nine #2
I sank back against the couch. "He came in once before. Asked for me. We talked, but it didn't end that great was sort of awkward."
Sam was quiet for a second. "Damn. What happened this time?"
"He booked the room and I had a feeling it was him before I even went in. We talked for a while, and... I don't know. He asked me if I wanted to leave with him. Just to get out for a bit."
"And you went?"
"I did."
"I need more details on what leave with him means?"
"He had this driver waiting outside. Took us to this bakery, we went to Rittenhouse, talked the whole time... and I ended up back at his place."
"What kind of finance guy has a driver?" Sam asked.
I smile creeped on my face as I let out a laugh. "That's the same thing I said."
We laughed in unison before she continued. "That's a lot. The last thing I was expecting you to say. How are you feeling?"
"I feel anxious. I woke up on his couch this morning, and it hit me like-what did I just do? Not because anything happened, but just... how it looks. How fast it was. Like, it felt good in the moment, really good actually. But now I keep thinking maybe I messed up."
"You didn't mess up."
"I left kind of suddenly. I think he could tell something flipped in me."
"Babe... it's okay to want something nice for a night. Especially if it felt safe."
I swallowed. "It did. But now I feel exposed. Like he saw too much of me."
Sam sighed gently. "That's not a bad thing, though. And you didn't do anything wrong. You followed a good feeling. You're allowed to have that."
"You followed a good feeling. You're allowed to have that."
I nodded, even though she couldn't see me. My fingers twisted the edge of my blanket.
"I just hate not knowing how I came off," I admitted. "Like... what if he thinks I'm the kind of girl who just goes home with anyone?"
"You're not," she said firmly. "And anyone who spent more than five minutes with you would know that."
"But what if-"
"Amira." Her voice cut in, gentle but sure. "He's a grown man. If he invited you out and spent the whole night trying to get to know you, I really doubt he's sitting somewhere judging you for saying yes."
I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.
"He said he really liked last night," I murmured.
"Then believe him."
There was a pause, and I could almost hear her grinning through the line. "Also... a bakery? The park? A penthouse?? Like, be for real. That's kinda dreamy."
A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. "It was."
"See?" she said brightly. "You're just overthinking. Let yourself have a good memory."
I leaned back against the cushions. The apartment was quiet, sunlight finally starting to stretch through the blinds.
"Thanks for picking up."
"Always."
We sat in silence for a second, the good kind.
Then Sam cleared her throat dramatically. "Are you coming in tonight or should I expect another mystery man to sweep you off your feet?"
"I'm coming," I said, laughing. "I'll see you tonight."
"You better. Love you, A."
"Love you more."
I ended the call, the smile still on my face.
And for the first time all morning, the tightness in my chest felt just a little bit lighter.
The walk to the club felt longer than usual.
Not because of the distance, but because my mind wouldn't shut up.
Every few steps, I checked my phone, half-expecting a message from Brooks, half-dreading one.
But nothing came. Just the dull buzz of city life-cars rolling by, people talking too loud on their phones, the occasional echo of heels against pavement.
The streets were packed tonight. Black Escalades. Benzes. Even a couple Maybachs-shiny, spotless, windows too dark to see who was inside. A quiet kind of chaos. I didn't think much of it. Probably another tech exec birthday or political fundraiser across town. Philly had no shortage of those lately.
The club sat tucked on the east side, across from the sleek, glassy face of the new press building. A spot where reporters lined up for presidential press briefings just hours earlier. Funny how close everything was-the suits, the speeches, the stage.
I pushed through the back entrance and made my way into the dressing room. Music thumped faintly through the walls. Perfume and setting spray already thick in the air. The usual.
Samantha's stuff was already there-her duffel on the bench, her lashes on a paper towel next to her mirror. I dropped my own bag beside hers and sat down for a second. Just to catch my breath. Just to think.
