Page 114 of The Dance

Me: Eddie isn’t a pussy but you’re an asshole.

My Favorite Bartender: Tell me something I don’t know.

Before I could reply, Blake sent another text:

Look, I would love for you to see all my hard work. Also you know Spencer would like to see you.

I’d been keeping in touch with Spencer over the last several months. She and Brandon traveled to some underground hotel for their honeymoon, one of her employees died in a car crash while they were in LA for an expo, and she and Brandon were expecting their first child in seven months. I wouldn’t mind seeing Spencer and congratulating her in person about her baby.

Me: Maybe. Need to see if someone can cover me at the dance studio.

My Favorite Bartender: You have a dance studio?

Me: I teach some classes there.

My Favorite Bartender: That’s amazing. Are you still touring with Maze?

Me: No.

My Favorite Bartender: Oh bummer. Why not?

Me: Long story.

My Favorite Bartender: Come to the opening and we can discuss over a Long Island. I’ll put your name on the list so just tell the bouncer and you’ll get in right away.

Me: We’ll see.

* * *

The more Ithought about Blake’s club opening, the more I wanted to go. The next day, another dance teacher agreed to teach my classes, and I booked my hotel and flight to California.

Once I landed in San Francisco, I didn’t tell Blake I was there, nor had I told Spencer I was coming. I flew in on the day of the opening, checked into my hotel, and then got ready. I hadn’t been to a nightclub since the tour with Maze. I dressed in a black sequined dress that showed off my legs. It was long-sleeved, had a plunging neckline, and hugged my body like a glove. I paired it with silver hooped earrings and my black Louboutins.

The rideshare dropped me off in front of the club. There was a line down the street and around the corner, and my heart swelled with pride for Blake. He’d really done it. After all these years of saying he needed to save for his club, he’d really freakin’ done it, and I couldn’t have been happier for him.

Since Blake’s instructions were to tell the bouncer my name, I avoided the line and went to the man with the clipboard at the bottom of the stairs.

“Hi. I should be on the list,” I said to him.

“Name?”

“Stacey McCoy.”

He scanned the list. “Don’t have a Stacey McCoy on the list.”

“Oh.” My shoulders sank.

“I have a Stacey My Sexy Dancer. Is that you?”

I snorted a laugh. “Yeah, that’s me.”

The bouncer looked me up and down. “All right. You have the legs for a dancer.”

“Blake says the same thing.”

“Smart man.”

“Sometimes,” I teased.