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“Unless it turns into ameatup.” Tamra’s rounded eyes and pursed lips did little to contain her mirth. After a beat, like she could hardly contain herself, she flipped her hand up, mimicking an erection in a naughty parody of a pledge. Our combined laughter rolled over the table, eliciting more smiles from the diners around us.

Maybe they wouldn’t be so indulgent if they knew what we were laughing about.

Our meals arrived, and we passed the rest of dinner making quiet conversation about Tamra and Chase’s upcoming wedding.

“You’ve rented the park pavilion where you and Chase had your first real date? That’s so sweet,” Melena said.

Brows raised, I couldn’t help but ask, “Will your sister get a key to the pavilion kitchen?”

“Hell,no.” Tamra’s lips twitched, her face alight with mischief. “You and I are going to be the only ones with those keys, bridesmaids o’ mine. And there’ll be astrictprocedure for entry. A ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign, a reservation system, the works.”

“You going bridezilla on us, Tamra?” Melena teased.

Melena must have also known the story behind Tamra and Chase’s interlude in the kitchen at her brother’s wedding. There’d been drama between Tamra and her sister Jennifer when the latter discovered Chase and Tamra enjoying the privacy offered by the locked door.

When we finished dinner, we caravanned to Tamra’s dance studio, using the bathroom there to change for class.

I slipped into my yoga pants and tank, trying to suppress the butterflies tickling my insides. Tamra was the dancer of our bunch. I liked to have fun on the dance floor, but I’d never taken formal classes. And nothing even remotely resembling a pole class. Every dance movie I’d ever seen whipped through my mind, making me wonder if our instructor would be a hard-ass. Wasn’t that the stereotype?

I slid onto a seat in the studio’s lobby to wait with Tamra and Melena for class to start. The instructor, who introduced herself as Meghan, appeared innocuous enough—curvy and middle-aged with long blond hair, she looked more likely to tell me about her latest juice cleanse than like she’d demand I drop and give her twenty. More yoga chill than drill sergeant. It eased some of my misgivings about agreeing to the class.

A few other women filtered into the lobby, and after the instructor checked everyone in, with us newbies signing waivers, she invited us through the curtain to the studio itself.

Low light illuminated a series of poles fixed to the floor and ceiling, and a wall of mirrors reflected back the soft light. Meghan had already placed folding chairs at intervals around the room. It struck me as funny that it looked like a Dancer’s Anonymous twelve-step program was about to start. The ridiculousness of that thought helped me break through my nerves. No one here knew me but Tamra and Melena. I was free to be campy, or sexy, or whatever the hell I felt like. On the dance floor, being too much was an asset, not a liability.

After a quick warm-up, Meghan walked us through the first few steps of the routine by starting standing behind the chair, then strutting around and seating ourselves, thighs pressed together. Over the next forty minutes she drilled us on the choreography, as we strutted, spread, pointed, and body-rolled our way through a seductive routine. The freedom was heady. No judgment, just me enjoying my body, trying out different variations of moves until one felt like me.

Most of my attention went to watching Meghan and listening to her cues, but I caught a few glances of Tamra and Melena as they worked their way through the routine on either side of me. Melena’s intense focus made me worry there would be a quiz later. Tamra, on the other hand, transformed into a totally different woman under the soft lighting. On the dance floor, Tamra lit up from the inside. Confidence radiated from each motion, and the soft, sexy smile on her mouth drew every watcher into the fantasy. She had a presence. It was easy to see she loved every minute.

By comparison, I felt like a klutz, catching my foot on my chair and scraping it across the floor loudly. Sheepishly, I mouthed “sorry” to the other dancers near me, before I pushed my shoulders back to try again.

“If you stumble, make it part of the dance. No apologies,” Meghan said.

She used her foot to push her chair across the floor before straddling it, a wicked smile on her face. She looked fierce. In control. I loved it.

Recapturing my confidence, I redoubled my efforts as she led us through the choreography once more. This time, when I stumbled, I pushed a triumphant smile onto my face, like I’d meant to do it. All bravado, leaving my brain and its messages of self-defeat behind.

And it felt good. Sure, everyone in class knew I didn’t follow the choreography exactly, but anyone who didn’t know the steps would have no clue. And weren’t most of us oblivious to the internal lives of others? If I didn’t give myself away, who would know?

Meghan clapped as we finished the last run-through, and I added a final flourish at the end.

“Looking good, ladies. Now let’s try it with music for each other. We’ll break into groups.” She counted us off quickly. “Group one, you’re up.”

I shook off my nerves, eager to perform. Learning something new had been fun. The challenge and the edge of discomfort felt real, like I was pushing myself. And embracing my mistakes as part of the dance felt less like a cover-up and more like adding extra flair after practicing so many times, catching the little touches others added out of the corner of my eye. There was no wrong way to dance. Here, being perfect meant being boring. It was the variations, the personality I added, that drew the eye and made the routine my own.

As if sensing my resolve, Tamra said, “You’ve got this, ladies.” Her gentle confidence bolstered my own.

Meghan cued our song, and I let my features relax into a soft and sultry expression as the first vocals of “Unsteady” by the X Ambassadors flowed through the room.

I sank into the song, letting the yearning and sensual beat slow my breathing, every motion achingly slow. Allowing my hands to caress my curves and my hair whip to the beat, softly closing my eyes to the room around me.

My classmates’ clapping brought me back to the present as the song wound down, and I opened my eyes, breathing hard. Melena’s beaming smile from the chair next to me echoed my own emotions.

“That was amazing. Both of you.”

Triumph washed through me. I hadn’t been perfect, but I’d been me. And that had been more than enough.

“Thanks, Tamra. I can’t wait to watch you.”