Snowflake.” Ginger laughed. “You’re falling for a client.”
“I’m not.”
“You are. You’re all tied in knots over him. It’s so not like you,” Ginger insisted.
“Yes,” Ariana seconded. “You have been different, ever since the first night he came in. He likes you so much he comes every night you dance. You get nervous.” She smiled and nodded. “You like him, too.”
Lee Ann sighed. “So ro-mayn-tic!”
“It’s not like that,” she protested. Feeling trapped under the weight of three sets of eyes, she sprang to her feet and grabbed her lockbox and started counting bills and calculating her tip-out. “He’s totally buttoned-down and…traditional. For him, I’m a temporary diversion. Stripper and client?” She shook her head and forced a hollow laugh. “That kind of thing never works.”
“You do not know,” Ariana disagreed, and patted her shoulder as she passed by on her way out of the dressing room.
“That’s right, sugar. Never say never. A friend of mine at a different club knows a dancer who landed one of her VIP clients. Now she’s a housewife in Palo Alto,” Lee Ann finished dreamily, and followed Ariana out the door.
Kylie rolled her eyes, whisked the fifty-dollar bill from her thong, and tossed it in her pile. A manicured hand reached over and pulled the bill out. Irritated, she looked up at Ginger.
“Don’t include this in your tip-out,” the redhead said. Nodding her head to the pile of bills, she added, “That’s business. This”—she flicked the fifty—“was personal—a gift.”
Kylie arched an eyebrow. “You, too?”
Ginger shrugged and dropped the fifty on Stacy’s vanity. “What? I like ro-may-ance as much as the next girl.”
Me, too , she thought sadly as she watched Ginger leave. Unfortunately, “romantic” didn’t really describe the current situation. Dirty dancing for a hot cop who would probably toss her in jail and throw away the key if he knew she’d lied about her identity and impeded his investigation? Not romantic. Try scary, dangerous, reckless.
You’re falling for him .
Okay, yes, the girls were right. The feeling went beyond attraction and into something deeper and far more elemental. But finding it now, with Trevor, didn’t help her predicament. It made already-difficult circumstances darn near impossible.
The dancing was hard, but not as hard as she’d first imagined. Self-consciousness faded after a while because the customers didn’t really see her, they saw a willing canvas upon which they projected their own fantasies. Dancing at Deuces equated to a strange Halloween party. She wore a costume and pretended to be something she wasn’t. And everyone more or less bought the pretense, except Trevor.
He’d seen through her act right from the start. Looked at her, looked for her, and seemed genuinely intrigued by what he found, instead of projecting an identity or expectation onto her. A thrilling and unnerving experience, that. Especially for someone who so often faded into the shadows cast by her wilder, more outrageous twin.
Of course, Trevor thought she was Stacy. In a bizarre way, her sister still held the spotlight, even with a guy she’d never technically met. Kylie wondered how much of Trevor’s interest really stemmed from the “Stacy” role she was playing rather than herself.
Her shoulders slumped. No way to know. Maybe this was why all the experts warned about founding a relationship on a lie?
He sensed the lie. That much she knew. She might intrigue him, even attract him, but he didn’t trust her. And while everything inside her yearned to come clean—to trust him with their secret—she couldn’t confess without breaking her word to Stacy.
Her phone rang. She dug in her bag until she found it, and checked the caller ID. Speak of the devil.
“Hi, Stacy.”
“God, you sound like you just learned there’s no such thing as Santa. What’s wrong? Slow night?”
“No, actually it was busy. I’m
“I’m not.”
“You are. You’re all tied in knots over him. It’s so not like you,” Ginger insisted.
“Yes,” Ariana seconded. “You have been different, ever since the first night he came in. He likes you so much he comes every night you dance. You get nervous.” She smiled and nodded. “You like him, too.”
Lee Ann sighed. “So ro-mayn-tic!”
“It’s not like that,” she protested. Feeling trapped under the weight of three sets of eyes, she sprang to her feet and grabbed her lockbox and started counting bills and calculating her tip-out. “He’s totally buttoned-down and…traditional. For him, I’m a temporary diversion. Stripper and client?” She shook her head and forced a hollow laugh. “That kind of thing never works.”
“You do not know,” Ariana disagreed, and patted her shoulder as she passed by on her way out of the dressing room.
“That’s right, sugar. Never say never. A friend of mine at a different club knows a dancer who landed one of her VIP clients. Now she’s a housewife in Palo Alto,” Lee Ann finished dreamily, and followed Ariana out the door.
Kylie rolled her eyes, whisked the fifty-dollar bill from her thong, and tossed it in her pile. A manicured hand reached over and pulled the bill out. Irritated, she looked up at Ginger.
“Don’t include this in your tip-out,” the redhead said. Nodding her head to the pile of bills, she added, “That’s business. This”—she flicked the fifty—“was personal—a gift.”
Kylie arched an eyebrow. “You, too?”
Ginger shrugged and dropped the fifty on Stacy’s vanity. “What? I like ro-may-ance as much as the next girl.”
Me, too , she thought sadly as she watched Ginger leave. Unfortunately, “romantic” didn’t really describe the current situation. Dirty dancing for a hot cop who would probably toss her in jail and throw away the key if he knew she’d lied about her identity and impeded his investigation? Not romantic. Try scary, dangerous, reckless.
You’re falling for him .
Okay, yes, the girls were right. The feeling went beyond attraction and into something deeper and far more elemental. But finding it now, with Trevor, didn’t help her predicament. It made already-difficult circumstances darn near impossible.
The dancing was hard, but not as hard as she’d first imagined. Self-consciousness faded after a while because the customers didn’t really see her, they saw a willing canvas upon which they projected their own fantasies. Dancing at Deuces equated to a strange Halloween party. She wore a costume and pretended to be something she wasn’t. And everyone more or less bought the pretense, except Trevor.
He’d seen through her act right from the start. Looked at her, looked for her, and seemed genuinely intrigued by what he found, instead of projecting an identity or expectation onto her. A thrilling and unnerving experience, that. Especially for someone who so often faded into the shadows cast by her wilder, more outrageous twin.
Of course, Trevor thought she was Stacy. In a bizarre way, her sister still held the spotlight, even with a guy she’d never technically met. Kylie wondered how much of Trevor’s interest really stemmed from the “Stacy” role she was playing rather than herself.
Her shoulders slumped. No way to know. Maybe this was why all the experts warned about founding a relationship on a lie?
He sensed the lie. That much she knew. She might intrigue him, even attract him, but he didn’t trust her. And while everything inside her yearned to come clean—to trust him with their secret—she couldn’t confess without breaking her word to Stacy.
Her phone rang. She dug in her bag until she found it, and checked the caller ID. Speak of the devil.
“Hi, Stacy.”
“God, you sound like you just learned there’s no such thing as Santa. What’s wrong? Slow night?”
“No, actually it was busy. I’m
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