Play It Safe(60)

And he looked pissed.

I tore my eyes from him to see Shim and Roan with him.

Boys trip to Vegas.

Fuck me.

Gray’s friends didn’t look happy either.

My eyes left their vicinity; I worked the stage, the crowd, my body and my fans.

I knew how this happened.

I didn’t let Lash use me for any of his promotional materials and I explained to him why. If someone I hustled in the past happened into Lash’s club, they might not recognize me. If they did, they certainly couldn’t get through the bouncers or Brutus.

But if I was on pamphlets and billboards, that was a different story.

And they might try to find me.

It sucked for Lash at first but then he loved it when he found it worked in his favor. Pictures told a thousand words but mouths had a bunch more and if people talked about me, and if you couldn’t see me unless you paid to see me, you wanted to see me, you paid to see me. Not on a billboard, pamphlet, poster or magazine ad.

And I danced under the name “Rue”. Lash made it up, thought it was funny. His name was actually Lash, his parents gave him that name. He wanted me to call myself “Larue” but I convinced him that was too corny.

So Rue it was.

Only a select few people in the inner sanctum (namely, Lash and Brutus) knew my name was Ivey.

No one knew I danced here unless they saw me.

And not a lot of people would recognize me under all this makeup, big hair and sequins.

Not to mention, most men didn’t look at my face.

I finished the dance, took my applause like a professional, smile on my face. Then I got the f**k out of there, flashing one of my fans in a farewell wave per usual as I strutted offstage, back bare, ass covered in sequined emerald green panties, come-hither look thrown over my shoulder, other fan pressed to the front of me.

Once out of the spotlight and backstage, I ran to my dressing room.

I tossed down the fans, snatched up my robe and pulled it on, tugging the belt tightly.

Then I paced.

Gray was out there.

Gray was out there!

God.

God!

Could I go out there for the next dance?

I had to go out there for the next dance.

But Gray was out there.

And he looked amazing.

And pissed.

Why did he look pissed?

What did he have to be pissed about?

He certainly didn’t have anything to be pissed about.

Hell, he was lucky I didn’t jump off the stage and beat him with my feathered fan.

He was a dick like all men were dicks (except Lash but it was my experience g*y men weren’t dicks except, according to Lash, to other g*y men, primarily lovers turning dick before becoming ex-lovers, the way of the world no matter which way you swung).

I went to my dressing table, snatched up my phone and called Brutus.

“Yo!” he answered, the sounds of the club in the background seeing as when Brutus wasn’t picking me up and driving me home he was a bouncer.

“Brutus, baby, it’s Ivey.”

“Woman, got caller ID, you don’t have to identify yourself every time you call me.”

Brutus said this a lot.

He went on.

“And, my name is not f**kin’ Brutus.”

He said this a lot too.

As you can see, Brutus wasn’t a big fan of his nickname.

“Listen, can you pick me up out back tonight after the show?”

“Why?” he barked, alert at that. I only asked him that when I got a bad vibe or someone sent something to my dressing room who was in the audience and repeat with the bad vibe.

I’d learned.

“Just a feeling,” I told him.

“You got it, Ivey,” he told me.

“Thanks, honey,” I whispered.

“Shee-it, bitch, do anything, you whisper to me.”

Brutus was a tough guy, macho man, bodyguard-esque, driver, bouncer but he was also a big softie.

“Later,” I said.

“Later, babe,” he replied.

I flipped my phone shut.

Then I took in a deep breath.

Then I sat down at my dressing table and got down to the annoying twice nightly business of doing my makeup because different colored outfits meant different colored makeup.

And as I did this, I hoped that I didn’t get a message that Gray wanted to come back and see me.

I shouldn’t have worried.

I didn’t get a message.

And during my second number, Gray, Shim and Roan’s table was empty.

Chapter Nineteen

Tragedy

In my high-heeled designer sandals, designer jeans, cute designer top with my big, slouchy, scarily expensive designer purse on my shoulder, I walked out the backdoor of the club.

The black Lincoln Lash owned that Brutus drove, not only me but sometimes Lash or VIP guests, was parked five feet away, lights on, ready to roll.

I moved to it, my heels clicking on asphalt then I heard an unmistakable voice say, “Ivey.”

I stopped dead.

Gray.

Shit.

Shit!

I clenched my teeth, swallowed, got my shit together and turned.

It was lit well back there. There were cameras. Bouncers randomly and often did walk-throughs. Lash didn’t f**k around. The girls parked out there.

That was all good except now.