung between his knees, not clenched into fists—no, Dimitri wouldn’t need to be that stereotypically threatening—but terrifying even in rest. He was a dancer, yes, but powerfully built, and intimidating even on the best of days. Rob was practically trembling.
Natasha bit her lip. The show hadn’t even started and this night was already a disaster. They should have stayed the fuck home.
A wicked scowl darkened Dimitri’s face. When he spoke, it was through gritted teeth. “You want to tell me why you had your hands on my woman?”
Rob’s pale eyes darted between the two of them, and he wet his lips. “I . . . I hadn’t seen Maya in a long time, so I . . .”
“So, you thought you had the right to touch her?”
Natasha kept her attention on Dimitri. His voice was deceptively calm. She held her breath, but her skin still crawled from the feel of Rob’s touch. As much as she didn’t want to cause a scene—god, what if someone decided to film this and it got to the
tabloids?—Dimitri’s presence calmed her.
“We’re not allowed to touch the girls.” Rob gestured at the stage. “But Maya said she doesn’t work here anymore, so I thought—”
“Again, you thought you had the right to touch her.”
Rob seemed to find a semblance of backbone. He sat up a little straighter. “Maya and I have something.”
When Dimitri’s gaze cut over to her, Natasha shook her head. Dimitri tilted his head toward Rob.
Natasha’s heart raced. He was giving her the floor, letting her take the lead in this altercation, if she wanted it. She didn’t doubt he’d haul Rob out of here if she said that was what she wanted, but he was giving her the choice.
She scooted closer to the edge of her seat and looked Rob square in the face. Dimitri’s hand dropped possessively onto her knee, giving her strength. He’d let her fight her own battles, but he was there to protect her and back her up if she needed.
Rob only had eyes for her. “Right, Maya? We have an understanding.” A note of pleading infused his voice. He wanted her to reinforce his fantasy. It was time to pop the bubble.
“No, Rob. We don’t.”
His brow creased. “You used to dance for me.”
“I used to dance. There’s a difference.”
“For me.”
She shook her head. “I danced five nights a week for whoever was here. It was a job. And then I quit.”
He blinked, and his mouth twisted into a confused frown. “I haven’t been able to forget you. I thought there was something in the way you looked at me. In the way you danced for me. You’re saying it was the same for everyone.”
She nodded. “It was a job,” she repeated.
“I wasn’t special.”
“No.”
When he sighed, all the life went out of him. His shoulders slumped, and he looked half his size. “You’re just a stripper.”
He didn’t say it accusingly. More like he was coming to terms with it.
“I was,” she said. Maybe she had to come to terms with it, too. It was just a job, not a secret shame to carry forever. “Not anymore.”