Kayla

My cell rings as I open my locker. I’m in no rush to find it because Scarlet is the only person who would call me this late, and she’s out on the floor making her rounds. I retrieve the phone from my purse and look at the screen as the ringing stops and a text comes through.

It’s Collette, with one single emoji: the brunette with her hand raised.

My brow furrows. Collette is not an emoji kinda gal. She’s called every day for the past week; I should have known that’s who was calling this late.

I can’t imagine her argument has changed, but I type in a quick text anyway.

Me: At work.

Collette: Call me.

Me: The answer is still no. My dancing shoes will be at Goodwill by Saturday. ;-) 

Collette: You can be barefoot.

Collette: Call me back.

I roll my eyes with a sigh. Maybe I’ll just send her another winky-face emoji and turn off my phone for the night. Collette is relentless when she wants something, and she almost always wants something. This time I’m what she wants. Well, not me, exactly.

She wants Kincaid Summers.

But after Friday night, Kincaid is history.

Me: Can’t. I’m at work.

Collette: Work? You mean that strip club you’re ditching in a few days? It can wait. This can’t.

My phone beeps again with another text as I wait for her to go away.

Collette: It has to do with a certain rock band you love.

My ears perk up. If she’s trying to bait me by bringing up my favorite musicians, it won’t work.

I stare at my phone for a long time, then sigh loudly, wishing she could hear it. “Fine,” I say as I open the call log, press the last missed call, and wait for that smug ‘hello’.

“Honey, playing hard to get is really not your style.”

“Hey, Coll.”

“How are tips tonight?”

After pulling off my long purple gloves, I blow a breath through my nose and step out of my sequin dress. It looks amazing under the lights on stage, but is more uncomfortable than anything I own. “I think we both know you’re not calling to see how they’re tipping tonight.”

Collette laughs. “Ah, but if it’s slow, you may be more apt to agree to my little proposal.”

Shaking my head, I slip into a mini dress the same shade of red as my sequined gown—still playing the part of the cartoon vixen, albeit a bit more comfortably.

“I’m not working after Friday. We’ve been over this.”

She’s persistent as hell, but one of the first people I met when I moved to Vegas. I have Collette to thank for the last five years, and what those five years have done for my future. My big retirement and subsequent move back home are all thanks to the doors she opened for me.

Which means I occasionally owe her something.

Usually I’m eager to oblige. I mean, she’s an amazing friend on top of being so instrumental in my career, and I’d do just about anything for my friends.

But not this time.

“Honey, listen, I know you’re hanging it up, and I get that, really I do”—but does she?—“we all want to hang up the heels someday.” Ha. Collette will be buried in her Louboutins, don’t even kid. “But my little soiree Saturday night has just been upgraded to a full-blown can’t miss event... at least where you’re concerned.”

“They’re always can’t miss events.” I assess my reflection and tuck some loose strands back up under the bright red wig.

“This is true. I do know how to plan an event, don’t I?” She chuckles softly. “I have two words for you, hon: Banging. Cade.”

My eyes widen. I’d completely forgotten she’d mentioned Cade in her earlier text when trying to get me to call her. “I’m listening.”

She laughs triumphantly. Hmph. “You’ll never guess who I... sat next to on the plane tonight, hon.”

I’m going to ignore the way she said sat next to because her tone implies sat on. I roll my eyes, but its forced nonchalance because I’ve been in love with this band since before they’d even made it to headliner status. She knows it. I know it. Playing it cool is futile.

“Someone from Banging Cade?” I hold my breath.

I don’t even have a favorite. Most girls are obsessed with Chris or Cade, but... I love all the boys equally. So much raw talent in one little package of five incredibly attractive guys. Not an ugly one in the bunch, which is remarkable in and of itself.

“Atlas Reynolds.”

My breath flies out in a whoosh. Holy shit. Okay, so maybe I have a favorite.

“Kayla, honey, you still with me?” She laughs, knowing damn well how I feel about Atlas. God, that dark hair and those dark, tortured eyes... he’s the epitome of bad decisions.

And one I’d like to make.

I’d regret it, of course, and he’s probably a Grade A prick in person, but—

“I’ve sent him a personal invitation to the event. I trust you’ll be there.”

Her words pull me out of my fantasizing about Atlas, slamming me right back into the here and now. “Dammit, Coll, I meant it when I said I’m finished after Friday’s show.”

She tsks. “You can be finished after Saturday’s show. I’ll send you the info. Don’t let me down.”

I open my mouth to argue, but she’s gone. That unmatchable silence that only a cell phone can give you replaces Collette Rhone, and I’m left standing here with my mouth open. I inhale a deep breath, then put the phone away.

Fine. You win, Collette. I’ll do one last show, but after that, I’m done. Retirement starts in forty-eight, no, seventy-two hours.

Grrr. How does she always get what she wants?

I no longer do the lap dance rounds, but I always go out and make myself visible to the crowd. No one wants a girl they think is untouchable, especially in this industry, and even if I’m a headliner, actually connecting with the audience is half the battle. And it takes real deal face time.

I spritz some Exotic Coconut in the air, then walk into the cloud of body spray so it just dusts my skin, close my locker, and head out onto the floor. I try to ignore the new spring in my step and the unmistakable flutter in my belly, but Banging Cade is in town this weekend, and I’m going to get a personal introduction to at least one of the guys.

There are certainly worse ways to kick off my retirement.