Not today, however. I shrank back, sinking a little lower in my seat, and tried to wish myself invisible. I reached out and tried a sip of the margarita, but something in the sour, acrid alcoholic taste twisted my tongue and made me struggle for a second against my own stomach, fighting to keep down the few bites of the rich breakfast that I'd consumed at the restaurant before this show.
This was awful. My friends, party girls each and every one, had put together a great daytime show for me, and I didn't seem to be able to enjoy any of it.
I did have one, horrible, sneaking suspicion about what might be wrong. I even had a way to check, currently sitting at the bottom of my purse, still wrapped in plastic and hastily buried under an untidy pile of old receipts that I'd shoveled in on top. I tried to ignore that small object, casting my thoughts to anything else that might serve as a distraction. Try as I might, however, it kept on drawing my thoughts back like a magnet.
Finally, unable to sit still any longer, I pulled myself up from the seat. The other young women in my row, most of whom I only vaguely recognized from various drunken nights out, looked over at me in confusion as I moved out towards the aisle.
"Where are you going?" Ellen hissed, her eyes wide.
"Bathroom," I answered, not letting myself stop. It wasn't a lie, at least. Not precisely.
Out of the auditorium, however, the bright lights of the hallway caught me off-guard. I turned back and forth, cursing this glitzy, expensive venue for not bothering to put up a simple bathroom sign. Finally, I just picked a random direction and stomped along. Maybe I could spot one of those little stick figures on a door somewhere.
Two doors and a set of stairs later, I was pretty sure that I'd managed to wander into a restricted area of some sort. The thick red carpet underfoot had given way to rather worn wood, and the hallways didn't feel nearly as wide as the main entrances. Somehow, I realized, I'd managed to get myself into the backstage area. Thankfully, all the dancers were out on stage right now, ripping off their clothes for the rest of the audience, or they'd be telling me to get lost.
Finally, feeling desperation growing in the pit of my stomach, I started trying random doors along the hallway. Several of them opened to reveal small, cramped dressing rooms. Mirrors hung on their walls, and bottles of perfume, oil, and other makeup compounds littered the counter space around sinks.
The fourth dressing room that I found appeared a bit larger than the others – and when I stuck my head inside, I saw a second door, standing ajar and offering a tantalizing glimpse of tile. Finally! I dashed forward, not even bothering to shut the door to the main dressing room as I dropped my purse onto the chair and fumbled in its depths for the small box.
Tugging it out, I tried to tear at its shrink-wrapped plastic covering. My fingers shook, dancing around, unable to gain purchase on the smooth surface. After two failed attempts, I set the box down on the counter beside my purse, put both my palms down on the counter, and stared at my reflection in the mirror.
I looked pale, drawn, like I hadn't been getting enough sleep for the last few days. That was the first observation that jumped out at me. Most people probably wouldn't have noticed; I did a good job with my makeup, knew how to highlight my best features, of which I had plenty, and how to hide my less flattering ones, of which I'm okay admitting that I have relatively few.
Yeah, I know. You hate me already. Just roll with it, the day gets worse.
It was a tightness, I decided, up around the eyes. That was what gave it away. Normally, my big, blue eyes made me look young and innocent, tempting and delectable to any man who landed in my sights. Tonight, however, they seemed to have lost their sparkle, instead looking faded and somewhat drained of color.
My hair was a mess, as well. Normally, I let my blonde hair fall around my head in a tangle of loosely flowing waves. It was a look that made it seem like I'd just rolled out of a stranger's bed, and I put in a lot of work to maintain that appearance. No dye, thankfully, but I didn't want to think about how much I paid each month, just for conditioner. Looking effortlessly chic sure took a lot of effort.
My gaze traveled down, past the sharp lines of my chin, down to the blouse that hung a little too loosely on my shoulders. I'd skipped my spin class sessions for the last few days, and it showed. Most women wouldn't be complaining about shedding a few extra pounds, but I fought to keep my weight between a very specific range of numbers, and too low of a number bothered me just as much as too high.
