Page 67 of Scent to the Feral Cowboys
I picked up the bills, folding them carefully before tucking them into my garter. Two hundred dollars for fifteen minutes of dancing that went unappreciated. In my ballet days, I'd rehearsed six hours for performances that paid less.
At least the money was real, even if the connection wasn't.
I stepped out of the private room, closing the door on my disappointment and sliding back into the character of Lucky—confident, unaffected, always in control. There would be other clients tonight. Other chances to prove I hadn't lost whatever indefinable quality had once made me special.
I zippedmy hoodie back into place.
My muscles ached pleasantly—the satisfying fatigue that came from a night of good work. I'd made decent money despite the distracted Alpha. Those frat boys had been too drunk to count their cash. They’d just kept pushing bills at me.
As I wiped away the layers of makeup and glitter, I caught Crystal's eye in the mirror. She mouthed "Waffle House?" and I nodded, though I knew I’d end up sitting around the table with the other girls, their plates laden with delicious pancakes and bacon, and I’d feel a little sad to eat the scrambled egg whites and turkey sausage.
But Post-shift breakfast had become our ritual, a way to come down from the adrenaline high of performing before heading home to sleep through most of the daylight hours.
"Did Mr. Black Suit come through?" Crystal asked, sliding onto the seat beside me. I scooted over so our asses both fit. She was in ripped jeans and an oversized sweater that made her look younger than her thirty-two years.
"Two hundred for fifteen minutes of being completely ignored," I replied, running a brush through my tangled hair. "He was on his phone the entire time."
"Ouch." She winced sympathetically. "Still, two hundred's not bad for being invisible."
"I guess." I shrugged, trying to shake off the lingering disappointment. "Makes me miss having an actual audience though."
"Honey, you had plenty of audience tonight," Jade called from across the room. She was counting a thick stack of bills, her lips moving silently as she tallied. We’d all already tipped out the bartenders and bouncers. "Those college boys were drooling.”
"Those college boys were obscenely drunk,” I laughed. “I almost felt bad taking their money.”
“Do not ever feel bad for taking advantage of drunk men,” Crystal paused counting, her eyes popping up to stare at me. “Drunk men never feel bad about taking advantage of us.”
I gathered my things; earnings tucked safely into an inner zip pocket of my bag. Six of us still lingered after our shift, all part of our regular breakfast crew. Their companionship outside work, even for a few hours at a greasy dinner, was something I hadn't expected to find when I'd first taken this job out of desperation. As Crystal and I started leaving the changing room, three coworkers ahead of us and one still taking her sweet time, an annoyed voice stopped everyone in their tracks.
“Seriously, someone left a curling iron on again.”
We all turned in synch, finding Stacy brandishing a hair tool in the air, threatening to use it as a sword, like always.
“I don’t worry about it anymore. We all know you’ll check before leaving,” Jade teased her, voice pushing past me and Crystal.
“You’re such a pain in the ass, Jade.” Stacy rolled her eyes.
“Yep. That’s middle name. Jade, Pain in the Ass, Cortez.” Jade blew a kiss.
"You guys ready or are we going to miss the midnight specials again?" Crystal asked, slinging her oversized purse over her shoulder and accidently hitting my arm. She made an ‘oops’ face at me. I shrugged. “I’m making someone else pay if I the food is full price.”
Our favorite diner called the specialty dishes they served between eleven and three midnight specials. I’d never tried any of them, though I’d been tempted. All were fatty, salty, and full of carbs.
"Do you think I should get the chocolate chip waffles?” Stacy mused as she grabbed her purse and heading towards us, apparently already over the curling iron incident.
"You always get chocolate chip waffles," Jade pointed out, rolling her eyes.
"Because they're consistently excellent," Stacy defended. "Why mess with perfection?"
“I always worry about chocolate chips in a cheap diner.” Tanya grimaced. “what if it’s really mouse shit?”
“You may have just ruined chocolate chip waffles,” Stacy groaned.
“You can do blueberry?” Vicky offered.
“Can’t do it. I’m loyal to chocolate.” Stacy shook her head vehemently.
We laughed, moving as a group toward the back exit. The place was truly sleeping now, not even soft music streamingthrough the overhead speakers. Everyone was gone. Or so we’d thought.
