Page 2 of That Girl is Trouble

Axel fucking Donovan.

The hardened leader of the Soldiers of Sin. Tall, tattooed, muscles for days. I’m not sure how it happened, but there was a time when, more often than not, it was Axe who owned my thoughts. It was Axe who was there when I was all kinds of fucked up and needed someone to ground me. With him, the quiet didn’t seem so bad. I never felt like I needed to fill it. Him just being there was enough. The silence was never suffocating with Axe.

And thinking that? Fuck, it feels like a betrayal.

Too often, I caught myself thinking of Axe when I should have been thinking of Jess. And then there were the times I let things get too far. Times when I wasn’t just thinking of Axe. When I fucking disrespected Jess’s memory, spit all over it, let my mind and body wander and lust after another man when I should have been mourning the one I lost.

“You okay?” Jade asks. She pulls the top half of my long, dark hair back and secures it with a pin. “God, you look hot. No wonder Rayna switched you to Fridays. They’re gonna eat up this look you got going on.”

I smile. Yeah, I certainly have a look.

When I started working here a few months back, I thought it would be easy. Smile, look pretty, do some swings around a pole in my underwear. An easy buck. An easy thrill. But getting the attention of a man when there’s another half dozen mostly naked women around is harder than it looks.

“Tits aren’t enough,” Jade had said to me. “You wanna make bank, you gotta do something more. Wearing the same bra and panty sets their wives wear won’t make them open their wallets. These guys don’t want to pay to see something they can get at home.”

And god, she was right.

Jade’s got her whole green-haired anime goddess thing going on, and another girl, Lola, wears latex and chains and a leather choker around her neck. Barbie has giant boobs and long, bleach-blond hair, and then there’s Deena, who always has a long furry fox tail popping out of her panties. I didn’t get the appeal of that one until Jade explained that the end of the tail was, uh, inside her. Like, in her butt. I couldn’t see a scenario where that would be comfortable, but regardless, it’s her thing.

Each girl here has a signature look, one that makes them a hell of a lot more interesting than the run-of-the-mill, lingerie-wearing, bikini-sporting stripper.

My ex-therapist inspired my look. And maybe Axe and Jesse influenced me a little too. I’m always too young. Too young to curse, too young to date, too young for sex. At just shy of nineteen, I’m old enough to legally take my clothes off for a few bucks but too young to take the edge off with a drink before I do it.

So that’s what I went with. A plaid schoolgirl skirt, a flirty open blouse that ties under my breasts, a bow in my hair. It creeped me out at first, but when I slid into that little skirt and saw how much money I made on a fucking Monday, I was sold. They see my pretty face and my cute little white panties, and they open their wallets.

Rayna pushes through the door of the dressing room, her frizzy blond hair tied into a long, messy braid that falls down her back. “You’re up in two, Kitty,” she says with a smile.

I grin in return. The forty-something manager of the club has easily become one of my favourite people. She’s mean in the way my sister is—a little curt and easily irritated—but when she takes a liking to someone, she’s not at all as cold as she comes off. That’s Triss in a nutshell.

“I’m ready.” I push up from my chair and secure a dark blue bow to the back of my head.

“Better be, honey,” she says. “Fridays bring in all the fuckboys. Anyone gets too fresh with you, tell Seb right away, and he’ll boot the fucker out, got it?”

“Got it.”

I scan my reflection one more time, my breath thick in my throat. It’s always hard to breathe right before I go on. A jolt of excitement courses through me, my heart beats in my ears, my palms break out in a sweat. It’s the thrill I’m always hunting, the rush I’m starved for.

Jade squeezes my shoulder. “Knock ’em dead.”

“And put ’em on their knees,” I say back. She blows me a kiss as I push through the door and into the main stage area.

The club is aptly named the Garden. It sits at the edge of Eden Hills, and the owner is some bigwig from the city who really loved the idea of naming his sinful little strip club after the Garden of Eden. Most of the club is in hues of greens and golds, the leather of the couches and chairs a sleek black, the bar a dark wood. The stage is a half-moon against the back wall with a set of stairs on either side, and a bright neon sign hangs behind it with The Garden spelled out in green. And then there’s the pole, dead centre and gleaming silver.

Approaching the stage, I pass Lola, who’s topless, her blond and black hair tousled after finishing her last dance. She twirls her fingers against mine and winks. “Kill it out there, baby girl.”

“You know I will,” I say, but my voice is barely audible over the thrum of my pulse and the sudden bass rattling through my chest as “You Got A Killer Scene There, Man” by Queens of the Stone Age booms over the speakers.

The heels of my black bandage stilettos click on the hardwood as I strut onto the stage. I start at the pole, swinging around it once before hoisting myself up and spanning my legs straight open. Men hoot and holler, but I focus on the music, a slow tempo of vibrations pulsing through me as I close my eyes and let my body take over.

My mind empties, and as I twist and turn and climb the pole, the erratic beat of my heart steadies, and my breathing calms.

A calm breath. That’s what it takes. To bend to the music, to curl around the pole and feel how it steadies and balances and supports each movement. Jade taught me that when I stumbled onto her pole dancing class six months ago.

“When your hands are on this piece of metal, it becomes a part of you,” she’d said. “Let go of all your thoughts. Be mindful and in the moment. That’s all you need to master this form of dance.”

“And exceptional upper body strength,” I’d muttered as I’d fallen on my ass for what felt like the fiftieth time.

She’d laughed. “That too. But that’ll come. If your head’s all focused on something else, you’ll never be fluid enough to focus on your form. It’s like meditation. When you come in here, leave all your shit at the door and commit to your practice. Learn to live in the silence.”

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