Chapter 6
Dakota
Present Day
I was a good girl— once upon a time.
Until I realized that women could be just as ruthless as men, taking what they wanted and allowing nothing to get in the way of their success. It was empowering to no longer give a single fuck about what others thought of you.
Unafraid and unapologetic.
Life was too short not to take chances, and after a few years of self-reflection and strong-willed determination, I knew opening a dance studio in the heart of Nashville was exactly what I wanted. And I went for it.
The art of expressed movement can be hauntingly beautiful, telling stories through body language and saying the things we often leave unspoken; the words we sometimes can’t find the courage to speak.
It brought me out of a dark place, one filled with suffering and doubt, guiding me into a new life, thriving with hope and promise.
I established Studio Vix as a sanctuary—an escape for women like me who needed confidence, encouragement, and a form of self-expression that couldn’t be found outside these four walls.
And six years later, what started as a simple means of emotional therapy evolved into a staple on Broadway for locals and tourists alike.
When we opened, the primary focus was on stiletto and pole routines, promoting body positivity and the art of losing yourself to the music. Then requests came in for alternative styles like hip-hop, jazz, ballet, and now there was a class for everyone with a heavy emphasis on fun and fitness.
I guess you could say I had it all: a life of complete independence. Well… except for maybe—
“Yee-fucking-haw!” The bell above the double doors chimed just as Tiffany Jean, my wild child little sister, barged into the studio with a beaming smile.
“I’ve been waiting weeks for this night to arrive, my sister is finally agreeing to act her fucking age for once.
” Boisterous was an understatement for the way she projected her excitement all the way to the back of the room.
“I’m… thirty…” My brows knitted as I pursed my lips at the clear insult, my age always her favorite target for assault.
“And flirty, and single, and boring as fuck lately. All you do is work, eat, sleep, repeat—hopefully a shower in between, but it sucks.” She whined, hopping up and perching herself on the edge of the front desk.
Her denim skirt, matching mine, was riding up to expose the crease of her ass.
“Whatever happened to that fun, outgoing college girl who would sneak me into all the frat parties when no one was looking, huh?”
“Umm… she graduated and grew up? Besides, how else do you expect me to pay our bills?”
Even with our four-year age gap, Tiffany and I were constantly mistaken for being the same age—God bless a natural, youthful glow.
So, while I was off at college, earning a degree in sociology that I would never actually use, she took advantage of the situation and joined me on campus nearly every weekend for fun and… more fun.
“Boo! God, you’re fucking miserable these days…
” My sister checked her nails and sucked on her front teeth before dragging her judgmental eyes down the center of my body with a look of pure distaste.
“When’s the last time you got laid?… or…
Botox. I can see the lines on your forehead from all the sexual frustration you’re giving off in waves. It’s overwhelming.”
“Okay, Miss zero-to-sixty. That is none of your business, and I’m not sexually frustrated; I’m mildly annoyed with my unfiltered sister who just kool-aid manned her ass into my studio and started whipping insults around like confetti.
” Tiffany never said anything with malicious intentions; she was the only person I could count on to be brutally honest with me when I needed it most. That was the kind of relationship we had.
Two best friends giving each other shit; bullying one another out of love.
“Let’s just get the hell out of here before I change my mind and go home instead.
Curl up with a pillow that doesn’t talk back... ”
“Or put out… unless you’re screwing pillows instead of men now. But, noted nonetheless—to The Yard!” She bellowed, sliding off the counter before parading toward the door.
“If you start singing about milkshakes…”
“Pfft, I’m twenty-six, D. Not sixteen.” With a heavy eye roll and hair flip, she started humming the tune instead.
Was there a difference at this point?
The Yard was our favorite place and stomping ground on Broadway— literally. A hybrid nightclub and line-dancing bar. Everything a Nashville girl’s heart could possibly desire, all under a single roof.
When Tiffany turned eighteen, she moved out of our parents’ home and in with me.
I supported her while I could for the first few years, but eventually had to play devil’s advocate and force her to get a job of her own to at least help alleviate the burden she so willingly put on my shoulders.
