Page 10 of Lovers Fate

“I moved here three years ago. Tried a semester at Stockbridge University, and it didn’t work out. Now I work here.”

“They have a university?” I ask incredulously, never having heard about it before.

There is so much I don’t know.

“It’s a new school. Ivy League. It opened four years ago and keeps the rich small-town feel like the old days. The town has maintained its aesthetic, and Halloween is big around here. The only difference is that now you see electric cars and old homes equipped with keyless entry and smart cameras. Stockbridge is one of those small-town gems everyone wants to move to. I believe people find Stockbridge appealing because not many places like this exist. That’s why the rich don’t sell, and the poor can’t afford to live here, but like every other place, there’s the occasional run-down motel and strip club to hire broke bitches like us,” she says with a laugh. The modern lights accentuate the glitter on her tan skin.

“Thanks for the history lesson,” I say softly.

“Can you dance?” “Can you dance?” she asks, her green eyes wide with amusement. “Do you have a type of music you like to dance to?”

“So far. I enjoy listening to music from the ‘80s, ‘90s, and alternative rock genres.”

She nods as if she can hear the music in her head. “Not bad. It’s better than the auto-tune and AI-generated shit nowadays. The crowd will love the change. During mask night, they play Halloween-themed songs. Most of the girls here like it, so they don’t have to see the fucker’s faces when they give them a lap dance.” She slides four hangers off the rack and plucks one off. “Here.” She hands me a hanger with a black-and-white scrap of fabric. She walks over to where the accessories are and grabs a red piece of round foam. “This would look adorable on you, paired with your sneakers.”

I realize it’s a clown outfit, give her a small smile, and briefly look down at my shoes. “Thanks.”

Her brows pinch. “You look familiar.”

My stomach churns. The red piece of foam slips from my fingers. “I just moved back,” I say truthfully. I quickly pick it up and clench it in my fist. “I haven’t visited Stockbridge since I left years ago.”

“Oh, well… Welcome back,” she says awkwardly. “In that case, relax, walk around, and get to know the girls. Maybe get a feel for the customers. You’ll soon learn who the regulars are. Look cute. Collect a few tips. No pressure. You can dance tomorrow or the day after. Practice at home or whatever. Anyway, what’s your name?”

“Thank you, Rachel. Call me Trix.”

She points at the curtain. “Well, Trix. The changing room is back there.”

I put on the brand-new black-and-white-striped thong, fishnets, and garters. The matching bikini top covers my nipples and not much else. Stretchy strings essentially hold it together.

I sit in front of the mirror, looking around to find something that will cover my face so no one will recognize me without touching any of the makeup brushes or beauty blenders.

I find a tube of white face paint and apply it the best I can with my hands. Then take black eyeliner and draw a sinister smile over my mouth. I color my eyelids, draw a line on the bottom and top, and add a bit of red lipstick over the black with my finger to complete the look.

I disregard the two girls snorting cocaine and walk out of the dressing room through the dark hallway, scrunching my nose at the smell of stale perfume, smoke, and alcohol. I pause when I notice a petite woman serving at the bar wearing a corset.

Her black hair is so dark under the lights, it shines blue. Black eyeliner lines her eyes, her nose is small, and the highlighter she applied to her cheekbones glitters like tiny diamonds over her sharp cheekbones. She’s stunning. Her waist is small, positioned above her flared hips, and she wears ripped tights over toned thighs. Her tits aren’t done like the other girls currently waiting tables.

She’s different from the other girls. She doesn’t seem like she is on some type of drug. When she smiles at the guy seated at the bar, I notice it doesn’t reach her eyes. You can tell she doesn’t belong working in a place like this. Underneath the makeup and outfit is an innocence about her. And the man she’s serving at the bar can sense it the same way but for very different reasons.

I walk to the far left and sit, leaving two seats between me and the man babysitting his beer. He does a double take when he finally notices me, lowering his gaze to my exposed skin, causing the tiny hairs to rise in warning. His gaze continues southward, akin to a dull razor grazing my skin. But if I intend to earn money for a room tonight, I must handle this in my own way.

“What’s your name?” he asks above the thumping music.

“Whatever you want it to be,” I reply in a fake sexy voice.

I catch a glimpse of the girl behind the bar. The man smiles and tilts his head to openly stare at my tits. I want to slap him, but I can’t. It’s not like he’s being disrespectful. This is the perfect place for him to get away with his actions. I need to constantly remind myself that this is why men come here.

“I like that,” he says.

“I bet you do.”

“What should I call you?” he asks.

Is he dumb? He is free to refer to me as he pleases, as long as he refrains from touching me.

“Like I said, whatever you want it to be.”

“How about Harley?”

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