Page 2 of Fang (Lotus MC: San Antonio #2)

I set down the curling iron and grab a roller.

Quickly I place the piece of hair in it and pin it on my head before it can cool.

Then I move on to my makeup. When I first started here, I didn’t even know how to put on eyeliner, let alone a full beat of makeup, but with the help of a few YouTube channels, I think I have it figured out.

Or at least I do compared to some of the other girls.

When I was hired, it became clear that I would never be friends with these women.

They might pretend to be tight with one another, but we all know we are each other’s competition.

One of us will always outperform the other, and unfortunately for them, I’ve made it known I’m the top dog.

I’m the one bringing in the most money, and they hate it.

The other dancers move around me, but they don’t pay attention to me.

Not that I want them to. The only thing I have in common with them is the fact that we dance at the same place.

They do it because they like the attention.

They might also like the money, but they aren’t trying to make a better life for themselves.

I do it because I need the money for school.

School, something I’ve always wanted but didn’t know if it was possible.

I knew that higher education was the only way to get myself out of the life I was born into, and I refuse to fail.

Most people my age don’t even know what they want for breakfast tomorrow, let alone what they want to do for the rest of their lives, but I do. I want to go into hospitality. From my research, it’s a field that won’t be hard to find or maintain a job in.

I just have to get my degree first.

“What are you dancing to tonight, prissy cat?” Venus asks.

She started at the same time as I did, but for some reason she thinks she’s the boss here. When I don’t fall in line, she resorts to bullying. Too bad for her, she will never be worse than Barbara.

“Probably something cheesy,” Misty quips.

I don’t bother to respond, not that they expect me to. They think I believe I’m better than them. Truth is, I don’t think I’m better than anyone. I’m just trying to survive.

After I paint my lips red, I take the rollers out and backcomb the top, making my hair bigger. Once I’m ready, I make sure my heels are tight and head for the stage.

I make it four steps down the hall when he stops me.

Fang.

I shouldn’t gravitate toward him. He’s my boss.

Yet whenever his eyes are on me, I feel like I’m on fire.

I tend to shy away from attention, yet I want all of his.

I blame him for it all too. It’s the way he treats me.

He doesn’t see a poor, disadvantaged girl, nor does he see a dirty stripper.

He’s the first person in my life who treats me like a human being.

I think I’m addicted to the feeling that gives me.

“What are you wearing tonight?” he asks.

I give him a little smirk. “Something white.”

“Going for innocent, huh? They won’t know what’s hitting them,” he says.

“You said you wanted me to bring in the money. These perverts seem to shell out the money when I’m playing innocent and coy,” I remind him.

It’s the same thing he told me the first time I wore a white lingerie set. He said I put ideas in the head of every man in the room, thinking they would be the ones to scuff up my angel perception.

Fang swallows hard at my words. I think he might say something that would change all of this for the both of us. If he’d step one inch closer, I could reach out and touch him.

A shiver finds its way down my back.

He’s your boss, you idiot.

He clears his throat. “Don’t keep the clients waiting. You better get out there.”

Disappointment fills me, but I don’t let it show. Fang has become this fantasy in my head. One I let play out because it feels good, but I know I couldn’t ever act on it. Wouldn’t. I’m here for one thing only. To make enough money to cover my schooling. I won’t do anything to risk it.

Still, the thought of finally indulging in the first man who seems to have caught my eye is tempting.

“Yes, sir.” I mock salute as I brush past him.

He smells good. Like leather and smoke. Something that shouldn’t work, but it does.

He screams danger. Maybe that’s why I’m so infatuated with the idea of him. I don’t look back as I head toward the stage.

“Perfect timing. You’re on in two,” Tony says as I step up beside him.

I watch as one of the girls finishes her set, and I can’t help but cringe. To say it’s sloppy would be an understatement. She’s a mess in the worst kind of way and you can tell the crowd isn’t engaged.

Bad for her, but good for me.

When she walks off stage, she slams her shoulder into mine as she passes by. I bite my tongue even though it’s the last thing I want to do. I don’t have time to get into a fight right now, not when it’s my turn.

The lights dim, and I slip off my ratty old robe, handing it to Tony.

“Break a leg,” he murmurs as I step onto the stage.

