Page 117 of Ewan

It’s a typical crowd, with their ages ranging from the late twenties to the early sixties.

I spot a couple of silver foxes.

So what’s up with feeling like I've been watched?

I’m sure any woman working in this field, or any kind of field, has felt like that at one point or another.

So I dismiss it.

Big mistake, it might be, but I won’t waste my evening trying to find suspects where there aren’t any.

As my performance truly ends, I gracefully pick up the cash, shove it into my bra, and sway my hips away from them in a wave of protests.

A few people are clumped together backstage, and the next two dancers rush to the stage as they dance together.

And then, there’s my grumpy boss.

He stares at me like I pissed in his coffee.

“Was it good?” I ask, panting, and he gives me a sour look.

“It was all right.”

It must’ve been great. Prickly characters like him never like to be proven wrong.

“Sure. It would’ve killed you…” I say, and without finishing my thought, I move past him to enter the backstage changing room.

I’m prepared for a rebuttal if he follows me inside, but luckily, I spend a few moments in peace before changing and getting ready for my next performance this evening.

EWAN

Earlier

Isthis woman out of her mind? Where has she been until now?

And what the hell happened to her?

Has she been this wild woman all this time?

The woman rolling her hips on the stage?

And have I lost my touch completely?

I can’t believe I’m seeing what I’m seeing, and I want to pinch myself.

Is this the same cutie rocking a pencil skirt who made me hard between my legs?

The woman with her arms around my neck?

The one who’s locked lips with me?

The one who asked me if I was a mobster?

Who is this woman?

Different scenarios played out in my head as I walked to the lit entrance of this place a few moments ago.

I was convinced I’d find a shabby place despite the fancy appearance and some losers salivating over the girls trying to make a quick buck.

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