Page 18 of Body Language
Her eyes were locked onme.Not flirty, but focused, intentional, and sharp. Her body was swaying side to side, but there was a pattern like she was moving to a beat only I could hear.
She glided across the pole, spun once, then bent low, her body still rolling like waves.
Then she did something that made my gut tighten. She lifted her right leg slow and deliberate, toes pointed toward the floor…and then flexed it to the left. Directly at two men across the table.
A soft pivot. A dancer’s move. But her eyes never left mine.
That was a signal.
I didn’t even blink. I adjusted my wrist, leaned back in my chair, and started watching the two she pointed at. One was already counting his chips like he won the round. The other kept looking at him… like they knew something I didn’t.
Until I did.
A bluff. A tag team. They were playing me. The little head tilt. The too-casual glance. The way their hands moved in sync, betting and folding on a rhythm like it was rehearsed.
Got you, bitches.
I matched the bet. Then raised and watched them fold like they had never played a hand in their life.
They tried to hide it, but that split second of surprise gave them away.
Both of them looked at each other like how the fuck did he know?
And I just smiled. Real slow.
Then I looked back at her.
She was still dancing, back to looking like nothing happened.
But her lips curved just enough for me to see it.
She knew I caught the message.
I wanted her even more. I wanted to know everything she wasn’t saying.
The poker game was over. Stacks cleared. Chips collected. Men shaking hands like it hadn’t just been a room full of quiet betrayal and fake math.
“Good game, Ken.”
“Next time, I’m coming for you.”
“We headed out to the main floor. More fine ass girls about to hit the stage.”
I nodded, dapped a few of them up, smirked like I hadn’t just taken their money and a little pride too. They left in packs, ego limping behind them.
Meanwhile, I sat there, sipping my drink like I hadn’t been staring at the reason I won all night.
Her.
She was finishing her last set. The music slowed. Her body still rolled like smoke.
And when that spotlight dimmed and the bass faded out, she stood tall, wiped her hands on a towel, and grabbed her robe off the stage bench like it was just another day.
She was about to leave, all unbothered and goddess-like, but I wasn’t done.
I stepped in front of her before she could pass, close but not too close, and dipped my head low so only she could hear me.
“You always warn strangers mid-spin? Or was I just your charity case for the night?” I whispered.
