Chapter 15
The music is louder backstage.
Or maybe it just feels that way because my pulse is already too fast, beating in my throat, my wrists, my fingertips like my body knows exactly what I just signed myself up for and is trying to file a formal protest.
This is insane.
I know it is.
There are at least five different moments in the last twenty-four hours where I could’ve backed out.
I could’ve laughed it off. Blamed it on Kya’s chaos or Shaina’s bad influence or the general insanity of being surrounded by pregnant women who think everything is a good idea as long as it’s entertaining.
Instead, I’m standing behind the curtain at Ambrosia with a number pinned to my hip, a borrowed pair of heels on my feet, and a thin black skirt that suddenly feels like it might be the most dangerous thing I’ve ever worn.
“Breathe,” Shaina says beside me.
“I am breathing.”
“You’re doing that thing where you look like you might pass out.”
“I am not going to pass out.”
“You might.”
“I won’t.”
Ana laughs softly from the other side of me. “You’re going to be fine, Allie.”
Easy for her to say.
She’s not about to walk out there.
The bass shifts, rolling deeper through the floor, and the MC’s voice carries through the speakers, hyping up the room with just enough edge to keep the energy high and a little wild.
The crowd is bigger than usual tonight.
Of course it is.
Amateur night always pulls more people in. Curiosity. Entertainment. The promise of something unpredictable.
The promise of women stepping onto that stage who don’t usually.
My stomach twists.
“You don’t have to do this,” Brooke says gently from where she’s perched on one of the backstage chairs, fanning herself again because it is hot as hell in here and she insisted on coming anyway.
Kya, on the other hand, looks like she’s about to explode from excitement. “Ignore her. You absolutely have to do this.”
Mac leans against the wall, arms crossed, expression unreadable. “You’ve already committed. Walking away now would be embarrassing.”
“That’s helpful,” I mutter.
“It’s accurate.”
I close my eyes for half a second.
This is happening. There’s no clean exit anymore. Not without proving every ugly little fear I’ve had about myself right.
That I hesitate. That I shrink. That I stay safe instead of stepping into something that might actually force a change.
No.
Not tonight.
Tonight, I’m done playing it safe.
“Number twelve, you’re up next,” one of the staff girls says, glancing down at the clipboard.
That’s me.
Of course it is.
My heart kicks harder, but something else slides in under it. Not calm. Not exactly. But focus. Because there’s one thing I haven’t done yet.
I haven’t looked.
I haven’t looked out into that crowd. I haven’t let myself see if he’s there.
Because if Jimmy isn’t—
No.
I shut that thought down immediately.
He’s here. He has to be.
Men like him don’t miss things like this. Men like him don’t ignore a challenge once it’s been thrown.
And this?
This is absolutely a challenge.
“Go get ’em, Allie,” Kya says, squeezing my hand.
“Try not to fall,” Shaina adds.
“Or do,” Ana says. “It might boost your score.”
“None of you are helpful.”
They grin anyway.
The music shifts again. The opening notes hit.
Slow. Recognizable. Dangerous.
“Pony” rolls through the speakers, low and heavy, and something in my chest steadies.
Because I know this song. Because I chose this song. Because this isn’t about being perfect.
It’s about being seen.
I step out onto the stage. The lights hit me immediately. Bright. Hot. Blinding for half a second until my eyes adjust and the crowd comes into focus in pieces.
Men at tables. At the bar. Leaning forward. Looking up.
The energy shifts the second I appear.
I feel it. Hear it. A ripple of interest moving through the room.
My nerves spike. My hands want to shake.
Then I see him.
It takes less than a second.
Jimmy is standing near the back, just off to the side of the main floor, exactly where I knew he’d be.Not front and center. Not making a scene.
Watching.
His arms are crossed over his chest, his expression set in that hard, controlled way he gets when something has already pissed him off and he’s deciding how far he’s willing to let it go.
And suddenly—
Everything narrows.
The lights. The music. The crowd.
Gone.
It’s just him.
Just the space between us. Just the fact that for once, he doesn’t get to look away.
The first line hits, low and smooth.
“I’m just a bachelor…”
I move.
Slow at first. Deliberate. Letting the music settle into my body before I give anything away.
My hands slide up my sides, over my waist, not rushed, not frantic, just enough to ground myself in the movement. The skirt sways with me as I shift my weight, one step, then another, hips rolling in time with the beat.
The crowd reacts immediately.
A low murmur. A few whistles.
