Chapter Forty Three Mine
Chapter Forty Three
Mine
I
try to shake the thoughts of Saint off as I step into the shower, letting the water pound against my skin. “No,” I mutter to myself. “Not today.” I need to focus. Today isn’t about them—it’s about me.
About proving something to myself.
I face the mirror and start layering on makeup, watching my reflection shift with every stroke. Eyeliner and mascara bringing out the chocolate hues in my hazel eyes. I tease my curls for volume, shaped into something controlled enough to pass for effortless.
I slide into a hot-pink lingerie set, lace hugging my curves perfectly. Over it, I pull on a white, skin-tight dress that clings in all the right places—revealing without being too careless.
My sandals click softly on the floor, but it’s the clear five-inch heels tucked into my bag that feel like the real power move. I rarely ever wear them, but there perfect for tonight.
I toss in the rest of the things I’ll need without a second thought. I’m done overthinking. Done second-guessing.
Ready or not, I’m doing this.
Grabbing my keys, I sling the bag over my shoulder and step out the door, leaving behind the weight of Cairo’s arms and Saint’s stare—for now.
? ? ?
The club feels the same as it did a few weeks ago—dim lights even in the middle of the afternoon, neon signs flickering, with the faint smell of liquor and sex clinging to the air despite the hour.
Only this time, I’m not just here to watch—I’m here to see if I can actually do this. To see if I can be the girl on stage instead of the one hiding in the crowd.
To my luck the stage is empty, but the mirrors and poles still gleam under the low light, waiting, to see what I’m really made of—even though my legs won’t stop trembling.
I glance around, relieved it’s not packed like it would be at night.
Maybe ten people total—some at the bar, others slouched in booths, half-watching muted TVs or their drinks instead of each other.
The music thumps low from the speakers, steady enough to fill the silence but not enough to drown out the hum of voices.
Pulling my bag tighter on my shoulder, I force myself to walk farther in.
My sandals click lightly against the sticky floor as I scan the room.
My stomach churns, but my chin stays lifted, the illusion of confidence locked firmly in place.
I spot a woman behind the bar tossing a towel over her shoulder.
She looks like she’s in charge—or at least knows who is.
“Excuse me,” I say, steadying my voice as I approach. “Can I speak to a manager?”
Her eyes flick over me quickly, assessing, before she jerks her chin toward a door off to the side of the bar. “Office. He’s in there.”
My palms grow damp against the strap of my bag, but I nod and make my way over, each step heavier than the last as the reality of everything settles in.
Before I knock on the office door, I crouch beside the bar and swap my sandals for my heels. The moment I stand, my energy shifts—the heels soothing more nerves than I thought possible.
I’ll take all the confidence I can get right now, if I’m doing this, they need to see my potential the moment I walk in.
I knock before pushing the office door open slowly and step inside. The room smells faintly of cologne and cigarettes, the low hum of music from outside muffled by the heavy door.
Behind a worn wooden desk sits a man in his late thirties. Smooth caramel skin, sturdy build, with short black hair tapered clean on the sides. He leans back in his chair as soon as his eyes land on me, gaze sliding from the top of my curls down to my heels and back again.
“So,” he says, his voice even—not unfriendly, but nowhere near soft. “You’re here about a spot?”
I nod, clutching my bag against my side. “Yes. I wanted to see about auditioning.”
With a flick of his wrist, he opens a drawer and slides a clipboard across the desk.
“Fill this out.” His tone makes it sound more like an order than a request. As I scribble my information, I can feel his eyes still on me—assessing, calculating.
When I finish, he stands and motions toward the open space next to the desk.
“Stand up straight,” he says, gesturing with his hand. “Turn around for me.”
My pulse quickens, but I straighten anyway, the click of my heels punctuating every step as I turn. The dress hugs every inch of me, the bright color beneath it whispering power even through the nerves. I know exactly what he’s seeing—and that’s the point.
“Good,” he murmurs. When I face him again, his expression is unreadable. “We’ll see what you can do. I’ll have a couple of the girls come in, make you feel comfortable, show you around. You’ll be up after the next dancer.”
My stomach drops. On stage? Oh, perfect.
Because nothing says ease into this slowly like performing on the spot.
