A Night With My Stepbrother

The mop water was already murky, and Isabel’s arms ached from scrubbing down the same corner of the bar for the third time. The dim neon light over the liquor shelf flickered, casting Jenna’s shadow long across the sticky floor as she stacked stools on tables.

“You know this place never looks clean, no matter how hard we scrub?” Jenna muttered, tossing her rag over one shoulder. “I’m convinced it’s built out of grime.”

Isabel gave a weak laugh, kneeling to pick up a bottle cap someone had jammed under the leg of a barstool. “At least it pays,” she said, though even she didn’t believe it anymore.

Jenna looked over, hand on her hip. “Barely.”

They both fell into a stretch of silence. The hum of the old refrigerator and the occasional clink of glass were the only sounds in the otherwise empty place. The bar had closed nearly an hour ago, and the patrons had long since stumbled out into the warm summer night.

“You okay?” Jenna asked after a beat, tilting her head. “You’ve been chewing your lip all night.”

Isabel blinked. She hadn’t even realized she was doing it. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“Tuition,” she said with a sigh. “Rent. My dad. Life. Do you know he got remarried?”

“Yikes.” Jenna grabbed a spray bottle and started wiping the sticky surface of the bar. “Well, I can help you with one of those.”

Isabel raised an eyebrow. “Which one? Life?”

“Sort of. Money.” Jenna glanced at her and grinned. “I’ve got a plan.”

“Oh no,” Isabel said immediately, standing to rinse her cloth at the sink. “I’ve seen that look before.”

“No, listen.” Jenna leaned on the bar now, excitement glittering in her eyes. “You know Lana? The redhead who used to bartend here before she ‘found something better’?”

Isabel nodded slowly. “Yeah?”

“She started doing lap dances at this private gentleman’s club in the city. And girl…” Jenna leaned in like she was about to share a state secret. “She made two grand in one night.”

Isabel choked. “Two thousand?!”

“Yup. For like four hours of work. And she said the club’s exclusive, clean, super high-end. No creeps allowed.”

Isabel’s stomach twisted. “Okay, and what does this have to do with you?”

Jenna’s eyes sparkled. “We go. Just for one night. Try it out. If it’s weird, we leave. But imagine what you could do with that kind of cash, Iz.”

“I—Jenna, I can’t do that.” Isabel’s laugh was nervous, almost defensive. “You know me. I—I can barely take off my hoodie in front of strangers.”

“It’s not like that,” Jenna said quickly. “It’s not sleazy. You set your boundaries. You dance, you get tipped. That’s it.”

Isabel hesitated. Her thoughts swirled with her empty bank account, the rising tuition letter sitting unopened in her drawer, and the silent number saved in her phone under Dad that hadn’t lit up in months.

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

“It’s just one night,” Jenna said gently. “One night, and we’d make more than we’ve earned scrubbing this dump for a whole year. And hey—” she nudged Isabel’s arm—“we’ll treat it like a celebration. High school’s over. We’re nineteen, out of this hellhole soon. What’s more fitting than one night pretending we’re rich and hot and untouchable?”

Isabel gave her a long, skeptical look.

“Come on,” Jenna coaxed. “You’ve been killing yourself working double shifts all month. You deserve one night of feeling in control.”

There was silence.

Then Isabel said, so quietly Jenna barely caught it, “We’re not doing anything crazy.”

Jenna grinned. “Promise. And if you chicken out, I’ll cover for you. Just come with me. That’s all I’m asking.”

Isabel exhaled, a mixture of nerves and something like adrenaline rising in her chest. “Fine. One night.”

Jenna squealed, hugging her from behind. “You won’t regret this! Okay, okay—we need outfits. Something sexy but not too sexy. And shoes. Do you even own heels?”

Isabel rolled her eyes, but she was smiling despite herself. “Not the kind you’re thinking of.”

“Well, that changes tonight.”

They left the bar with damp shirts clinging to their backs, the humidity wrapping around them like a second skin. Jenna had already pulled her phone out, tapping furiously as they walked down the quiet street toward her beat-up hatchback.

“There’s a boutique still open till ten,” she said. “Not the cheap kind, but we don’t have time to be picky.”

“I can’t spend a fortune on clothes I’ll never wear again,” Isabel muttered, wrapping her arms around herself.

Jenna waved her off. “You’ll thank me later.”

The boutique sat on the edge of downtown, all glass walls and sleek mannequins draped in glitter and satin. Isabel hesitated at the entrance, staring at the glossy black heels in the display window.

“This place looks expensive,” she whispered.

Jenna pushed the door open with one hip. “Expensive men like expensive taste. We need to look like we belong.”

Inside, the lighting was warm and golden, casting a flattering glow over everything. Isabel ran her fingers over a rack of slinky dresses—deep red, midnight blue, black so rich it shimmered. They felt soft, sensual, and terrifyingly adult.

Jenna grabbed two hangers. “Try these.”

Isabel held up the first dress, her mouth falling open. “There’s barely any fabric.”

“That’s the point.” Jenna winked. “It’s art.”

