Page 73 of Dance with Me
By the time they parked, Natasha was ready to jump out of her skin. This was a terrible idea. She shouldn’t be here at all, let alone with Dimitri. They should leave. Skip the show and go straight to the restaurant. Or go home. Or anywhere other than here.
What would he think of her? Yeah, he’d been all sweet and accepting in the hot tub, lulled by sex and bubbles, but he might not be so nonchalant when faced with the reality. And, god forbid, what if they were recognized? She’d gotten caught up in his passionate words, in the idea that Donna andThe Dance Offweren’t a threat to her very survival in this city. They should turn aroundright nowand go home.
But then Dimitri was at her door, helping her out. “Let’s go.”
Taking hold of his hand, she swallowed back her doubts and excited the car.
They’d debated whether it looked worse to walk with a cane or crutches. Natasha felt like crutches indicated a temporary injury, but Dimitri argued that a cane would be better for navigating tight, dark spaces, like the strip club.
In the end, after a lot of testing, she’d worn the boot he’d picked up for her after her first hospital visit. He wasn’t happy about her walking on her ankle yet, but she wasn’t going to sit around forever. And as she pointed out, she wasn’t alone. He was there to help her.
She didn’t miss the way his chest puffed out at that.
Entering the Planet was like the weirdest kind of flashback. The bouncer didn’t recognize her, and he didn’t bat an eye at her boot as he checked their IDs. Inside, it smelled the same, a combo of vodka and perfume. The décor was mostly the same, too—lots of plush red material and shiny black surfaces, and mirrored walls so you didn’t miss anything if you turned away from the action on stage. Tiny lights twinkled on the ceiling like stars, the only nod to the “planet” in the name. Natasha had always thought they should have tried harder to adhere to a sci-fi theme, but she didn’t own the place.
As usual, the clientele was mostly men, but there were always a few women. It seemed like there were more women tonight, maybe because of the burlesque show. A group in the corner looked like a bachelorette party.
Natasha didn’t recognize the bartender or either of the waitresses making the rounds. But then, it had been over five years since she’d worked here, and her tenure had only been for a few months. It was kind of a letdown, though. She’d expected to see a familiar face, or for someone to remember her. She’d amped herself up for it, and now the nerves and adrenaline had nowhere to go.
Dimitri led her to a trio of armchairs. Once she was settled, he stood with his hands on his hips. “Crap.”
“What is it?”
“I want to get us drinks, but I don’t want to leave you here alone. You should come with me.”
She shook her head at him. “Don’t worry,Macho.I used to work here, remember? I’m fine. Besides, no one is going to mistake me for the talent.” She plucked at the modest neckline of her simple black mini dress, the nicest of the few wash and wear dresses she’d brought with her since most of her going-out wardrobe had been ruined or was back at her apartment wrapped in airtight plastic. She wasn’t even wearing heels. She couldn’t, with the boot. “Go get us drinks. I need one.”
Maybe then she’d forget about being here.
With a nod, Dimitri headed for the bar, and she let out a breath. If he got the sense that she was bothered by being here, he’d probably insist they leave. And while part of her wanted to leave, the part of her that loved dance was also curious about what Renee had in store. While she waited, she turned her attention to where two women twined around poles at either end of the narrow stage. One of them was quite good, her body strong and flexible, but the other relied more on bouncing her fake tits around.
Natasha glanced down at her own breasts, and the fairly modest amount of cleavage showing above the neckline of her dress. The irony was, she’d gotten the boob jobafterworking here, using money earned on this very stage. Babe Planet clientele appreciated a good show, which was why the better pole dancer would take home more tips tonight than the bouncing boobs. Patronizing the clients with talentless jiggling wouldn’t make you more than a few pity tips, no matter how pretty your face or how good your boob job.
Dimitri dropped into the chair beside her. She reached for her drink, then snatched her hand back. Alarm streaked through her. The man in the other armchair wasn’t Dimitri.
The man smiled wide. “Maya.”
The name gave her a jolt. No one had called her that in years. All the adrenaline she’d entered the Planet with came rushing back. Of all the people to recognize her, why did it have to be this guy?
The rank smell of liquor and sweat emanated from him. Natasha fought the urge to wrinkle her nose. Already, old habits fell back into place, just from being here. Keep boundaries, put the men in their place, but don’t make them feel ashamed. The final rule was twofold. Men who felt shamed didn’t spend money and didn’t come back. But a drunk man, when embarrassed, was dangerous. In those cases, they called in the bouncer to handle it.
“Hi, Rob,” she said, keeping her tone even.
If he wasn’t gone by the time Dimitri came back, this could end badly. She kept her voice low, but firm. “Are you here alone? Where are you sitting?”
“Maya, you haven’t been here in such a long time.” He leaned toward her and slid a hand down her arm. “You were my favorite.”
Ick.Gently, she plucked his damp hand from her and returned it to his armrest. “No touching, Rob. Remember? And I don’t work here anymore.”
Slight emphasis on “work.” Maybe reminding him that she was a real person with a job, and not his personal fantasy, would help establish boundaries.
Nope.
His eyes lit. “That means we can touch each other.” He pitched forward toward her again.
Reflexes kicked in. She planted her feet on the floor to spring up and away, but her ankle twinged, throwing off her balance. She fell back onto her seat. Throwing up an arm across his chest, she held his weight off her as he tried to clutch her arms with cold, clammy hands. So gross.
“Rob, go back to your own seat.” She made her voice low and severe, hoping it would cut through the music and his own drunkenness. “Gonow.”
