Page 97 of Trip Through Your Wires

Between my classes, the store, and night’s at the club, my ass is dragging. The only thing I really look forward to each day is talking to Jake. I love talking to Ellery, of course. She is my best friend, and I love her wholly. But I am beginning to understand how vital Cruz is to her because I am starting to feel that way about Jake.

We’ve always had a connection, but it’s stronger now. Intense, and at the same time, natural. He may be hundreds of miles away, but hearing his voice every morning and night reminds me of what’s real and gives me strength to get through my nights at the club.

Hearing his voice also reminds me of the sheer carnality we have for one another. I don’t just like him. I want and need him. He’s vital to my existence. Jake is beyond special. In fact, it’s possible he might be the one.

We now know everything there is to know about each other, and yet he still wants me. He doesn’t care that I kept a secret from him. He understands and accepts me exactly as I am.

That’s why I pitched for him. Why I showed him that part of me I’d lost. I needed him to see that I was more than who I am now. That beneath my snark and bite was a girl who once had a dream that was so intrinsic to who I was, letting go of it meant letting go of a part of myself.

That’s why I hate lying to him about the club. Jake trusts me to be the keeper of his deepest secret, and I know I can trust him with what I had to agreed to. If anyone understood what Langston Richardson had on me and what it could do to not only my future, but the futures of all those I care about, it was Jake. But I can’t tell him because I know if I do, he will want to help, and I can’t have that. I would never forgive myself if he got tangled up in this and risked his future. And Ellery and Cruz, they’re finally happy. They don’t deserve to have their lives ripped apart now.

But if I can get something on Richardson then I won’t have to lie to Jake much longer. I can put all of this behind me, and never mention it again. And I will…mark my words. With each day that passes I grow more and more determined to find something that will not only get me out of my agreement but nail his ass to the wall because I am more motivated than ever now.

Jake’s got an offer on the table. I don’t know the specifics or even which team—he’s going to tell me when I see him in Charleston because he wants to talk about it in person—but he says it could be good for both of us, and I am all ears.

Wherever he lands I will be happy for him. It will take a bit of work to see each other, but I will make the effort because he is worth it. Seeing him achieve his dream will make me happy, and if I am done with this bullshit club and working here at nights no longer hangs over my head, then I will have more freedom to see him do so. I would even be willing to let him buy me a plane ticket now and then because that is what relationships were—give and take, pride be damned.

“Well, evening sugar,” Mamma Louise greets me with a wink as I stroll into the dressing room on Monday night. “Is tonight the night?”

“Hmm?” I ask absentmindedly. There are only five days until I see Jake in Charleston and my mind is on that and nothing else.

“That smile on your face,” she laughs that hearty laugh that makes her boobs shake. “What else could it be? Money and men, the two that do it for me every time. And you haven’t mentioned a guy, so I assume it’s the ones that make the girls here flip— Hamilton, Jackson and Franklin.”

I shake my head and laugh. “The only President a man would throw at me is Washington, maybe Lincoln, if I’m lucky.”

“I don’t know, doll,” she clicks her tongue. “With your face, not to mention that shape of yours, I see nothing but big bills in your future.”

Mamma’s been trying to teach me all she knows about dancing, but I’ve been doing a good job of pretending to be horrible. During my break when we step outside on the back deck and show her what I’ve learned, she looks at me sadly.

“What shape?” I laugh. “I’ve got no boobs, and from what I can tell, the customers like their waists tiny, and breasts ample.”

Ellery always laughs when I compare our two bodies. She has curves in all the right places, and her rack is unreal. My body, on the other hand, has remnants of the athlete I used to be. Sure I’ve got a trim torso, but my thighs are thicker than any of the girls here, and my ass is full. My boobs barely fill a B-cup, but Jake loves them, so I guess that’s a win.

“Honey,” Mamma smiles. “It’s not what you have, but how you use it. That inner light does the rest.”

I don’t know what kind of inner light I have, but some of the girls here do shine on that stage. Cherry, for example, has a halo around her when she dances. An aura of ethereality that makes the guys drool.

It’s not like I care or have ever cared about beauty standards. My mother was a pageant queen and I’d run as far as I could in the opposite direction for as long as I could remember. I don’t care how I stack up against those who are, well, stacked because I’ve always been comfortable in my own skin. But this place was all about beauty and I didn’t want any part of it. I’d play the timid card as long as possible to make sure I stayed off that stage.

“Now Mamma,” Cherry saunters in, wearing a white silk bathrobe and platform heels. “Everyone knows the only thing that can light up a woman’s face that way is a man. So spill it, Delta. Who’s the guy?”

Out of all the dancers, Cherry is the one I’ve talked to the most. Not because she wants to braid my hair and have sleepovers, but because Mamma is always telling me to watch her routines and ask her questions.

“No guy,” I shrug. “Mamma is right. I’m just anxious to start making some cash.”

“Maybe you can stand on stage in your itty bitty black bikini and twirl that tray of yours.” She looks me up and down and grins. “Boss seems to like it. Maybe the other men will, too.”

Mamma flicks her eyes from Cherry to me, brows pinching. Cherry’s right. Richardson does seem to keep a close eye on me. I always assumed it was because he was making sure I wasn’t doing or saying something that would reveal to anyone the real reason I was here. But even I can’t deny it doesn’t seem to be that anymore, and clearly, others are noticing too.

The idea of Richardson having any ideas about me makes my skin crawl because I know he not only has a wandering eye but satisfies it. I’ve seen the way he disappears from time to time, walking through a side door with his arm around the girl that cleaned up my vomit that first day, only to return a short while later, adjusting his sleeves, and running a hand through his hair.

I wonder if that’s part of the business Richardson conducts behind that black door. Was the club some kind of high-end whore house? He did say something about all the staff being tested. In fact, I recall the words he used were “clean” because the clients were “family men,” and “respected.”

Holy shit! Was that why there were bungalows on the back of the property? Weekends were for families, after all, which would explain why the club was closed on those days. It would certainly explain the animosity between the staff and dancers, as well. One group was about selling fantasy through art, while the other did so with their bodies.

I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of it before. The painfully obvious was usually not true, but in this case, it had to be. None of the clients were referred to by name, there was no sign on the gate, nor any discernible markings anywhere to indicate it was a business. Hell, even its location implied secrecy. One didn’t have to be Jessica Fletcher to figure out what was going on, which means Mamma and the dancers know, clearly. I mean, the disdain for the staff in front is clear.

Shit, is that why the dancers gave me the cold shoulder when I first arrived? They thought I was one of Richardson’s girls that he brought in to serve his clients, so why was I taking up space in their dressing room?

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