Isabel sighed but followed her to the dressing room anyway. The curtain swished closed behind her, and for a long second, she just stood there, staring at her reflection.

Her t-shirt hung loose over her frame, her jeans faded and fraying at the knees. She didn’t look like someone who belonged in a gentleman’s club. She looked like a kid with a backpack full of overdue bills.

She swallowed, then peeled the shirt off.

The dress clung to her like second skin. It was a dark emerald green, with thin straps and a plunging neckline that made her heartbeat trip. She stepped out slowly.

Jenna’s eyes widened. “Oh my God.”

“Too much?” Isabel asked, tugging at the hem.

“Too perfect,” Jenna corrected. “You’re going to stop hearts in that thing.”

Isabel turned back to the mirror, brushing her hair off her shoulder. “I look… different.”

“You look like a woman who knows what she’s worth.” Jenna handed her a pair of black stilettos. “Try these.”

Isabel slipped them on, wobbling for a second before catching her balance.

“I’m going to break my ankle,” she said, laughing nervously.

“Worth it,” Jenna said.

They spent the next hour trying on combinations—dresses that shimmered like liquid gold, heels that threatened to kill their arches, and lipsticks in shades they’d never dared to wear. Isabel finally settled on the green dress, a sleek clutch, and heels that didn’t feel like medieval torture devices.

At checkout, Jenna insisted on splitting the cost.

“You’ll pay me back after you’re rolling in tips,” she said, waving off Isabel’s protests.

Outside, the air had cooled slightly, a soft breeze brushing over their bare shoulders as they climbed into Jenna’s car. Isabel rested her shopping bag on her lap and stared out the window.

“You sure about this?” she asked.

Jenna started the engine. “No. But I’m excited.”

Isabel smiled faintly. “I’m scared.”

“Same thing, right?”

They drove in comfortable silence, the radio playing something low and sultry. Isabel closed her eyes briefly, letting the music and movement lull her. She could still feel the way the fabric hugged her body, the whisper of confidence that had stirred in the dressing room.

Maybe this was what stepping out of herself felt like.

They were a few blocks from home when Isabel’s phone buzzed in her bag.

She reached for it lazily, expecting a text from a classmate or a meme from Jenna. Instead, her fingers froze around the phone as the name on the screen flashed:

Dad.

For a moment, she couldn’t breathe.

She hadn’t heard from him in six months. Not since he left that voicemail she never replied to—half-drunk apologies, background noise, silence.

Jenna glanced over at her. “You okay?”

Isabel stared at the screen like it might bite her. Her throat tightened.

“I—” Her thumb hovered over the green icon. Then the phone stopped ringing.

One missed call.

Jenna slowed at a red light. “Was that…?”

“My dad,” Isabel said, her voice hollow.

They sat there, the streetlights blinking above them. Isabel looked down at the screen again. One missed call, no message. Just a silence that weighed more than words.

Jenna didn’t push.

“Do you want to go back?” she asked gently.

Isabel hesitated. “No,” she said finally. “Let’s just… get home.”

Isabel lay on her bed, the green dress draped across her chair like it was watching her. The bag from the boutique sat half-zipped on the floor, shoes peeking out like a dare.

Her phone rested on her chest, dark screen reflecting the ceiling light. She hadn’t moved since getting home.

Instead, her mind kept circling that call. Dad. A name that still made something sharp twist in her stomach. He’d disappeared right when things got hard—after Mom died, after the bills piled up, after promises broke under their own weight. When he finally resurfaced, it was always in fragments: a voicemail here, a half-apology there. Never something whole. Never something steady. Worst of all, married.

She wanted to believe he’d changed.

She wanted not to care if he hadn’t.

A knock tapped at her door.

“Yeah?” she called, sitting up.

Her roommate poked her head in. “Hey, I’m making some smoothies. Want any?”

“No, thanks. I’m okay.”

Her roommate gave her a lingering look, eyes narrowing just slightly. Isabel knew that look. It always came when she was too quiet, too still.

“You sure?”

“I’m just tired.”

A pause. “Alright. Nighty night.”

The door clicked shut. Isabel leaned back against the headboard and exhaled.

She reached over and picked up the dress. The fabric felt smooth, heavy with intention. She held it up against her body and stood in front of the mirror.

This wasn’t her.

But maybe that was the point.

For one night, she wouldn’t be the girl scraping pennies together for textbooks. She wouldn’t be the daughter waiting for a call that might never come. She’d be… someone else. Someone who wasn’t so scared all the time.

The reflection stared back at her. She looked older in it. Stronger. Or maybe just pretending better.

The phone buzzed again.

Jenna:

“Bring that green dress. You looked 🔥🔥🔥 in it. We’re gonna OWN that club.”

A soft laugh escaped her lips before she could stop it.

She typed back quickly.

Isabel:

“Fine. But if I trip in those heels, I’m blaming you.”

Jenna:

“Fair. But at least you’ll fall looking hot.”

She scrolled through her phone.

1 New Voicemail: Dad.

She stared at the screen.

But this time, she didn’t press play.