Slipping on my gray sweatshirt in case it’s cold outside, I turn to see if anyone is still around and make my way over to the large board that holds all the pamphlets and cards. Thankfully, the studio is empty, so I can take a good look at everything. Maybe I can find some free dance classes. My eyes scan the many postcards and advertisements for dance apparel and personal coaching.
If only my parents were alive. If only my dad hadn’t done the horror that he did.
In one second, one awful night, my life, career, everything was over and today I’m feeling it.
My eyes take everything in. I stand on my toes to zero in on the one flyer that has been taunting me all day.
Exotic Dancers wanted. Must be serious dancers. Willing and not shy about showing their bodies. Must come prepared to use a pole and have a routine.
Please contact Crystal or Derrick.
213-682-8852 or 818-387-9966
The Pussycat.
Taking a quick look to make sure I’m still alone, I rip the flyer down and stuff it into my bag. I race down the steps and into the night.
I’m kind of excited. Never in a million years did I dream I’d consider doing this. But that was the old Antoinette. The new one needs money, so if swinging on a pole can pay my bills…
“Oh my God.” I stop for a second. Maybe I’ll even have time to audition. It’s like my luck might finally be changing. I saw this flyer as soon as I walked into the studio today. It’s weird and I don’t know why. It’s nothing special—just plain white paper and bold black letters. But I saw it, and somehow, that means something.
My arms pebble with goose bumps. I’m being silly. It’s only a job, but for some reason I feel like this is my moment. Like something wonderful might happen.
Switching my bag to the other shoulder, I cross the street and stand in front of my dump of an apartment. I’ve been so caught up in my thoughts, I don’t even remember walking the last couple of blocks.
My excitement dims as I enter and start to climb the stairs. I have two roommates. Well, as of a day ago, I did.
One is my only friend, Bella, another dancer. She’s an actual working dancer and on tour right now with P!nk. And the other one is Heather. As of late, she’s fallen madly in love with an out-of-work musician, a complete loser, and she’s moving in with him to help him follow his dream.
Basically, she’s screwing both Bella and me, but that’s Heather, the most selfish person alive, so I’m not surprised.
“Good Lord,” I grumble as sirens and screams and dogs barking echo in the background. Pretty much just another night in Hollywood. When Bella and I first moved in with Heather, we loved it. Now I’m tired and bitter.
Tired at nineteen. How’s that possible?
Maybe it’s because I work six to seven days a week. All day shifts, and then I go straight to the studios to dance. My work schedule does not allow me the option to audition. The one time I asked if I could have a day off when J Lo was looking for some dancers who had ballet experience, they informed me sure, if I never wanted to come back.
It forced me to be honest with myself. My personality rubs people the wrong way. I couldn’t risk losing a job that pays for a chance at being a backup dancer.
I step over my neighbor who either passed out before he made it to his door, or his wife locked him out. Either way, this is not the first time I’ve stepped over his fat ass.
I’m freakin’ dreading Bella’s weekly phone call to check in. Last week she mentioned that P!nk had extended her tour. I’m terrified she’ll say, “Why bother.” She’s on tour—why continue to pay rent when you’re never home?
It’s hard to find good-paying jobs period. But finding a job that pays and allows you to chase a dream… well, that’s almost nonexistent.
A dream.
I snort in disgust at myself. I should have let that die that night. But much like all dreams, when the nightmares fade, dreams seem to reappear. And you find that even though you’ve lost years of training, you still have the talent and drive to try again.
Just one more time.
This flyer, it might very well be an answer. A quick fix. I need to do some research, but if all the rumors are true, exotic dancing, okay stripping, might be my ticket to at least paying rent and having clean clothes.
After unlocking the door, I let myself get used to the moldy smell. It only takes a few minutes for my nose to adjust to the odor.
Flipping on the light, I sink gratefully onto our small couch. Bella and I found it on a corner in West Hollywood. Some wealthy couple had sold their house, and we grabbed it right after the movers put it on the curb with a sign saying “Clean and free.”
