Page 17 of The Flavor of Us

The moment I step through the employee entrance, Eugene’s sharp voice carries over the noise. “Well, well, if it isn’t our favorite little hurricane.”

I grin as the Alpha steps into view, arms crossed over his chest. His bleached-blond hair is slicked back, and he’s wearing a sequined blazer over a graphic tee. It seems he hasn’t changed much in the months I’ve been gone which just makes it easier to step right back into the routine I left.

“Hey, Eugene,” I say, my grin widening.

He studies me for a beat, his dark eyes sharp as he takes me in from head to toe. “You look good, kid. Rested. Happy, even. Don’t go screwing it up by falling off the stage tonight, yeah?”

I laugh, shaking my head. “You know me—I always land on my feet.”

He snorts. “That’s what I’m afraid of. Go get ready, Tati. And don’t make me regret letting you come back.”

I toss him a salute as I slink past, weaving through the backstage chaos. The dressing room is buzzing with energy—girls in various states of undress, stage lights reflecting off glitter-dusted skin, and laughter ringing loud enough to drown out the muffled music from the main floor. Goddess, it feels like a second home even as chaotic as it is.

“Tati!”

A few of the other girls spot me, their voices rising in excited squeals as they pull me into a flurry of hugs, compliments, and a barrage of questions. I’ve never enjoyed the racket but in the moment, I preen from the attention.

“Where the hell have you been?” one asks, her dark red lips forming a perfect pout.

“I thought you were never coming back!” another chimes in, adjusting the straps on her rhinestone bra.

I shrug, brushing them off with an easy smile. “Needed a little break, that’s all. Had to clear my head.”

They seem to accept that answer, though one of them—Casey, tall, leggy, and always three steps ahead of everyone else—grins wickedly as she sidles up beside me.

“Well, your head might be clear, but your scent is telling a whole different story, Tati.” She wiggles her perfectly manicured brows, and the girls burst into laughter.

I roll my eyes, even as heat creeps up the back of my neck. “Oh, shut up, Casey. Good to see you’re still here,” I throw back playfully. Casey was always one of the ones out looking for an Alpha, eyes peeled for the perfect pack to slip into. I guess she still hasn’t found what she’s looking for, not that it matters to me.

But they’re already giggling and whispering, throwing me teasing looks as I head to my station and rumble through my bag for one of my tried and true outfits—a sleek black number with rhinestones lining the edges. The plunging neckline shows off just enough and the high slit leaves my legs on full display. The chatter continues around me, but as I swipe on my red lipstick and fluff up my short, green-highlighted hair, I feel that pang in my chest—the one that’s been sitting there ever since Ellie left.

This is the part of the job I don’t always love. The giggling, the gossip, the endless talk about who they’re going home with aftertheir sets. It’s all part of the atmosphere, sure, but it’s never been whyI’mhere.

I’m here todance. It’s the only way I’ve ever been able to truly express myself, to let go of the noise in my head and justfeel. I shake off the feeling, plastering on a sharp grin as I finish my makeup and head toward the lineup where Eugene’s waiting, clipboard in hand.

“Alright, Tati,” he says, giving me a once-over before raising an unimpressed brow. “It’s been a while, so let me make one thing clear—if you mess this up, you’re on table duty until you remember how to walk in heels.”

I let out a sharp laugh. “You wound me, Eugene.”

He smirks. “Get out there and remind them why they missed you, kid.”

The music changes, the familiar opening notes of my number filling the air as the curtains part and the lights hit the stage.

Stepping onto the platform feels like slipping into the deepest part of myself—where confidence comes as naturally as breathing, where every step, every sway of my hips feels deliberate, controlled,mine. I can feel the crowd’s energy, hear the scattered cheers and whistles, see the way heads turn as I move across the stage with the other girls. But none of that matters.

Becauseshe’s here.

My eyes lock onto the front row, and there she is—Carleen.

She’s leaning back in her chair, one arm draped casually over the backrest, her sharp brown eyes fixed on me with an intensity that makes my knees weak. She’s in one of her fitted black blazers, her hair styled in soft, natural curls around her face, her lips pressed into a faint smirk.

But it’s hereyesthat do it.

She’s not watching the stage. She’s not watching the other dancers. She’s watchingme.

The music pulses around me, the lights flashing across my skin, and suddenly, every movement I make feels like it’s forher. I roll my hips, my fingers trailing over my thigh before I turn, arching my back slightly as I glance over my shoulder—and yeah, she’s still watching. Her gaze feels like hands on my skin, like warm breath against my neck, like something heavy and possessive andAlpha.

Every time I glance her way, every time I let my fingers trail down my thigh or toss my hair over my shoulder, her expression darkens—her lips part slightly, her chest rising just a little faster. It makes me shiver. Makes my stomach twist and my pulse race. And goddess help me, I lean into it. I dance forher, my body following the beat but my focus never leaving those dark, hungry eyes.

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