I grip my bag tighter, pretending I’m not silently calculating how fast I can fake a sudden emergency.
I mean, I knew I’d be preforming—that’s kind of the whole point—but standing here now, actually inside the club, feels surreal.
Like I’ve crossed some invisible line, and there’s no going back.
The door opens a moment later and two girls step in.
The woman outside probably gave them a heads-up, because he never touched his phone.
The first girl has pale skin and long auburn hair that spills over her shoulders.
She’s already dressed for the floor, rhinestones flashing like a human disco ball every time she moves.
Her silver heels tap against the tile as she smiles, extending a hand.
“Hey, girl. I’m Lexi.”
Of course she is. She looks like someone who’s already figured out how to own a room—angles and all.
The second girl looks straight out of a summer ad—golden tan, blonde waves. Her see-through body-suit shaping her curves that can easily stop traffic. She’s literally glowing with confidence.
She grins at me. “And I’m Mariah. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”
I shift my bag under my arm and manage a small smile. “I’m Jainey,” I say, hoping my voice sounds steadier then I feel.
The warmth in their voices disarms me instantly. They don’t size me up like I’m competition or act distant—they welcome me in like I already belong. And that was just one thing that made me uneasy about working here. I’m a girls girl, but I really don’t like bitches.
And most strippers give off this certain type of bitchy behavior.
“Come on, we’ll show you around,” Lexi says, nodding for me to follow.
They lead me down a side hall, pointing out the bathrooms, the manager’s office, and finally through a swinging door into the locker room.
The air smells like hairspray, perfume, and fucking sex—or dirty pussy, it’s hard to tell the difference.
Rows of lockers line the walls, half-open bags spilling heels, makeup, and lingerie in every color imaginable.
A few girls lounge at the mirrors, touching up lipstick or adjusting outfits, offering me casual smiles like this is just another day.
“This’ll be your space if you get the job,” Mariah explains, gesturing toward an empty locker.
“Most of us bring our own locks and keep our stuff here.”
“Yeah, and the bathrooms for us are over there if you don’t want to use the ones out there,” Lexi adds, pointing. “But you’ll definitely want to get changed in here—it’s easier.”
I nod stiffly, trying to absorb everything.
My mind flashes back to my first night here with Arina—when I met Star and Light.
And how they floated through the crowd like they owned it, moving like the floor was built for them.
I remember thinking they looked so untouchable.
Confident. Like nothing could shake them.
I didn’t understand it then, but standing here now, in their world, I think I’m finally starting to get it.
I fix my lips to ask about them, but I don’t know the girl drama here—I’d really appreciate if I wasn’t on anyone’s enemy on my first day. Lexi rests a reassuring hand on my arm. “Don’t overthink it. Everyone’s nervous their first time, but once you’re up there, I’m sure you’ll be a natural.”
I really need to work on my poker face. I’m already about to lie and seduce these men for their money—the last thing I want is these girls studying me like they know who I am.
Mariah winks, leaning against a locker. “And lucky you—you’re up next. Hurry up and get changed. Big Daddy hates when we’re late.”
My throat goes dry. Up next. The words echo in my chest. And did she just call him Big Daddy?
Absolutely not.
I already have two daddies, and I’m pretty sure they’re not interested in me recruiting another.
I set my bag down on the bench, unzipping it with shaky hands.
I pull off my dress, and the pink lingerie catches the light, when the locker room door swings open fast. The manager steps in, eyes scanning the room until they land on me.
“What’s your stage name?” he asks bluntly, like he doesn’t have time for anything except the answer.
My mind blanks for a split second, then my mouth decides for me. “Lolli,” I say, my voice firmer than I feel. “Short for lollipop.”
He doesn’t respond to the name. “Oh and one more thing I almost forgot to mention—by the beginning of the second song, you need to be fully naked.”
My lips part, my heart dropping straight into my stomach. Before I can think of something to say, he turns and leaves as quickly as he came, the door shutting behind him—leaving me half-dressed, the weight of his words jumping around in my head.
From the other side of the door, I hear the faint crackle of the mic, then the announcer’s booming voice rolling through the club; “Gentlemen, get ready—up next, give it up for… Lolli!”
Lexi grins at me in the mirror, adjusting her rhinestone top. “That’s you, baby. Time to show them what you got.”