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“I don’t need to talk. There’s nothing to talk about. It’s nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
Yeah, it’s such “nothing” that I’m here in the club several days later fixated on any sandy-haired guy whohappens to be in the room.
At least Henry let it drop after that. I don’t want to get other people involved in what was basically an ill-advised fling.
I spot my replacement heading out from backstage and give the crowd a final twerk before scooping up my tips and taking my break. The club music softens to a distant thump when I retreat to the dressing room and drop into a chair in front of a makeup mirror. I chug some water and wipe some of the sweat off my body before I notice the club manager Mark striding into the room.
“Hey, there you are,” he says.
“Here I am. Just taking a break before Caleb comes back.”
Mark and I don’t interact a whole bunch, which is perfectly fine by me. He handles the schedule and the paychecks; I dance when I’m supposed to dance and collect my tips. So if he’s back here he must have something specific he wants.
Mark takes a chair from the bureau next to mine and sits facing me. “So, are you looking for extra shifts during Pride?” he says.
Right to the point. Club managers don’t typically have a ton of time to beat around the bush.
“I could,” I offer cautiously. I’m already working so much between this and the café and my volunteering, but I can’t really turn down extra shifts. The money would beincredible, especially during Pride.
“Look, we’re going to need everyone we can get,” Mark says. “Pride is always intense, and we lost Daniel last month. So if you want the shifts, they’re yours.”
“Email me the schedule and I’ll grab a few,” I say. “I could use the cash.”
“Fantastic. And hey, if you have a friend or something…”
“My friends aren’t dancers, sorry.”
Mark shrugs. “Couldn’t hurt to try.”
He leaves me alone to rest before I have to get back out there. Within minutes, the email hits my inbox and my phone pings. Mark must be more desperate than he let on.
I sigh inwardly. June is going to be a crazy month. At least the volunteering will end in the first week. That’ll take some of the pressure off. And hey, maybe working a bunch will be good for me. It’ll keep my mind off Luke. I can hook up with some guy from out of town who’s only in Seattle for Pride and get Luke out of my system. That’s healthy, right?
I’m not going to answer that question, even in the privacy of my own head. The answer is painfully clear. But it doesn’t matter. Healthy or not, itwillhelp me move on from this weird thing with Luke.
My break is tragically short. Soon enough, they’re calling me to go out there and replace Caleb. I fix my hairand outfit in the mirror, chug a little more water, then get out there as Caleb is hopping off the stage.
The moment I’m back under the whirling lights, my thoughts drift away. I’ve always enjoyed this aspect of dance. Motion helps clear my head. Something about using my body settles my mind in a way no drugs or sex ever could.
Even so… Within minutes, my eyes are drifting back to the sandy-haired guy in the crowd. He’s definitely looking at me again, his desire unmistakable as he eyes me up. I put my back to the crowd, and it’s partially to break that steady eye contact. Do I want this? I should want this. Wasn’t I thinking a moment ago that I need to get Luke out of my system? Yet a louder part of me flinches away from the idea of going home with that guy in the crowd — or anyone else.
Why? Why do I feel like I want to run backstage and get away from all the attention? That’s so … not me. Usually I’d bask in it, especially if I was feeling kinda shitty about a guy. This should be the perfect antidote to my Luke woes, but instead the attention of that man on the dance floor is making me want to run for the hills.
Calm down, I urge myself.
I turn back around, and he’s still there, but he’s not as fixated on me. I try to focus on the music, on the dancing, on doing my job and collecting my tips. That’s what I should be here for. The hookups were always a side bonus.I just can’t shake those looks and my strange reaction to them, though.
I get through my shift, but it’s more of a struggle than usual. The music doesn’t flow through me as easily. I lose the beat at times. Rather than letting my body go, letting it all happen naturally, I fight to stay with the rhythm of the club music and give the patrons something worth looking at. Always, the sandy-haired guy in the crowd, the guy who isn’t Luke, weighs on my mind. I know I could hop down from the stage and saunter to the bar. I know he’d buy me a drink and we’d chat a little and I could wind up at his place tonight. Would he look enough like Luke in the dark or would the differences between the man I can have and the man I actually want become even more stark?
I don’t want to find out. The second my shift is over and I see Caleb approaching, I all but run backstage. I gather up my stuff and clean the sweat off my body, swiftly changing into something I can wear on the bus, something that actually covers my ass.
Just before I might run, I pause, staring at my reflection in one of the mirrors. I look … frantic. That shouldn’t be the case. I should have everything I want and need right here. A hot guy in that crowd is ready to give me anything I could ask for, but I find that all I really want is to get out of here and go home.
I grab my bag and slip out of a back door and into the comparatively cool night air. I head for the bus stop asswiftly as I can, not checking behind me to see if anyone follows me out of the club. I don’t take a real, full breath until I’m on the bus and rumbling away from downtown Seattle.
Seriously, what the hell is wrong with me? I’ve never left the club like this. I’ve turned down guys before, sure, but it was usually because I was tired or they weren’t my type or I had to be at the café early. I have no such excuses tonight. This is about Luke and nothing else.
Shit.
