So it was time to get a move on.

Though, while Brett cooked, I went back out to the deck to grab my phone.

But before I came back in, I sent the first text I’d ever instigated to Axl.

You’re right. You’ve always been

right. We really need to talk.

I hate that went bad this morning.

Let me know when a good time is

for you.

I’m on at the club tonight. But any

other time, I’m yours.

Just let me know.

Then Brett and I had breakfast.

After, Brett got dressed and introduced me to my bodyguard of the day, a man with no neck, a buzz cut that exposed several scars on his scalp (yikes!), with a very full beard, wearing a badly hidden shoulder holster under his well-cut suit jacket.

His name was Sylvester.

With me covered, Brett kissed my cheek, told me unless he heard from me, he’d see me when I was done at Smithie’s that night to pick me up, and he took off.

I took a shower. Got ready to face the day.

And with Sylvester, I headed to Smithie’s.

In all that time, Axl did not reply.

So yeah.

I guessed I was up.

And it was my turn to do the work.

Crap.

CHAPTER FIVE

Because We Love You

HATTIE

I had to admit, in the beginning, when Smithie and Dorian suggested the change to a Revue, I loved the idea.

But I was worried.

See, at Smithie’s Club, strippers made a lot. And they could do that without doing lap dances.

And although, if there was a fabulous slab of marble I wanted to buy or I felt like a new outfit that was beyond the reach of my normal clothing budget, I was in to do a few lap dances to get them, mostly, I lived well off just salary and tips.

So the Revue worried me, because we still got tips, but we didn’t dance all night. Depending on the schedule Ian set (and he shifted it nightly so patrons wouldn’t become accustomed to what was on offer), it was anywhere from four to six dances a night.

And although Lottie had been making a mint off much this same schedule for years, first, she was famous, and second, she was a downright inspirational stripper.

The woman had serious moves.

But I’d been worried.

Sure, I had moves.

But I was no Lottie Mac, Queen of the Corvette Calendar and the most famous stripper west of the Mississippi, which was also the most famous east of it, seeing as Vegas was west, and Lottie was even more famous than any girl in Vegas.

So, not only was I worried because I thought my incoming cash would reduce, I thought it’d be boring, being there nine to two (which was actually a cut in hours, it used to be seven to three, but the last headliner—me—went on at 1:45 and then it was pure strippers for the next hour) and only working for maybe twelve to twenty minutes a night.

But Smithie had tripled the already substantial cover charge in order to hike our salaries.

He’d also increased the price of drinks.

And even if I wasn’t onstage as often, preparing for my next dance was a total do-over in hair, makeup and costume, not to mention making sure our new stagehands had whatever I was going to use sorted.

Topping that, I had to have new material all the time. I had yet to dance the same dance twice and wasn’t set to recycle for another two weeks. That was some serious work, having that number of routines performance ready.

In other words, that amount of prep and rehearsal took a lot of time.

With relief, I’d found quickly that I didn’t have anything to worry about.

Smithie’s used to be a hip hot spot.

Now it was a super-hip hot spot.

The Revue was a smash hit, even the papers were writing about it.

And Dorian had set up some social media that had gone from around a hundred followers to over a hundred thousand in just a week.

As such, the velvet ropes were jammed outside to the point they had to turn some people away.

And my tips were off the charts.

Before the Revue, I never had a night less than five hundred dollars in tips.

Since the opening of the Revue, I hadn’t made less than seven hundred in tips, and the opening night, it was over two thousand.

So even though it was weirdly more work, what with having to have so many routines, and those routines having to be amazing, it was more money.

And it was a lot more fun.

This was what I was thinking when Sylvester and I walked in the back door and down the dancers’ hall.

I wasn’t thinking about fun when I heard the voices coming from the main room of the club.

I hesitated.

“Everything cool?” Sylvester asked when I did.

I stared at the open door to the club, hearing Ryn’s voice, and Lottie’s, and in the midst of thinking I’d turn right around and text Ian, asking him to tell me when the club was empty so I could rehearse, another thought invaded my head.

This thought being it was time to grow the heck up.

These were my friends.

And I’d done them wrong.

I needed to fix that or face the consequences if I wasn’t able to.

Because, just like Axl didn’t deserve me sending him very public mixed messages about where I was at with him, my girls didn’t deserve me acting like a twelve-year-old who didn’t know how to handle her own emotions.

“Yes,” I said to Sylvester, though it was a lie. “Everything’s cool.”

Then I might have tossed my hair (just a bit), and forcing a lot more confidence in my movements than I was feeling, I strode through the door.

Ryn and Lottie were there, that I knew.

Pepper was too.

She was onstage in some leggings and a workout bra.

The other two were sitting side stage.

All eyes came to us when we showed.

And looking at them, I realized I saw them often, I avoided them all the time, and I missed them like crazy.

They’d done their work in trying to reach me.

It was again my turn.

So I walked right up to them.

They were all eyeing me, but mostly eyeing Sylvester and me.

I’d get into Sylvester later.

Priorities.

I looked right at Lottie.

“I’m sorry I didn’t go to Elvira’s. It was wrong and I knew it and I felt bad about it. So bad, you wouldn’t believe. But that night, my dad called me a whore …”

Gasps ensued, from all of them, with Lottie’s eyes narrowing and Pepper’s face getting red.