For one thing, it meant that none of my clothes, most of which had been custom tailored, fit me quite perfectly. Two weeks ago, this blouse perfectly clung to my curves, highlighting my slender waist and showing off my lines. I'd been wearing this exact outfit last year when I caught the eye of a certain Arab sheik, who invited me on his private plane to...
Well, the details aren't important. But right now, I suspected that, while this outfit would still draw a few glances, the Arab sheik would likely pass on offering me an invitation. I'd probably earn myself more snide comments from other women, always looking to cattily cut down a potential competitor.
My gaze drifted back to the small box on the counter beside me, and I sighed. If these last couple weeks of feeling under the weather turned out to be due to what I feared, I wouldn't be heading back to the clubs any time soon.
If my fears turned out to be true, I didn't know what lay in store for me. A bleak future, one I didn't even want to imagine.
No more avoiding it. I tore open the plastic and pulled out the strip, squatting down on the toilet and letting out the breath that I hadn't realized I'd been holding in.
Once the deed was done, I checked the instructions on the box. Wait for three minutes, I read. Okay. Just three more minutes, and then I'd have my answer-
"Hey, what are you doing in here?"
I looked up at the unexpected voice. A large man was peering around the corner at me, wearing a frown – and not much else. My eyes tracked down for a second, taking in his hefty, muscular frame, the muscles gleaming brightly even in the less than flattering lights of the bathroom. Had he oiled them?
As my eyes tracked down over him, his did the same – and they stopped dead when they landed on the box in my hands. They darted to the small stick sitting on the bathroom counter, and then back to me.
"Oh, shit," he said, in a much less confrontational tone.
I felt like I needed to say something. "I, er, couldn't find a bathroom out there," I stammered out, pointing back in the general direction of the lobby.
The male dancer nodded, his eyes still darting between me and the test on the counter. "Uh, I don't know how to ask this, but do you and I..."
"What? No, no. It's not yours. Or any of the male dancers," I quickly said, once I understood what he was trying to insinuate.
"Okay. Uh, good, I guess. It's just some of the guys, they like to go to parties in their side hustles, and..." The guy didn't finish, but spread his hands, as if just suggesting that, in the heat of the moment, things happened.
Great. Here I was, standing in a backstage bathroom of a Chippendales show in Vegas, waiting for a strip to possibly change color, for a second line to appear on a little window. And now I had one of the male strippers standing next to me, looking very uncomfortable in this situation but clearly not willing to just leave me alone. Was he sticking around out of some sort of misplaced responsibility? Was he after something else?
Normally, I'd be flirting with him, chatting him up and seeing how long he could resist checking out my body. I'd toss my blonde hair back over my shoulders, toss back my head as I laughed so that he could admire the long line of my neck, sloping down into my low-cut shirt. I'd smile seductively as I toyed with his emotions.
But now, with a pregnancy test on the counter in front of me, flirting was the last thing on my mind. I almost wished that he'd leave, give me some privacy-
"Tori? Tori, are you back here?"
Oh no.
"Tori? Hello?" That voice, high an
d feminine, grew closer. I knew it, of course. After years of partying with my best friend, I instantly recognized her voice. "Tori?" I didn't know how she managed to track me back to here, but she wasn't going to leave without finding me.
I sighed, closed my eyes, but there wasn't anything else to do but end her search quickly, instead of letting it drag out. "In here, Ellen," I called.
A second later, Ellen stuck her head around the corner, alongside the awkwardly watching Chippendales dancer. "Tori? What are you doing in here? You naughty girl, are you thinking about..."
Her voice cut off as her eyes, just like those of the shirtless, buff male dancer standing next to her, fell on the small stick on the counter. I saw her mouth form the words "oh, shit," although no sound came out.
Not knowing what else to do, I dropped down on the closed toilet seat. "Great." I didn't have anything else to say.
