2

The decision weighed on me like lead the entire next day. After another exhausting shift at the diner, I came home to find Noah waiting again with fresh pastries and that patient, hopeful smile of his. We sat on the couch, and I told him everything—Sarah’s suggestion, the club, my growing desperation. He listened without interruption, his hand warm in mine, flour still dusting his knuckles from the bakery.

“Kate, if this is what you need to do right now, I’m behind you,” he said softly, his blue eyes full of quiet worry but no judgment. “Just be careful. And come home to me, okay? We’ll figure the rest out together.” He kissed me gently, the kind of kiss that reminded me why I loved him—safe, steady, innocent. We’d never gone beyond making out, and in that moment, his sweetness made the thought of the club feel even more jarring. But he didn’t push, didn’t offer solutions he couldn’t deliver. I squeezed his hand, grateful, and whispered that I loved him too.

Sarah drove me that night, chattering encouragement the whole way. “You’ve got this. Own it for one song, then another. The money will make it worth it.” By the time we pulled up to Velvet Shadow, my nerves were a live wire. The neon sign hummed above the entrance, pulsing like a heartbeat. I hugged her tight before stepping inside.

Lena, the manager with the sharp eyes and no-nonsense clipboard, barely glanced at me. “First night? Change in the back. You’re on the main stage in twenty. Keep it simple. Tips are cash—house takes twenty percent. No drama.”

The changing room was louder than I expected women laughing, fixing makeup, trading stories like any other job. I slipped into the black lace set they handed me, the fabric barely covering anything. Staring at my reflection, I felt exposed, my curves on full display under the harsh lights. Long dark hair, pale skin flushed with embarrassment, full hips and breasts that had always drawn unwanted attention. I tugged at the straps, wishing for more coverage, but there was none. Just one night, I told myself. For the money.

The stage lights hit me like a spotlight on my shame when I stepped out. The music thumped heavy bass through my bones. I gripped the pole, my palms sweaty. I wasn’t graceful. Not even close.

My moves were clumsy—awkward spins that made me wobble, hesitant rolls of my hips that lacked the practiced fluidity of the other dancers. I kept my eyes down at first, focusing on the beats, trying not to trip over my borrowed heels. Heat burned my cheeks as men watched from the shadows, their gazes crawling over me. I felt shy, mortified, like every inch of skin was screaming that I didn’t belong here. This wasn’t me. I was the girl who studied late in the library, who baked cookies for Ben’s class, who dreamed of teaching literature. Not this.

But the bills started landing anyway. At first a few twenties, then more. I pushed through another song, forcing a smile, arching my back despite the embarrassment twisting in my gut. My body moved on instinct—curves swaying with the rhythm even as my technique faltered. By the end of my set, the stage was littered with cash. I gathered it quickly, heart pounding, and slipped backstage on shaky legs.

I changed into my robe, hands trembling as I counted a small stack in the dim light. Already more than I made in three diner shifts. How? I was clumsy. I knew I was. Yet the money said otherwise.

Lena appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, appraising me with a critical eye. “Not bad for a first timer. You were all over the place on that pole—stiff shoulders, unsure feet. You need to learn actual dancing if you want to last. Take some classes, watch the girls, practice at home. But damn, kid, you pulled in serious cash tonight anyway.”

I blinked, pulling the robe tighter around myself. “I did?”

She smirked. “Your curves, honey. They do the heavy lifting. Men eat that up—natural, soft, real. Keep showing them off, work on the moves, and you’ll be fine. Go home, rest. Come back tomorrow if you want more.”

I nodded, too stunned and embarrassed to say much. Shy heat still flushed my skin as I collected my things and stepped out into the cool night air.

Sarah picked me up, grinning when she saw the wad of cash I clutched. “Told you!”

The ride home was a blur. Ben was already asleep when I crept into the apartment. Sarah crashed early after her own shift, leaving me alone at the tiny kitchen table under the low light. I spread the money out—crisp bills of all denominations—and began counting properly.

One hundred. Two hundred. Five hundred. The pile grew. Eight hundred. Nine fifty. Twelve hundred dollars.

I stared at the stacks, mouth dry. Twelve hundred dollars. In one night, for dancing clumsily for strangers. My hands shook as I recounted it, certain I’d messed up the math. But no. It was real. Enough to cover a huge chunk of the immediate tuition hit, groceries, and maybe Ben’s fees. More than I’d ever held at once.

Relief washed over me first, warm and dizzying. We wouldn’t be on the street tomorrow. Mom’s next appointment might not break us. But right behind it came the wave of embarrassment, crashing hard. I hugged my knees to my chest on the chair, face burning at the memory of the stage lights on my skin, the leers, my own awkward movements. The way my body had been the main attraction, not skill. I felt exposed, dirty in a way that soap wouldn’t fix. What would Noah think if he saw me like that? Sweet, innocent Noah who blushed at long kisses and believed I was still his good girl. What kind of person was I becoming?

Tears pricked my eyes, but I wiped them away. This was temporary. A means to an end. I folded the money neatly, tucking most into an envelope hidden in my drawer and keeping a small portion for immediate needs.

Tomorrow I’d pay what I could at the bursar’s office. Maybe talk to Professor Hargrove again.

As I crawled into bed, the apartment quiet except for the distant hum of traffic, exhaustion pulled at me.

My body ached in unfamiliar places from the pole and heels. But beneath the shyness and the guilt, a tiny spark of determination flickered. I’d survived tonight. Made more in hours than weeks of scraping by.

If I could detach, learn the moves like Lena said, maybe I could claw my way out of this hole without dragging Noah or Ben down with me.