My heart races so fast I feel like it’s about to beat out of my chest as I wait for the music to start. It’s always like this. When I step onto the stage, nerves threaten to strangle me, but as soon as the music starts I know I’ll be fine.

Just like always, with the first note my shoulders relax.

I imagine I’m back in my dorm room practicing.

No audience around. The lights come on as I begin to dance to “S&M” by Rihanna.

It’s not the most original choice, but it’s a good one, and the patrons seem to enjoy it.

Especially when I wear white. The customers nearly go feral anytime I wear something white.

Like Fang said, innocence sells. While that is concerning for me, I lean into it anyway. I need the money, so I ignore the idea I’m selling. I placate myself by telling myself that if they are here watching me, then they aren’t out doing what they obviously really enjoy.

Money is placed on the stage, but I don’t pay it any mind. Later, when I’m alone, I’ll count it to make sure I have enough for school. I cut it tight this week. I was supposed to pay my tuition today, but I needed one more shift to cover it. My worries start to cloud my mind.

Then I feel it.

My breath catches as the beat drops, and I feel him.

Eyes.

Not just any eyes, but his, and they are on me.

I can’t help but look out in the crowd and find him.

My eyes meet his. It’s dark so I can’t tell what he’s thinking, but I know he is watching me.

I don’t look away. Instead, I dance for him.

I can’t help but sway my hips a little more since I know he’s watching, falling into the fantasy I’ve built of him in my head.

It’s insane to feel this hot for a man who only speaks to me when work is involved.

He’s never once given me any actual inclination that he likes me beyond my looks.

Even him watching now could be considered checking on his investment.

Still, I let myself believe he watches because he wants me for more than my body. The one little lie I tell myself to keep me going. When he’s watching, I forget where I am. What I’m doing. It’s only me and him.

The entire time I move, Fang doesn’t look away.

His attention remains on me. He makes me feel seen.

He brings out this sensuality in me that I never knew I had.

For a brief amount of time, I feel like the woman I could be instead of the one I am.

I don’t feel dirty. I feel liberated. Like I can be free from judgment.

I live the fantasy until the very end of the song.

All too soon the music comes to an end, and I hit my final mark. When the lights dim, I sigh in relief and sorrow. I shouldn’t feel sad it’s over, but I miss his eyes on me. I miss the feeling he gives me whether he knows it or not.

The relief overshadows the irrational part of my brain. It’s over.

I did it. Another night. Another dance completed.

I head off the stage, and Tony hands me my robe.

Like always, he earns my respect when he doesn’t look away from my face. He doesn’t eye me like a piece of meat like most of the men who are in here. I once asked him why. Turns out he has a wife and only took the job as a favor to the Lotus.

“Thank you,” I murmur as I slip it on.

“You’re welcome. You were on fire tonight.”

“You think so?”

“Hell yeah, they were tossing bills at you like you work at a bank,” he jokes, making me smile.

“That’s the goal.”

“Well, boss man looked pleased.”

Clark, one of the guys who goes between the back and front of the house, slips backstage as the next girl takes the stage.

“Damn, girl, that’s a fat stack. The other girls should take notes,” he says as he hands over my money.

“Mainly small bills?” I ask as I slip it into my pocket.

He tilts his hand from side to side. “I’d say it’s a mix of both. You did good, kid.”

“Thanks.” I nod at both the guys and head back to the dressing room.

I can’t help but feel dirty as I head down the wall. I earned the cash that’s burning a hole in my pocket with my body.

Just like her.

I’m not like her, though, and I never will be.

Groaning, I run my hand over my face as one of the dancers who goes by the corny-ass name Peaches walks off the stage.

As soon as she took the stage, I knew she was on something.

Her pupils were blown wide, and her pulse was rapidly pounding.

Her movements were jerky as fuck, making it a long four minutes.

Pushing off the bar, I head toward the dressing room. I nod at the guard watching the dressing room and step inside.

“Peaches, with me,” I demand.

The girls ohh and ahh. Peaches stands and winks at them as she walks my way on unsteady heels. I’m sure she thinks she’s being seductive, but she’s failing epically.

Turning, I head back down the hall to my office. Peaches follows and when she goes to shut the door, I stop her.

“Leave it open.”

She presses her overly large lips together and pouts. “I thought…”