Kicking off my jazz shoes, I wrinkle my nose. This is crazy. I have to do laundry. I’m a dancer for heaven’s sake. I can’t go around wearing dance clothes that smell.
“Screw this.” I pull out the paper. This is it—it’s a sign. The auditions are in two days and early in the morning.
God, I could make it. Grabbing my phone, I punch in the club’s name and smile at all the pictures that come up.
“Hello money,” I whisper. It looks classy and it’s in a trendy part of downtown.
“The Pussycat.” I test it out on my tongue. I wonder if it’s all nude or only topless? Whatever. I’m a professional dancer. If the rumors that these girls make half the money they supposedly make are true, I’m in.
Getting naked in front of people is no big deal. You can’t be shy in the dance world. You’re constantly getting undressed and dressed in front of people. Although I’ve never used a pole to dance, how hard can it be?
“Please let this be legit.” I close my eyes and breathe out. This is it. Like this could save me. I make my way to the bathroom and fill the sink with my vanilla shower gel, dumping in as many dance clothes and panties as it can hold.
My stomach growls, reminding me of the need to eat. I think I have an apple and a slice of pizza left over from earlier. I try hard to bring food home from work or eat it there. But it was Annie’s birthday two days ago and our manager had Dominos delivered.
As I nibble on cold pizza that tastes like cardboard, my mind searches my current wardrobe. I need something to audition with.
“Whatever.” I’ll wear a cute two-piece set. Black jazz shorts and a black cropped dance top. I’ll be the best dancer anyway. Who cares what I wear or look like? As soon as I get some cash coming in, I’ll invest in stuff.
It does say I need a dance routine and that I need to use the pole. Hmm.
I prop my right leg on the wall and stretch, my face touching my knee. I love the slight burn I feel whenever I stretch like this. What’s the last movie or show I saw that had strippers? I think J Lo was in one, but who has money for a movie? Not me.
Again, how hard can this be? I spin and prop my left leg on the sink.
Do I dare?
Of course I dare. After all, I’m me. Lowering my leg, I toss my half-eaten straw-like pizza into the trash can. Grabbing the apple, a glass of water, and my phone, I drop into bed.
It’s the one thing I kept from my old life. The bed is old, but the mattress was expensive. It’s the only good thing I own. Propping a pillow behind my head, I pull up YouTube. Instantly, I start laughing after I type Flashdance and watch the dancer in the movie. I need to be ready in two days. Not much time, but meh, sleep is overrated. I’ll catch up after I get this job.
I jump up. First I need to wring out my laundry and a take a shower. No matter what, I’m going to learn this routine and nail this audition.
ANTOINETTE
Present
“You want me to dance… for you?”
“Yeah, Cookie, I’d love you to dance for me.”
My pulse is pounding and not because I’ve been dancing. It’s because of this man. He’s hands down the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. He has thick dark hair and his eyes… holy God. They’re blue, but not like light blue—I’m talking sapphire blue. Kind of ironic since that was suppo
sed to be my stage name, but my brain froze. Went blank and Cookie came out.
I breathe in some air as I turn my head away from him. It’s either that or take a step back. And I don’t do that. Not even this tall, tattooed stranger can make me stand down. I never will. He seems to have the same thoughts since he hasn’t moved either.
I start dancing. He’ll have to move then. I motion to the DJ in the booth to start the music as I roll my neck and get into position.
“Maniac” starts up again and still, he hasn’t budged. I spin then stop right in front of him. He smirks and a small dimple appears.
Who is this guy? Now that he’s so close, I can read the tattoo on his neck. Loyalty. This man has to be important since everyone is treating him like a king.
I let the music take over. It’s always like this when I dance. No one is here—it’s the music and me. I’m free.
Except this time, it’s not only me. A dark stranger who smells fresh and clean with a hint of smoke invades my space.
“Stop,” he commands, and the music turns off. He doesn’t even yell. I guess his voice carries.
Those piercing eyes of his pin me to this spot. “Sweetheart, you know this is a strip club, right?”
