Reluctantly Yours(104)
“Same as always.” I roll my shoulders out to loosen up.
She shakes her head and laughs. “Try to have fun out there.”
Five minutes later, the curtain lifts on our opening number. The theater is dark, the audience cast out by the blinding stage lights, but I can still hear them. The women, and men, that are paying my bills, Sophie’s college tuition, and keeping my aspirations for a different life alive. When the music starts, a loud thumping bass that pulses like a sexual climax, my body takes over. The dance moves rehearsed and performed a thousand times. I don’t have to think about it anymore. My shirt comes off and the hours in the gym are immediately recognized by the crowd of screaming females donning sashes and tiaras, and sipping on their overpriced cocktails. My hips roll and thrust suggestively, one hand snakes down my bare chest eliciting cat calls. I’ve learned over the years I can look past them, not seeing anyone in particular, yet look like I’m giving them each a personal caress with my eyes. It’s a learned skill. One that Chad taught me. His ability to be aloof, just out of anyone’s reach, is a honed skill. One that has served me well over the years. Not making any personal connections, in the audience or elsewhere, that was a life lesson courtesy of my parents.
Seventy-five minutes later, I’m half naked and soaking wet. The final number behind us, we have forty-five minutes until we do it all over again. I grab a water bottle and protein bar off the snack table backstage. Rita insists we refuel between performances so we don’t get a muscle cramp while dancing. It’s happened a few times to guys over the years.
“Killer show, boys.” Ken slings an arm over my shoulder. He’s soaking wet and panting. “We were more on beat with G at the point tonight. Rita, you’re my girl and all, but I think you might have been crazy for trading G here for Jackson.”
Rita’s lips twitch before her eyes find mine. I give a shake of my head.
“It’s been noted.” She rolls her eyes at us before walking away. “Dry off and make sure those wet clothes get into the laundry hamper. I’m not your maid.”
“Thanks, man.” I pat Ken on the chest before I slip out of his hold. “It’s fun for tonight, but old men like me can’t do point every night.”
On my way to the locker room, I twist open the cap on my water and chug the whole thing down. The locker room is always calmer after the first performance. Less talking and messing around. We’ve gotten a work out in now and need to rebuild our energy for the second show. Out of respect for the late show crowd, we strip down and shower, so we’re fresh as daisies. Sounds weird, but a woman I was giving a lap dance to shoved her nose in my armpit. People are fucking weird.
“Don’t the ladies know you have to come to the late show if you want to party after? That woman in the red dress was fine as hell, but I can’t make commitments at nine o’clock. The night is too young.”
Once I’ve toweled off and dressed, I grab the envelope from my locker and head for the stairs. I’m on the roof in two minutes, with the door propped open so I can get back in. The first few times I came up here I was nervous I would get stuck out here like the guy in Hangover. Von, the theater’s custodian found me up here once and gave me a key, just in case.
Even with the sun set, the ninety-degree day hasn’t lessened much. It’s got to be eighty degrees still, and I’m going to be sweating if I stay out too long, but I needed to get away from the group.
The strip lights easily illuminate the letter and one word stands out in all caps. On a slow exhale, I release the breath that I’ve been holding in, not just for the past few seconds as I tore open the envelope, but one I’ve been holding in for twelve years. Since the day I took over guardianship of Sophie. The day my mom, six months sober, got T-boned by a drunk driver.
The silver lining being that I was eighteen, allowing Sophie and me to avoid foster care. My father was long gone, he hadn’t made an appearance since my fifth birthday, and we never really knew who Sophie’s dad was.
With Sophie only a few weeks from graduating college, I know that all the hard work and sacrifice I’ve made over the last twelve years has been worth it. And, for once, I’m finally going to be able to make decisions about my life that aren’t reliant on someone else.
CHAPTER 3
EMMA
I’m not a big gambler, but I’ve discovered I like penny slots. There’s something so satisfying about pulling the lever on a slot machine. So much promise in those few seconds when the three lines of objects spin at speeds which make their shapes unrecognizable. I’ve been sitting at this machine now for a good hour now. Dottie, the little blue haired lady to my right, is from Cleveland, is eighty-seven and thinks that Alec is a worthless piece of shite. Her words, not mine.
Jess props herself up against the side of my machine. “Okay, I think we should call it a night. We can order up room service, put on stretchy pants and watch Dirty Dancing.”
She’s just listed all my favorite things, but honestly at this moment I’m afraid if I close the door on the chaos of the casino, the clinking of coins and pinging of machines, the flashing lights, and really process Alec’s voicemail, I’ll lose my mind. That, and I’m a bottle of champagne in, and it’s my birthday. I refuse to let this be the story of my thirtieth birthday, dumped, homeless and drunkenly watching Patrick Swayze gyrate.