Amber stood in front of the cracked mirror, her fingers pulling at the hem of her sequined top. Her reflection stared back at her. Hazel eyes sharp, challenging. She barely recognized herself. She brushed her bleach-blonde hair out of her face, the roots darker than she liked, but it didn’t matter.
Nebraska felt like it belonged to someone else now. A lifetime ago. The Velvet Lounge was where she stood tonight, here and now. She wasn't that awkward girl waiting for something to happen anymore. She was the one making it happen, even if just for the night.
With a deep breath, Amber pushed open the heavy club door. The familiar scents of cheap perfume and sweat hit her immediately, mixing with the pounding music.
Jake Reynolds was leaning against the wall when she walked in, his eyes following her as she passed. His gaze was calculating, too familiar. "You ready to make me some real cash tonight?" he asked, his voice gravelly.
Amber rolled her eyes but didn't stop walking. "Always a pleasure, Jake," she muttered under her breath, "but you know profits won’t be high if you keep scaring off the decent clientele."
He let out a short, dismissive laugh, clearly unimpressed. "Just get out there and do your thing. I heard last week’s tips were pathetic. We need a better haul this time."
Amber turned, stopping just short of the stage entrance. "Thanks for the vote of confidence," she shot back, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
Jake’s smirk never faltered. "Just saying, if you don’t bring it tonight, I might have to rethink your spot on stage."
Amber clenched her jaw. She had been in this game long enough to know that pressure was part of the deal, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. "Don’t worry about me, Jake. I’ll light up that stage like it’s Christmas."
She walked away from him, heading for the narrow hallway that led to the dressing room.
Inside, Megan was adjusting her outfit, a sailor hat perched on her head, her mini skirt hugging her curves. "Hey, you look like hell!" she teased, grinning.
"Thanks, Meg. Really know how to make a girl feel special," Amber replied, rolling her eyes but still managing a faint smile.
Megan shrugged, still checking herself out in the mirror. "Special is my middle name." She gave herself one last look and turned to Amber. "So, what did he want this time?"
Amber began undressing, the familiar motions automatic by now. She grabbed the red and black corset from the hanger, along with the matching thong.
"The same old crap. Step it up, or I’m out. Like there’s a line of girls dying to work under him."
Megan snorted, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "As if. He knows you’re the best one here. He’s just too much of a dick to admit it."
Amber let out a breath, tying the corset tighter. "Not sure ‘best’ is the word he’d use."
"Maybe not," Megan said with a grin, adjusting her sailor skirt. "But trust me, every guy out there tonight knows it. Now hurry up—we’ve got a crowd waiting to throw money at us."
Amber sighed and pulled the laces one last time. "Alright. Let’s go knock ’em dead."
Megan gave her a playful push. "That’s the spirit! Go out there and slay!"
--
Amber slipped into the stage area, her nerves still running high from the adrenaline. The music hit her like a wave. The crowd was as usual—drunk regulars, friends out for a good time, and a few solitary faces scattered around. But then, she saw him.
He stood near the back of the room, out of place, his suit sharp, almost too perfect for a place like this. Amber’s fingers froze mid-adjustment of her corset, her gaze lingering on him longer than she intended. His dark hair was neatly combed, and even from a distance, she could feel the intensity of his piercing blue eyes. He wasn’t clapping, wasn’t shouting like the rest—he was just watching, calm and focused, as though he’d stepped into the wrong place and decided to stay anyway.
As the music shifted to the sultry beat of Earned It by The Weeknd, Amber began her next routine, her movements slow and deliberate. Her focus flicked briefly to the man near the back. She kept moving, her body following the rhythm, swaying in time with the music. But every now and then, her eyes flicked back to him. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t broken eye contact.
Amber’s movements grew more deliberate, slower, as she began to peel off the corset. Each motion felt more controlled, as though she was trying to focus, to stay in the moment. Without realizing it, she found herself performing almost solely for him—his gaze fixed on her, unwavering. She glanced around the room and saw the usual crowd of men around the stage, all with cash in hand, eager to get her attention, to make her notice them.
Focus, Amber. This is what you’re here for.
She let herself drop to the floor, her hips swaying with each movement as she interacted with the men who threw notes in her direction. She worked her way through the crowd, letting the energy guide her. Finally, she slipped the corset off completely, revealing her breasts. The room seemed to quiet, the attention now fixed on her.
Just the thought of him watching, his gaze unwavering, sent a chill through her. She felt a tightening, her nipples hardening in response to the intensity of his stare.
When the song ended, she walked off the stage, her heart pounding. The crowd’s applause was deafening, but all she could hear was the sound of her breath. She slipped into the backstage area, her skin glistening with sweat, adrenaline still running high.
As she walked toward the dressing room, she looked back one last time. He was still standing there, unmoving, his eyes still locked on hers. There was something in them.