Happy birthday to me. Victoria Lilly, age twenty-four, currently waiting on the results of a pregnancy test in the backstage bathroom of a Chippendales show. And now, just in case I couldn't read the results, I had both a random male stripper and my best friend, both present to witness the lowest point in my life.
What a great birthday present. Just what I'd always imagined.
Chapter Three
TORI
*
Standing in the doorway of the small backstage bathroom, my best friend bumped again against the shirtless, muscular dancer standing next to her. She glanced over at him, away as she blushed, and then back up. "Hi," she said.
"Er, hi," the dancer replied, momentarily pulling his attention away from my urine-soaked stick and over to Ellen.
"Ellen Beckers. I'm Tori's best friend." She held out her hand.
The stripper shook the offered hand, as if this was even the slightest bit normal. "Tony. I'm one of the dancers."
Ellen's eyes once again drifted down to his muscles, oiled and burnished in the slightly yellow bathroom light. "Yeah, I figured."
I supposed that the guy did have a nice body, and it was very much on display right now. Along with the signature white cuffs and black bow tie, he wore only a pair of very tight, very small black shorts. They ended high on his thighs, and I wondered, almost hysterically, if he ever had one of his testicles pop out when he stretched. I guessed that he was a bit over five and a half feet, but his shoulders looked broad as an axe handle.
Not like Seb, though. Some part of my brain, perhaps trying to distract itself from the absurdly horrific current situation, started comparing the two men. Sebastian was a few inches taller, leaner, his muscles not as artificially bulky as this man's. Seb wore his hair a bit longer, falling almost over his eyes. If Seb stumbled into a situation like this, he'd effortlessly take control, laugh, crack a sarcastic little joke to take the edge off. His humor might be immature, but somehow, it always made me laugh.
Of course, when Seb found out about this, he probably wouldn't be smiling at all. Not if that pregnancy test turned out to be positive. He'd probably want to send me away, get this "taken care of". Hell, I could practically hear his voice in my head. Nuh uh, not ready to handle this, he'd say. He'd insist that he needed a week or two on a beach somewhere, and maybe, just maybe, we could bring this up afterwards, check again if I really was...
I didn't even want to think the word. Please, let the test be negative, I prayed silently. Please, don't let me be pregnant.
The stripper smiled at Ellen for a minute, a little distracted, but then his eyes returned to me. "How much longer?" he asked.
I shrugged. "Probably another minute or two."
"Okay." The man looked like he wanted to say more, but both he and Ellen turned to look over their shoulders as we heard a commotion from behind them. Sitting on the toilet, I couldn't see past them, but I also heard the rumble of multiple voices approaching.
"Tony!" A big hand reached out to slap the stripper on his broad back, and another strong-jawed, handsome face appeared in the doorway. "Hey, what are you doing in here... whoa, what's this?"
Oh god. Half a dozen more male dancers had returned to the dressing room area. It must be intermission, I guessed, as I leaned forward to press my hands against my face. This meant that they'd all come back to their dressing rooms to freshen up. Now, finding a pair of women standing in the middle of the area, they all peered around the corner at Ellen and me with interest.
Tony turned away, stepping out of the doorway, and I heard his voice speaking in hushed tones to the other men. I couldn't catch the exact words, but I saw a few more heads appear around the corner, long enough to sneak a peek at me before withdrawing. More voices joined the rumble of half-whispered conversation out in the main area.
Ellen, however, remained leaning up against the doorframe, her eyes still on me. "Tori," she whispered softly. "What's going on?"
I just shook my head, not trusting my voice to speak. I felt tears welling up in the corners of my eyes, blinked furiously to try and drive them away. I didn't want to talk about this, didn't want to draw anyone else into the horrible spiral of fear that had been eating away at me for the last week or so. I knew that Ellen just wanted to help, but I couldn't find any words capable of expressing myself.
Her face softened, and she stepped forward to squat down beside my seat on the toilet. "It's going to be okay," she murmured, putting her arms around me, drawing me in towards her.
