Things were good at the club. All the dancers were friendly, fun-loving, and full of mischief—my kind of crowd.
I’d been at the bar for about three weeks when I realized that Josey was interested in me, but pretending not to be. It wasn’t what she said. It was what she didn’t say that caught my attention. Her eyes burned as she watched me f*****g the floor or writhing against the pole. But whenever I tried to strike up a conversation, she would change the subject and back away. I wondered why.
I’m used to people trying to get into my pants or me out of them, and all the dancers, bodyguards, and customers had tried, with no success. That didn’t mean they stopped, though.
There was one memorable evening, after the club had closed, when all the dancers were relaxing after a long night. We
