Page 43 of The Bad Girl

I don’t want anyone looking at Nadine that way.

Her hands move to toy with the knot on her shirt, and now I’m dangerously close to storming the stage.

“Show them titties, girl!” Mike T. enthuses.

“That’s Nadine!” I hiss.

He responds with comical laughter.

After a small struggle, Nadine sheds her white shirt to the hollering of the crowd.

My stomach coils with dread, knowing what comes next.

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Nadine

The heat from the stage lights hits me with a suddenness that leaves me dizzy. This whole time, it’s like I’ve been drunk on adrenaline, but in the snap of a finger, I sobered up. Big Time!

I don’t know why I agreed to do this dance, but I had been doing so well backstage, and the enthusiasm of the other dancers made me bold.

But I am not bold. I am safe. I am Nadine.

The crowd is expecting me to shed my bra any moment now, and maybe I should. I just feel like I need more time. Time to figure out what I want to do, but the rambunctious crowd is cheering me on, cheering so loudly I can’t think straight.

I tell myself I won’t be completely topless, on account that I’m wearing a sheer top under the flimsy bra Stacey forced me into, but the psychological trick doesn’t work on my overly logical brain.

They’re just boobs. Who cares who sees them? Even if they were plastered all over the Sunday paper, people would forget about them in a week.

Now, the men are getting impatient. I don’t want to cause a scene or get booed off the stage. I need to buy myself time.

I roll my hips seductively, turning in a circle as I toy with the strings of my top. The men liven again, their excitement growing.

Stop thinking about them. They don’t matter. This is about you. This is about you going outside of your comfort zone, proving to the world that you’re not boring.

If I’m gonna do this, it’s not going to be for them. It’s going to be for me.

My eyes scan the back of the room, looking for Stacey. She may be bonkers and completely out of this world, but for some reason, I trust her. She’s the source of strength I need to get me through this dance.

I pull on the string, Stacey’s cheering from the booth giving me newfound courage, but when the knot finally unties, something else catches my eye.

To the left of Stacey’s booth, Maxwell Stryder stands with his bodyguard Mike T.

Our eyes lock, and the world seems to slip away. I was aware Stacey had told him we were going to be here, but I never once thought he’d show up.

He handsome, standing there in his three-piece-suit. So fucking hot. Something about him makes my body sing. He’s not a bad boy, but holy fuck, he’s so fucking wrong!

Something about the thought of disappointing him has me unnerved, but by the look on his face, I wouldn’t say he’s disappointed. If anything, he looks…hungry.

I sway my hips, taking a step forward, continuing to lock eyes with my boss. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but my body seems to be reacting on autopilot, which I’m actually thankful for. With my hands, I hold my top in place, which to the crowd looks as though I’m being flirty, but really, it’s because I’m terrified.

Do it. He wants to see you, let him.

I slide my hands down, but before I can bare myself, an inaudible shout sounds from the crowd, and a hand grabs hold of my calf, setting me off balance. I begin to fall.

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Maxwell