Page 86 of Eye Candy

I loved him.

Remembering the crowd, I dropped to the ground and snaked my way back up the front of his body, ensuring people were looking at me, not Chase.

“If it gets too much,” I whispered, “squeeze my hip and I’ll get you offstage.”

He nodded again, and as the vocalist on my track hit her runs, I turned so my back was to his front and split my legs in a wide V, then lowered my torso so I was parallel to the ground. It was a very similar position to the time Chase had made me come over the sink in his apartment.

There was plenty of space between my volunteer and I, but from the audience’s perspective, when I wiggled my hips, it would look like I was grinding into his lap. The crowd cheered. I reached behind me, appearing to grip my ass for the lucky volunteer. Really, I was positioning a balloon between our bodies. Isqueezed, and when it popped, glitter exploded over Chase’s front and down my back. I made a surprised expression and the audience howled with laughter like they always did. The gag was a guaranteed crowd-pleaser—some people liked the premature ejaculation joke, others the Lucille Ball expression, and some enjoyed the allusion to being showered in cum.

I love my job.

I spun around and made a show of pushing Chase down on one knee, propping my foot up on his raised leg to make it look like I was treating him to some illicitly placed bubbles when really, I was shielding him from view.

“Are you OK?” I whispered under the noise of the crowd.

His eyes traced from my crotch, right in front of his face, up my body to meet my eyes. He nodded. “Perfect. Keep going.”

I handed him my pin. “Pop my left hip.”

He shook his head. “I might miss.”

“No, you won’t.” I lied. He might. It was difficult to do without practice.

But Chase thrust the pin, and to the relief of both of us, the balloon popped while my skin remained unpunctured. I feigned shock as another part of my body was revealed to the audience. When Chase reached out and stroked the bare triangle of my hip between the elaborate straps of my underwear, I nearly jumped. I didn’t let audience members touch me.

But Chase wasn’t just an audience member, and his warm hand cupping my hip felt like an electric current, zipping straight to my pulse points.

This wasn’t for any viewer’s benefit—they could hardly see him, angled as I was.

This gesture was for me.

Our eyes met and I swallowed, suddenly the nervous one.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he murmured.

“Me too.”

I popped a butt balloon for something to do. The crowd cheered, bringing me back to task. The song was nearly over.

“Once you’re offstage, go left, then the third door down is my room,” I whispered in his ear. “Wait for me there.” I pushed Chase through the wings, pretending he was a treat for later.

Then I stabbed my remaining four balloons in rapid succession and twirled as fast as I ever had. A few more twirls, a few more flourishes, and then I was free of the sequined bra, and I shimmied my pink pasties as if my life depended on it. Which it felt like it did. I wanted to be backstage with Chase.

The music finished and the crowd exploded into cheers. Sidestage, Sal was clapping heartily. I took a moment to bask in it. After all, this was what I’d been working my ass off for.

But I needed to find Chase.

Once I was through the wings, I kicked off my heels and pulled on the satin robe I’d preset there before hurrying barefoot down the backstage corridor.

My head had been so far up my ass in Canada, I’d convinced myself it was too risky to rely on anyone else and that I didn’t deserve help anyway. I thought I could fix my mess the same way I had made it—alone. But as it turned out, that was foolish. Coming up against obstacles that I couldn’t overcome by myself had been humbling for my ego, but also a gift in disguise. Now I finally understood that my biggest flaw wasn’t that I was an unconvincing socialite, or a talentless performer, or an incurable flirt. It was that I was stubborn, and refused help freely offered by people who cared about me.

Chase was perfect for me. He enjoyed that I was a flirt and a brat and a troublemaker. And I loved that he was a square and, underneath that, a dirty-talking sex machine. We were a perfect match, and I wasn’t going to let misguided pride mess up my life anymore.

The thing about beingthat bitchwas she always believed she deserved the best of everything. And why not? She did. We all did.

I skidded to a halt in front of the door to my dressingroom/closet, gripping my bubble headpiece when it threatened to topple off my head.

When the door opened, Chase stepped out, a shy smile splitting his beautiful face, making his glasses hike the way I loved so much.

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