I blink at him, forcing my eyes away from his full lips, which seem to mock me. What is wrong with me?
“Full nude.” His voice is like honey and bourbon, gravelly and gruff.
“Yes.” I nod. My hand instinctively goes to my tight bun.
“As spectacular as your moves are, you can’t strip.”
It’s almost like he’s slapped me. My cheeks are on fire. How dare he say that. Of course, I can strip.
“I can strip,” I snap, and suddenly, I hate the way he looks. No one that handsome should act like him.
“We’re done.”
He turns, and just like that, it’s over. I guess… Holy shit, I’m seriously screwed. The thought that I might not get this job never occurred to me.
“Wait,” I call after his retreating back, but he jumps off the stage and heads straight for the stairs.
Panic fuels me. Turning, I try to talk to the skinny redhead. “Excuse me.” She seems deep in conversation with a dark-haired stripper. They’re engrossed in something on her clipboard.
I look around trying to figure where the steps are to get off the stage. Screw it. I leap off, causing the blond guy who was sitting next to the dark asshole to scream, “Awesome.”
Ignoring him, I walk up to the redhead. “Excuse me,” I say again. She stops talking and her eyes narrow at me.
“Sorry, but…” I take a deep breath. “I need this job. I get the feeling that guy—”
“The owner,” she says and crosses her arms. “That guy is one of the owners.”
“Oh.” I swallow. Figures he’s the owner. “Well, yes. I feel like maybe he didn’t get to see all that I can do.” I hold my shoulders back as I look around the room. Everyone is staring, not even hiding the fact. I don’t care what they think. I need the job.
She looks at me. Her eyes go up and down my body. She’s not exactly friendly, and I’m somewhat startled at how different she looks up close. The amount of makeup she’s wearing worked fine from a distance. But up close, it seems to have found all her wrinkles.
“I’d love for you to consider me. I’m a hard worker. I’ll show up on time. I’m honest…” She looks down at her clipboard as if I’m not even talking.
Perfect. She hates me.
“Honest?” She snorts. “This application is missing all sorts of important things, starting with your real name, address, and social security number.” She shoves her clipboard in my face.
My eyes dart around the room again as I think of how to defend myself. Ninety percent of the strippers are back to talking, which leads me to believe I’ve struck out again.
I close my eyes for a second. This is it. If I can’t get a job taking my clothes off, I might as well give up.
“Look, I…”
“Crystal. That’s my name.” She puts the clipboard under her arm. “Tell you what. I’ll hire you.”
“Oh, thank God.” I almost burst into tears.
“Don’t thank me yet. The owner said ‘no’ to you. You need to sing your sob story to him. Trust me, he loves to listen to sob stories.” She smirks and turns back to the dark-haired girl standing next to her.
“Stop staring, Destiny.” She elbows her.
“Right. Sorry, surprised that’s all.” Destiny’s eyes look like they’re bugging out of her head.
Crystal smiles at her, then at me, and I frown. Clearly I’m missing something.
“If he’s still here, he’s in the office. You can go now.” She smiles. Half her teeth have red lipstick on them.
“Downstairs, first door to the right. It says ‘office’ in case you get lost.”
Before I can say thank you, she’s turned her back to me, calling names off her clipboard.
I open my mouth, then shut it. This might be one of those times when I should stay quiet and find the owner. Turning, I make my way down the stairs. Unbelievable. The owner is that hot tattooed guy. My stomach flips and it’s all I can do to ignore the butterflies and excitement.
Whatever it takes, I need to make this man give me a chance, make him understand that I’m 100 percent committed. First impressions are not my strong suit.
“You will change his mind,” I chant, stopping outside the office door. My hand goes up to knock, only I hesitate.
“You need this job. Do not think about him—think about the money,” I whisper.