I don’t look at them. I don’t care about them.
My eyes stay locked on Jimmy.
And I see it.
That shift. That moment where whatever he expected this to be—
It isn’t.
My pulse steadies.
Good. Let him feel it.
“Looking for a partner…”
I turn, slow, letting my back face him for one beat before I glance over my shoulder, meeting his eyes again.
Challenging.
Not shy. Not hesitant.
You wanted to look?
Look.
His jaw tightens. Even from here, I can see it. The muscle jumping. The way his shoulders go just a fraction more rigid.
Something in me sharpens. Because for the first time in a long time, I’m not the one reacting to him.
He’s reacting to me.
The music builds, deeper now, and I let myself lean into it.
Not rushed. Not desperate. Controlled. Every movement intentional.
My hands slide down, catching the hem of my skirt, lifting it just enough to show the line of my thighs before letting it fall again. I turn back toward the crowd, then back to him, making it clear without saying a word exactly who this is for.
“If you’re horny, let’s do it…”
The lyric pulls a louder reaction from the room.
I don’t flinch. I don’t soften. Because this isn’t about them. This isn’t about proving anything to a room full of strangers who will forget this moment the second the next girl steps up.
This is about him.
About the man who has spent years looking at me like I’m always just there. Always safe. Always familiar. Always easy to ignore until someone else steps too close.
Not tonight.
I step forward, closer to the edge of the stage, and let my hands slide up again, slower this time, over my stomach, my ribs, stopping just under the hem of my top.
My heart is still racing.
But it’s different now. Not panic. Power. Because I can feel it.
The way the room is locked in. The way the energy has shifted from casual interest to something sharper. The way Jimmy hasn’t moved.
Hasn’t looked away.
“Ride it, my pony…”
I hook my fingers under the hem of my top.
Pause.
Just for a second. Let the anticipation build.Let the tension stretch.
Then I pull it off.
The air hits my skin, cooler than I expect, and the crowd reacts again, louder this time.
I don’t even glance at them.
I look at him.
Jimmy’s expression doesn’t change much. But his eyes…his eyes go darker. Hungrier. Angrier.
Good. Let him feel all of it.
I drop the top to the stage without breaking eye contact.
Then I move again.
Closer to the pole now, one hand sliding around it, using it for balance as I turn, my hips following the rhythm, the music threading through every movement like it belongs there.
This isn’t sloppy. This isn’t desperate. This is deliberate.
Every shift of my body, every glance, every second I hold his gaze is calculated in a way I didn’t know I was capable of until right now. Because I’m not performing for approval.
I’m forcing him to see me.
Really see me.
The woman I’ve been for years. Not the girl he tucked safely into a box.
The music dips again, then builds, and I let my hand slide to the waistband of my skirt.
This is the moment. The point of no return.
For half a second, my breath catches.
Then I think of every time he looked past me. Every time he stepped in too late. Every time he acted like what was between us didn’t matter.
I pull the skirt down. Let it fall. Step out of it.
Now it’s just lace boy shorts and a bra, my skin lit gold under the stage lights, my heart hammering in my chest like it’s trying to break free.
The crowd is louder now.
I still don’t look at them.
I look at Jimmy.
And this time, he’s not just watching. He’s locked in.
Completely.
His hands are fists at his sides. His jaw is set so tight it looks like it might crack. And his eyes are burning.
Not casual. Not detached. Not controlled.
There’s nothing safe about the way he’s looking at me anymore.
The music peaks.
“If you’re horny, let’s do it…”
I move with it, one last turn, one last slow, deliberate drag of my hands down my body, my head tipping back for a second before I bring my gaze right back to him.
Holding it.
Not letting him escape. Forcing him to sit in it. To feel it. To acknowledge it.
The song ends.
The lights shift. The noise comes crashing back all at once.
Cheers. Whistles. Applause.
I barely hear any of it.
Because all I can see is him.
Jimmy hasn’t moved. Hasn’t blinked. Hasn’t broken eye contact once.
And in his face—
There it is.
Not confusion. Not dismissal. Not that easy, familiar distance he’s always used to keep me at arm’s length.
Something else. Something raw. Something dangerous. Something that looks a hell of a lot like I just lit a match and dropped it straight into the middle of everything we’ve been pretending isn’t there.
My chest rises with one steady breath.
And for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel invisible.
I hold his gaze for one second longer. Then I turn and walk off the stage.
Knowing without a doubt…
I just detonated something.