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I couldn’t do this.
I absolutely could not do this.
Fuck this.
The moment I had gone out there, it wasn’t even Cross that had pissed me off.
Well, not directly, at least. It was some Mr. Grabby-hands playing peekaboo with my ass cheeks right next to Black Psalm’s booth, and Cross doing nothing about it.
He had looked over and then — nothing. I don’t know why that sudden indifference got to me so much.
I’d slapped the guy’s hand away — hard enough that his buddies started laughing — and kept walking. Kept my head up. Kept that professional smile plastered on even though I wanted to scream.
But my hands were shaking when I got back to the service station.
Burgundy was there, counting her tips. She looked up when I approached, took one look at my face, and said, “Who do I need to cut?”
I sighed and fell apart over the counter next to her, screaming into my hands. Luckily, the bass drowned it out. I raised my head slowly. “It’s just… harder than I thought it would be.”
Burgundy glanced over her shoulder at the floor, then back at me. She was beautiful. Dark, ebony skin — so dark it looked almost black in this light, and a body us mere mortals could’ve only dreamt about.
“Look, I’m gonna say this not to be mean but because my mama was always straight with me, and I think that gets the point across the quickest,” she said, fixing her dark eyes on me. “You either do, or you don’t — but you shut up about it.”
Her words left me on a pause.
Then she continued a little softer. “Baby, I don’t like being here any more than you do. But I got a little girl back home who loves Chanel.”
I blinked at her. “You have a daughter?”
“Seven years old. Likes expensive shit — just like her mama.” Burgundy’s mouth twitched into something that might’ve been a smile if she let it.
“And her daddy ain’t worth the skin he’s wrapped in, so it’s just me and her.
Which means I gotta do what I gotta do to keep a roof over our heads and her in that fancy charter school she loves. ”
I felt my throat tighten. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t apologize.” She waved me off. “I’m just saying — we all got our reasons for being here. And none of them are pretty. But standing around feeling sorry for yourself ain’t gonna make the night go faster or the tips bigger.”
She was right. I hated that she was right, but she was.
“Frankly, if Milo offered me thirty grand to blow him — I wouldn’t bat a fucking eye, baby girl. Good Lord knows I’ve done worse for less,” she said.
I laughed despite myself. It came out watery and pathetic, but it was still a laugh.
“See?” Burgundy nudged my shoulder. “You’re already feeling better.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Well, fake it till you make it, honey. That’s the whole job.” She finished counting her stack of bills and tucked them into her sparkly bra. “How much more you’ve got on the clock?”
“Like an hour.”
“That’s not that bad. Help Kay around the bar, go for a couple of smoke breaks, and you’re home free.”
“Now that sounds like a plan.”
Burgundy winked at me, then turned and sauntered back onto the floor.
I took a breath. Then another. The bass was still pounding, the purple lights were still making everything look like a fever dream, and somewhere out there, Cross was probably still drinking himself stupid at his table.
Why was I even thinking about him? Bad girl, Mary. And as I thought that, my eyes developed an apparent mind of their own and started scanning the club for him.
I had a bad angle on their booth — a couple of tables stood in between, obstructing the view, but I could see half of him, sprawled there, arm draped over the back of the seat, his head tipped back against the leather, eyes half closed.
The bottle of bourbon sat mostly empty on the table, but he wasn’t holding or even reaching for his glass anymore.
He looked wrecked. And somehow still unfairly hot.
The messed-up truth was that I had always imagined him being SaintCross69. Not some rando. Him. The actual Saint Cross or… Milo. The thought of somebody like him getting off to my videos had felt exhilarating. It had made me feel alive. I had wanted to put on a show for him.
Worse — I had specifically planned my videos around the kinks I had noticed he liked.
But I was a realist — I knew that was a fantasy — and it was more likely that some creep in his mama’s basement was jerking off to me jerking off than it being a rockstar with a fan base in the millions.
Like — come on. Having the frontman of the hottest band in the States subscribed to your OnlyFans? In what world?
Apparently, in this one, Mary.
I pulled my gaze away before I could do something stupid like walk over there. Because I kept thinking, right? Kept mulling it over. You get to fuck a rockstar, Mary — and you get 35 grand on top of it?
Still, he was a fucking dick.
An hour later, I clocked out.
Lolly met me in the changing room, which really was just a glorified closet with a cracked mirror and a row of lockers that worked only if you threatened them.
I didn’t change out of the dress — what was the point?
All I had to do was get to the car and then walk less than ten steps to my front door.
“Look at you, all clocked-out and homebound,” she said, grinning.
“Yeah. Finally.”
“Your first shift is done, babe! Congrats.” Lolly pulled me into a hug that smelled like cherries and body glitter. “You survived.”
“Barely.”
“Barely still counts.” She released me and stepped back, hands on my shoulders. “Listen — it gets easier. You’ll build up your armor. Learn who to avoid, who tips good, who’s all talk.”
I nodded, even though I wasn’t sure I believed her.
“Now get your cute ass home and take a hot shower. Tomorrow you come back and do it all over again.”
“Sounds like a dream,” I said flatly.
She laughed and gave me one more squeeze before heading back out to the floor.
I grabbed my purse from my locker — a sad little cross-body — and for whatever reason, I decided not to use the back exit but walk through the whole damn club.
Well, okay, I knew why I did it. I wanted to catch Dahlia before I went, but as I was walking, I heard Cross’s voice and an “anyone know how to order a fucking Uber?”
Thirty-five grand, Mary. Besides, he was ridiculously hot.
And an ass, I told myself.
A hot ass, though.
Jesus, alright already!
I walked up to their booth, took a deep breath and said, “I’ll take him home.”