Breathing deeply, I knock before I chicken out. My stomach flips and dips as I wait. God, my heart is racing and I’m sweating. What is wrong with me? Resting my hand on my stomach, I try to steady my breath. I haven’t felt like this since I was fifteen. It’s the same excited feeling I used to get before I’d go out and dance. That excited rush—your moment to shine and be great. It’s been gone for so long I almost forgot that alive-yet-sick feeling. The adrenaline would pump my heart so fast that for a second, I could barely move, but I did move and once I started dancing, I wasn’t me anymore. I’m trying to decide if I might have to puke or if I should knock again when the door opens.
“Oh my God,” I whisper as my eyes lock with his.
He leans against the doorframe. My eyes travel over his body, taking him in. It’s almost as though I can’t help it.
Clearing my throat, I begin. “I’d like a word with you, please.”
He raises a dark brow and those full lips of his curl into a smirk. I stare and acknowledge the truth.
One. I’m in over my head. He has an unfair advantage by being so gorgeous.
Two. He’s dangerous.
Three… I can’t remember what three is since he’s moved aside to let me enter. I take a step and go forward. No matter what, I always move forward.
AXEL
A loud knock makes me wonder if I should get up and leave. I’ve been in the office all of ten minutes and this is the second person to disturb me.
“Christ, Blade, I’ve got to go. God only knows what’s wrong now.”
He snorts. “Good luck. I’m calling Church for tomorrow morning.”
“Remind Ryder to get the feed from the Sun Valley warehouse.” I end the call, tossing the phone on the desk. Blade knows how I feel about pretty much everything. He’s been my brother and best friend since middle school.
He’s the president of the Disciples, a job he was born to do. I would easily die for him or any of my brothers.
Loyalty.
It’s all I require. You can fuck up so many ways, but if you turn on me or one of my brothers and become a fucking rat…
You’re dead to me.
It’s the way I am. Can’t help it. When I’m done, I’m done. I don’t have it in me to be phony. You betray my trust, my complete devotion to you? I don’t forgive.
Ever.
Swinging the door open, I stare at the one face I was hoping I wouldn’t
have to see, though I can’t help but grin at her.
“Oh my God,” she whispers, and my traitorous cock hardens. Which pisses me off.
“I’d like a word with you, please.” She gives me a quick nod. I say nothing because I’m trying to pinpoint what it is that’s so interesting about her. She’s beautiful, but that doesn’t impress me. I’ve seen a lot of beautiful women and have never felt like letting them in to share my time.
Is it her violet eyes, which slant like a cat’s and have black lashes? Maybe her lips, which are red and plump? No. It’s that fucking beauty mark on her upper lip. That has to be it. She reminds me of a waifish Marilyn Monroe. I almost ask her if I can order us a pizza. Instead, I step aside so she can breeze past me, her eyes taking in the room.
For an office, it’s large. Derrick’s huge wooden desk is impressive. He had to have it, stating it reminded him of the desk John F. Kennedy used in the White House.
Monitors line one wall, letting us see all the activity of the club. And our giant black safe is in the corner next to the couch. She stops in the middle of the room.
“I…” She looks up at me, then looks away and starts again. “I did not let you see my full potential. See, I need the job so—”
“Why?” I cut her off.
“What?”
I walk around her, and that fucking scent of hers follows me as I sink into the leather computer chair. As I fold my hands on my abs, my eyes rake over her from top to bottom.
“Why do you need to strip? Somehow I get the feeling this is your first time.” I cock my head.
She licks her lips and takes a quick breath. “I’m a dancer. Out of work. You know that money thing,” she snips. Her eyes get big as it must dawn on her that she’s sassing the boss.
I can’t help but smile. There’s something about her. I lean forward and grab a pen from Derrick’s desk clicking the end on and off.
“I’ll be honest, sweetheart. What I saw out there was incredible.” Her face brightens as a small smile graces her berry-stained lips.
“Really? I thought you hated it.” Her delicate hand goes to her neck. “Does this mean I have the job?” She smiles, and Jesus Christ, it changes her whole persona. If she was beautiful before, she’s exquisite when she smiles.
Ignite (The Disciples Book 4) Page 3