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As time slowly ticks by, my stomach grows more uneasy. Even as I put my mask over my eyes, my hands are shaking, and the room spins. I don’t realize I’m swaying until Lori’s arms come around to catch me from stumbling.
“Whoa, Lizzie, you all right?” she asks.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” I assure her, brushing off the concern. “Just a bit nervous.”
“Don’t worry about it. And don’t let Bella get into your head,” she says, helping me secure my dress with the numerous strategically placed snaps. “You look amazing, your titties are on point, and I know your dancing is going to be great. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if you win.”
“Thanks, that’s very sweet of you. You look great too.”
And she does. She’s dressed in a flowing lingerie number that accentuates her hourglass figure and large breasts. “Thank you! Where did this dress come from, by the way?” Her gaze glides admiringly over my costume. “I’ve never seen it before.”
“I made it myself,” I say, unable to hide a bit of pride singing in my voice.
Lori appears impressed. “Oh, you totally are going to win!”
Normally, I’d have graciously accepted the compliment with a witty remark, but I don’t feel up to it. I’m afraid if I open my mouth, I’ll get sick all over myself.
Marlene pokes her head into the room, and when her eyes land on me, I know it’s time. “About fifteen minutes,” she says.
I got this.
I’m going to win.
The words play on a loop in my brain as I head for the stage.
Already, I can hear the crowd whistling and roaring with excitement. Their energy is enough to push away my nerves and finally give me the boost I need. With every step, I find my confidence return, and by the time I’m taking my place, I’m ready.
Three or four more girls before me, and then it’s my turn.
13
DILLAN
The lights suddenly dim, and the music amps up. I direct my attention to the main room. All around us, the other patrons begin to whisper excitedly, and those who are milling around or chatting immediately stop what they’re doing. One quick glance reveals that the dancers have disappeared.
A smooth female voice comes through the speakers. “Helllllllo there, gentlemen,” she says, and lights begin to flash on the stage. “You’re in for a special treat this evening. To celebrate our grand reopening, we have a friendly little competition going for our dancers. Each girl has put together her own special performance. And the best part is, you all get to decide who wins.”
“What do we get?” a guy yells over the crowd, making the others laugh.
The woman, who is still cleverly hidden, simply chuckles at his question. “You’ll have to wait and see, handsome.”
Our table is fairly close to the stage already. Even so, Gavin and some of the guys turn their chairs to completely face the stage, while Jorge, Colt, and I remain where we are.
The music changes, and the lights come up on the stage, revealing the first dancer of the night. She’s tall and slender, with straight dark hair hanging down her back. Her face is decorated with heavy makeup, which enhances her sharp features and calls attention to her eyes. I see Gavin immediately fixate on her, his mouth dropping open in awe.
The way the dancer moves is fluid and sensual and reminds me of Lizzie—a thought I immediately dismiss. I’m not here to indulge in sentimental memories.
I keep sipping my drink, watching the show with only mild interest. Once the first dancer leaves, another takes her place and does her own dance. They can move; I’ll give them credit for that. Clearly, whoever did the hiring at Sinner’s Lounge has an eye for talent.
“So, back to our bike talk,” Jorge says after a while when he notices I’m not paying attention.
I nod, taking a swig of beer. “Yeah, I’ve been riding that tour for years. From Nashville, you hit the open road, wind through the Smoky Mountains, and trust me, it’s a biker’s paradise…”
I fall back into comfortable conversation with Jorge and Colt about the best biker routes and bikes in general. I’m so lost in the conversation that I almost miss the MC announce another dancer. I just happen to glance at the stage when I see something that instantly draws my attention.
Not something. Someone.
A red-haired dancer. Her face is obscured by a mask, but damn, her aura is spectacular. Even covered by a black dress, I can still see her luscious curves, highlighted by the way the thin fabric clings to her frame. I fight the temptation to think of her, the woman who has managed to wedge herself firmly into my thoughts. It’s not her. The dancer doesn’t move much at first, only lightly sways to the slow music of “I Wanna Be Loved by You” by Marilyn Monroe. But as the beat picks up, so does she.