That’s when she started working at The Yard as a bottle service waitress.
There were plenty of perks that came with working in the service industry, like free drinks, special treatment, and a comfy corner booth if the night was slower than usual. The community here was tight-knit, and I swear Tiffany knew every employee from every bar on Broadway by name.
This was the perfect world for her; the vibes and energy matched her personality to a tee.
So far, our girls’ night had gone off without a hitch, slamming cocktails and bottles like we were die-hard alcoholics. This was how we partied, putting down drinks until our confidence skyrocketed and we threw caution to the wind, playing our favorite game of matchmaker.
“You get one shot, and if he doesn’t live up to my expectations, we aren’t doing this again for a long while... The last guy you handed me off to was…” I shivered in disgust at the thought of him. Not every game we played ended with a ‘hoo-rah’ and full send.
There were more fails than successes if I’m being honest. I wasn’t one to judge a man by the size of his… asset, but it was as if he hadn’t even known how to use it.
Faking an orgasm was never where I wanted any of my sexual encounters to end, and yet, I was beginning to worry that it was becoming my new, unfortunate expectation.
“I take full responsibility for whiskey dick. But in my defense, it was also last call when you finally decided to make a move. He was still sober when I chose him.”
I’ll admit, I hesitated in our last round, because while I enjoyed the fun in flirty foreplay, I discovered that first impressions can be very deceiving.
Just because a man looks like he could be a pornstar doesn’t mean you’ll end up spent in the sheets, and while they may act like a golden retriever, that could be a far stretch from the truth.
Men, believe it or not, were just as complicated as women. They just don’t show it as quickly.
“As long as we’re in agreement, by all means let’s get started.”
“Boo, you’re no fun. Remind me again when you’ll stop being so picky and actually seal the deal for once?” Picky... I just knew what I wanted. I had standards.
I wasn’t saving myself by any means, but in a twisted sense, I was. Having been around the block, I didn’t want to waste my time on a man who would do nothing more than treat me like a second-rate plaything. Used and abused for their fucked up fantasies.
“How about when a real man shows up? Not one who parades around like a damn peacock all night and dives headfirst into the first set of thighs that step into his line of sight.”
I knew my worth, and I wanted a man who was just as obsessed with me as I was with him. One who could continuously fulfill my desire for more—passion, attachment, lust… love. I was patiently waiting for Mr. Right while fucking around with the Mr. Wrongs.
God forbid a woman wants a no-strings fuck buddy every once in a while…
“Oh, that one!” Tiffany shrieked and giggled like a child, roughly gripping me by the shoulders and twisting my body to face the VIP tables across the dance floor.
“He’s been eye fucking you all night. Hasn’t moved once and turned down every set of self-tanned legs that’s approached him.
” How long had she been watching this guy?
“Are you sure you’re reading that right? Maybe he’s gay…” I mean, the man was hot as hell; why else would he push away every attractive woman who reached for his attention?
I tracked the cowboy as he crossed from his booth to the bar, ordering another round of drinks for his table.
From the rim of his leather cowboy hat, I caught a shadowy glimpse of his defined jaw, complemented by dark stubble.
The smile he gave the bartender was alluring, with bright white teeth and full, luscious lips.
Comparing him to the other men who stood along the bar just waiting to be hit on, I could guess that he was about six-three. With a figure that said he spent most of his free time in the gym lifting weights rather than actually partying in a bar.
He was the definition of tall, dark, and handsome.
And I bet he had a pretty face to match, too…
“Just wear the hat and ride the fucking cowboy, D. He looks like he’d be good for a round—or two.” Her eyes continued to rake over his body as he waited for his drinks, turning starved as she licked her lips with a slight whimper of jealousy.
“I feel like I’m doing this for you more than myself. Fucking what you can’t and then reporting back to headquarters the following morning.”
Tiffany was single too; however, she was a hopeless romantic at heart and lacked the mindset to fuck around without feelings getting involved.
She tried once and ended up tangled with the guy, and when he left, the breakup hit a little harder than it should have.
Since then, she’d been working up the courage to try again, but unlike me, she was picky.