Page 9 of Reclaimed

The small room has two pieces of furniture. An armless chair sits in the middle of the space and a padded leather sofa is pushed up against the far wall. I can only imagine the sort of activities that take place in here, but I shove the unwanted imagery from my mind. Juniper used to work here, it’s where she met Isla, and both of them were adamant that the place wasn’t seedy. That doesn’t mean certain dancers don’t take it upon themselves to earn extra tips for favors. The thought of Isla in such a compromising situation sours my stomach with jealousy. It’s becoming apparent over the last few weeks that I want her to myself.

I settle onto the couch, careful not to touch it too much with any exposed skin. I’ll wait here until she shows up and explain the situation. I’d be no better than those fucking guys if I force her to dance for me just because I paid for it. Hell, I’m happy to spend the time having a conversation and making sure she’s okay. And after, I can walk her out to her car to confirm she doesn’t run into trouble.

Or I can leave now before she knows what I’ve done.

4

Isla

I notice Aiden’s absence as I finish my set.

Then I hate myself for noticing.

I think I’ve started to look for him as much as he looks for me. He’s not hard to miss, sitting front and center during each of my shifts. I want to know if he’s here during the other nights of the week but I’m too afraid to ask. Too afraid of the answer telling me I’m not as special as he makes me feel.

As I exit backstage, I see Lucien and Cyril leading a group of belligerent drunks out the front. They were obnoxious during my set. Distracting, really. I’m glad to see them thrown out, but I wish it had happened sooner.

My stiletto heels click across the floor as I move to the private room. I sigh at the filled card. Another hour and a half of dancing. This is my least favorite part of the night, but the extra money is an easy way to pad up my savings account. And I only have to do it on Fridays.

I open the door and slip inside the red-light room, flipping the switch to indicate that someone’s inside. A plaque beside the door will glow red until I switch it off.

The music piped inside plays a rhythmic beat, and my hips begin to sway as I spin around.

“You—” The words die on my tongue.

“Me,” Aiden Powell grins from the leather couch.

I keep up my provocative swirl despite the flutter in my stomach and raise an eyebrow. “Getting bold, are we?”

“I can see why you’d think that.” He pats the seat beside him and then cringes.

“It’s clean,” I laugh at his expression.

“Why don’t you come sit down.”

“On your lap?”

He shakes his head. “Next to me.”

“I’m confused.” I slowly cross the room. “I think you’re the first man to not want me to straddle him.”

“I didn’t say I don’t want that,” he rasps, sending flutters to my stomach again.

I sit down beside him. “What are you doing here, Powell?”

“I bought your dances.”Dances.Plural.

“All of them?”

He nods. “There were some men sitting beside me.”

“I saw them,” I cut him off, hoping he moves onto the point.

“They were saying some shitty things about you.”

I scoff and cross my arms. “That’s nothing new. You should hear the things men shout to me on and off the stage.”

“They wanted to do things to you. To degrade you. They were going to coerce you…” he trails off. The knot on his throat bobs on a swallow.

---