The room buzzed with chatter-lipsticks clicking shut, heels being adjusted, girls stretching in between costume changes. Tati was already in her bodysuit, flipping her curls over one shoulder as she grinned toward the group.
"Tonight might be good," she said, tugging on one of her boots. "I heard the president's doing some address downtown, so I'm hoping that means his little entourage ends up here after."
"Rich men always want a drink after pretending to care about the country," someone muttered.
Sam caught my eye in the mirror and gave a low smile. "We'll see. It's got that energy though."
I nodded, just barely. "Yeah."
I wasn't in the mood to talk, but I also didn't want to be alone with my thoughts again. So I slipped into my heels, changed into something sheer and glittery, and waited for my name to be called.
About an hour later, the music shifted. The beat got heavier, the lighting warmer.
A few of the other girls were mid-stage, and you could already see the difference in the crowd-more tailored suits than usual, expensive cologne hanging in the air like fog.
Someone was throwing twenties like they meant nothing.
I stepped out onto the stage when it was my turn.
And just like that, the world narrowed.
It always did when I danced. Not because I loved it, but because it was the only time I ever felt in control. No second-guessing. No trying to decode a man's expression. Just me, the lights, and the way the room looked up.
The bills came fast. Some shouted. Some sat still and stared. One guy near the front corner had on a navy suit and shiny brown shoes and barely blinked.
I didn't think about Brooks.
I didn't think about anything.
Until it was over.
I gathered my things slowly backstage, wiped down, changed, then wandered out toward the bar to grab a water. I wasn't in the mood to entertain anyone else tonight.
The bar was packed. Suits everywhere. The air smelled like whiskey and cash, and the bass in the walls thudded like a second heartbeat. I made my way to the far end of the bar and slid onto a stool, keeping my head down.
"Vodka soda?" the bartender asked.
"Just water," I said.
He nodded and turned away.
I glanced around the room without looking like I was looking. Same men, different night. But the energy was different. Tighter. More eyes watching. More corners claimed by expensive shoes and guarded stares.
A man in a navy suit stepped up beside me. Tall, clean-shaven, crisp white shirt that probably cost more than my rent. He didn't look at me at first-just placed his drink order and leaned one elbow on the bar.
Then he turned, eyes flicking to my face.
"Busy night," he said casually.
"Guess so," I said, keeping it light.
He gave a slow nod, gaze lingering for a second too long. "You from here?"
I tilted my head slightly. "Yeah."
He looked amused. "Didn't think this side of Philly produced girls like you."
I raised a brow but said nothing. My water arrived, and I reached for it.
He sipped his drink. "Club's different tonight. Lot of noise. Important people."
"Is that right?" I asked, still not looking at him directly.
He chuckled, low and knowing. "Don't gotta be shy with me, sweetheart. I know how this works."
I turned my head just enough to glance at him. "How what works?"
He grinned like he was doing me a favor just by speaking. "You hang around, smile a little, I pick the room-hell, I'll even tip good if you're not boring."
I blinked once. Let the silence hang between us.
Then I slid off the barstool without a word.
His voice followed me as I walked away. "Alright then. Your loss."
I didn't turn around.
Didn't give him anything.
I weaved through the crowd, past men who looked just like him-pressed collars, watch faces catching the light, eyes hungry like they'd bought the whole world and wanted change back.
I made it to the dressing room without realizing how fast I was moving.
And when I shut the door behind me, the bass finally felt far enough away.
I sat on the edge of the vanity and let out a slow breath.
This place.
This life.
Some nights it felt almost beautiful. Almost easy. And then there were nights like this-when men with money looked at you like a vending machine they didn't need to read instructions for.
I hated how they assumed access.
Like being a dancer meant being for sale.
Like their bank accounts were a shortcut to someone's soul.
I stared at myself in the mirror. Smudged eyeliner. Glitter still clinging to my collarbone. I didn't feel like myself. Not the real version, anyway. Just the one they expected.
And I couldn't wait to be done with it.