Page 19 of Play the Game

Not now, anyway.

“Sorry,” I mutter.

He curses under his breath and mumbles something about me being lucky that I’m hot. My stomach churns, and I wonder what Russ would do if I threw up on his shoes. Actually, he’d probably still bark at me to get on stage and then force me to clean up my own vomit after my shift.

I pull back the curtain, level my shoulders, and quickly morph intoCherry the Stripperinstead ofScottie the Desperate.

One hour leftuntil my shift is over and done with. Russ always puts me on the first shift and saves the veterans for the late hours, knowing they’re the ones willing to go above and beyond. To do what? I’m not exactly sure. But considering it’s behind the doors labeledprivate, I have a pretty good idea.

“Hey, babe?” I turn and meet Chastity’s furrowed brow across the short distance between poles.

“Yeah?” I breathe out.

“Some guy is asking about you.”

I quickly look around the Cat House, weaving in and out of the strobe lights that give me a headache, and half expect to see one of the hockey players, even though they had a game.

“Where?”

Chastity’s bottom lip juts forward. “Hmm, I don’t know where he went. He was staring at you for a long time, though. I’m surprised you didn’t notice him.”

Of course I didn’t notice. I go fully internal each time I’m on the stage.

Surprisingly, the next hour flies by, and although Chastity and I have been watching for the mystery man, we both come up empty-handed. I climb off the stage with a bra full of cash and practically skip to my car after changing. I secretly check the stats of the hockey game on my phone and smile to myself when I see that the Devils won again. Not wanting to use too much of my data, I quickly power down my phone and slip it into my bag.

The parking lot is dark and eerie because Russ is too lazy to replace the lightbulbs out back, and he’s too cheap to hire any security to escort us to our cars. Some would say that Russdoesn’t care about his employees, and as I walk to my car in the pitch black without an ounce of protection, I’d say they are right.

“Cheap ass,” I mumble under my breath.

Usually, I have one of the other girls with me, and I occasionally give them a ride home, but tonight it’s just me.

I open my bag to grab my keys but stop as soon as I hear the crunching of gravel. I glance down, and I’m on the flat asphalt without even a pebble nearby.

“Is someone there?”

Seriously, Scottie?

Suddenly, I’m the star of a horror film. Now who isn’t reading social cues correctly?

I firmly grip my keys and slip the pointiest one through my first and second finger while making a fist. I quickly revisit the hazy lesson my father taught me when I was young on how to punch correctly, and though I’ve had to latch onto the memory a few times throughout my life, it isn’t a skill I naturally possess.

I can pretend, though.

Spinning with the wind, I hold my hand to my chest and look at my surroundings. Shutter, the stray cat that won’t disappear because I continue to feed it, scurries into the alley in fear, and it causes the hair along my neck to stand.

“Scottie Monroe?”

The voice comes from the left, and I turn a little too fast and lose my footing. Two hands catch me by my upper arms, and when we come face-to-face, a chill races to the soles of my feet. His eyes flash with something dangerous, and the first thing I notice is the tattoo peeking up from the collar of his long-sleeve shirt.

“Get your hands off me,” I demand, proud that I sound confident. All those years of fending off mom’s boyfriends are paying off. Thankfully, it wasn’t all for nothing.

The man chuckles, and it sounds like he has a throat full of loose gravel. “Relax, princess.”

I growl and fling his hands off me. He goes willingly, but in between choppy laughs, he manages to let me know why he’s at my place of employment. “I’m here to make sure you got the message to pay.”

My first thought is my mom. But she’s too far off to even recall she has a daughter half the time, so that leaves one person. I think back to the phone call from William, and there’s a sadness lingering that I can’t get rid of.

“Let me guess.” I feel defeated. “You know Ike?”

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