I leaned in, hugged her back, felt myself losing the battle against those tears. No, it wasn't going to be okay, I wanted to tell her. If I was pregnant, it would spell the end of my entire life, a change so huge that I couldn't even mentally grasp it. I wouldn't be able to party, wouldn't get to see my friends, Seb would leave me to find new party girls to whisk off to various destinations, while I'd be trapped at home with no job, no one else to help me, and a baby on the way...
My life was over.
After another minute, Tony stuck his head back around the corner. He still hadn't put on a damn shirt, I saw, and his pecs twitched slightly as he looked at me. Showoff, said the voice of Seb inside my head. "Hey, it's probably been three minutes," he said.
I reluctantly released my arms from around Ellen, tried to straighten up. "Right. Let me take a look."
Ellen took a step back, and I reached out and picked up the strip from the counter. Some of the liquid – my pee – had splashed on the counter, I couldn't help noticing. The male stripper who claimed this dressing room would have to deal with that. The strip felt cold, slightly damp in my fingers as I turned it so that I could read the little window in the handle.
Two lines. What did that mean? I turned the box around, squinting at the text on the backside that all seemed to blur together into blobs of black and white.
Finally, after what felt like far too much fumbling, I located the legend on the box. I held the test and the box side by side, as if there could be any confusion about one versus two lines.
Two lines. Pregnant.
I'm pregnant.
I'm twenty-four, single, in the backstage bathroom of a male burlesque show at midday on my birthday, and I'm pregnant.
This is the worst moment of my life.
"What's it say?" Ellen asked, her big eyes looking worried. She had stood back up, framed in the doorway, with half a dozen male heads poking their way past her to try and sneak curious glances at me. "Is it negative?"
My mouth felt as dry as a desert. I couldn't seem to summon up any moisture. Wordlessly, I just shook my head back and forth.
Her face crumpled, and she again rushed forward to offer me the comfort of her arms. They didn't make me feel any better, but I accepted the hug. Tony also appeared from around the corner, stepping forward as if he also wanted to hug me, but pausing before actually touching me. His face looked conflicted, as if, now that I was pregnant, I might shatter if he even brushed against me.
Part of me wanted to just collapse right then and there, bury my face in Ellen's shoulder and cry for hours until I'd used up all my tears. I couldn't
do it, though. I just sat there, frozen like a statue, unable to think at all of what to do next.
"Should we beat him up?"
I looked up in confusion at Tony's words. He shrugged, looking embarrassed that he'd even said anything, but he didn't back too far away. "Whoever did this to you," he explained, flexing his arms and making his pecs bounce again. "You want us to track him down? Between us guys, we could probably talk some sense into him, if you know what I mean." Behind him, a couple other Chippendales dancers nodded, straightening a little.
A half-hysterical laugh came ripping out of me. Male strippers were offering to be my knights in shining armor, go out and beat up Sebastian for knocking me up!
"No, that's okay," I managed to get out. The words sounded thick and soft in my mouth, like I was speaking through a cotton ball. "I know who it is. I can talk to him."
"How do you think that he's going to react?" Ellen, of course, didn't have to guess who it was. I claimed to be a party girl, wild and free, but she knew with whom I spent most of my time, and she was bright enough to put two and two together. "You think that he's going to be mad?"
To be honest, I didn't have the slightest idea how Seb might react. I'd never seen him confronted with anything like this, never thought that I'd be the one to bring such terrible news to him. I tried to imagine him turning tail and running, deserting me.
Scarily, it wasn't that hard to imagine. After all, he'd made a life out of running away from responsibility for as long as possible. It was kind of his thing, something that he proudly owned, refusing to be embarrassed by it. If he wasn't willing to take on even the minor responsibility of paying credit card bills on time, how would he handle something like this, something of this magnitude?
His voice in my head didn't have answers for that question.
"I don't know," I answered Ellen. "But I need to tell him."
For Love of Freedom (Stone Brothers Book 3) Page 2