Page 34 of The Playboy

I wanted to blend into the sides of the club.

And usually, besides the last time I had been here, I was able to make that happen.

But when this stage had become vacant, I wasn’t going to miss out on the opportunity, so I’d climbed the ladder once the dancer got off, and I had taken my place on top of the narrow platform.

I needed to be here tonight.

In my head, I swore I said that every time, but this evening felt extra important because this week had sucked. The failing grade on my paper had only been the beginning, and that shook me to my core. When I returned home from work the next afternoon, a new power cord had been plugged into my laptop since Jess had gone to the store, and I sat down and wrote what I would have the previous night. After I read over each paragraph, deciding it was in the best possible shape it could be in, I emailed the final copy to my professor, reiterating what I’d said in my first email, along with pictures of the broken cord to prove I wasn’t lying.

It wouldn’t make a difference, but I couldn’t go down without a fight.

I wished the bad vibes had ended there.

They hadn’t.

An issue at work had also arisen.

Something that still made my hands tremor every time I thought about it. Something that made me question why I hadn’t listened to Clem and quit so I could ride out the next two months in peace.

My coworker Malia and I split responsibilities. There were duties I preferred and duties she loved to do, so we swapped. We worked the same schedule—always. So, unless one of us texted the other to warn them that we weren’t coming in, it was assumed that I would help her out and she would do the same.

I’d gone in yesterday, thinking it was going to be no different.

Except she’d called in sick and never told me.

And even though we never crossed paths during our shift, I thought nothing of it. I was too mentally consumed to pay attention to a detail that large.

When my manager called me about an hour after I got home, asking why I hadn’t finished all my tasks, I didn’t know what she was talking about.

It didn’t occur to me that Malia had bailed—she wouldn’t do that to me.

But at the same time, where was my manager’s accusation coming from?

My manager couldn’t understand why I was asking about Malia’s attendance, and when she finally answered me, telling me Malia was sick, I explained how we partnered up. My manager didn’t think that was an efficient way to work. She actually wasn’t impressed with our decision at all. I wasn’t in a role where I was allowed to delegate. I was solely responsible for my duties, and they hadn’t been completed, and my manager was pissed.

Which resulted in a write-up.

My first in the four years that I’d worked there.

And I had to drive back to my job so I could get the warning in person and sign the paperwork.

To make matters even worse, Malia wasn’t sick. She’d come into Jess and Clem’s restaurant that night with some friends and partied until close.

I couldn’t understand why she’d do that to me.

I didn’t even bother to ask her, but when we passed each other in the employee lounge during this morning’s shift, I told her in the nicest voice I could muster up that she was on her own. I was taking care of my things, and she needed to accomplish hers.

The only people who had my back on this island were my sisters, and I couldn’t ever forget that.

But, damn, it had been a hard lesson to learn.

And I really just wanted this week to dissolve into thin air, so that was why I’d been so excited about coming here tonight. Why I’d been counting down the hours until I could stand on this stage and lose myself.

And why I was surprised that while I shimmied my body over the narrow platform, my arms waving over my head, my hips swaying, I felt something come over me.

Something that was incredibly strong.

Something that was achingly familiar.

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