8
Casey
“He’s here.” Skin Tight’s declaration pulled my focus off my mirror.
Heart leaping, I capped my lip gloss and tossed it onto the cluttered makeup atop my “work desk” as us dancers called the only bit of personal space allotted us in the club. “Ricky?” I asked, keeping my voice low while eyeing the other two girls getting ready for their sets.
He nodded, and I hopped up. “How much time have I got?”
“Maybe fifteen.”
I moved past him, knowing I really had less since I hadn’t dressed for my turn on stage.
“Casey...”
Turning, I clasped the changing room’s door handle, my entire body buzzing to move.
“Don’t get me in trouble.” Skin Tight’s lips flatlined.
I winked. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” And I wouldn’t. I messed up a lot in my life, but prided myself in owning up to those mist
