My mother’s words are the last thing I expect to be thinking about as I’m standing in front of a full-length mirror at a boutique on Newbury Street a week later. No regrets. But I doubt this is what she had in mind.

“If I twirl, people will see my hooch.” My sweaty palms attempt to tame the layers of hot pink tulle that bounce beneath the short black skirt.

Travis crouches behind me and squints one eye. “I don’t see the hooch to which you are referring, but maybe I can help.” He fluffs my skirt as though he’s offended the fabric is obstructing his view. “Sweets, don’t take this the wrong way, but those boy shorts are hot.” He slaps my ass, and I jump. “Maybe flashing a little hooch is a good thing.”

“But don’t you think Britney regretted flashing her muff?”

“You’re not going commando. You’re not even showing any labia.”

I whirl around and smack him square on the shoulder. “That’s gross!”

He laughs, rubbing his arm. “What? You took all that time for the full-on salon treatment of this area. Might as well flash it a little.”

Covering my face, I groan. “Please, let’s never again discuss my Brazilian wax again. That hurt like a motherfucker.”

He covers his mouth as his eyes widen. “Wow. I got you to say the f-word. Points for Travis!”

“You are no longer allowed to talk me into any more beauty treatments.”

Grabbing a long lock of my dark brown hair, he twirls it with a strand of pink, brings it to his nose and sniffs it. He makes a face like he approves of the way it smells. Weirdo.

He raises his eyebrow. “I think you should knock number three off your list tonight. You’ll dance with me, and we’ll scope out the perfect hottie. Of course, if he’s gay, I get to bat.”

The thought of a one-night stand makes me nervous. Not like hot-guy-in-my-pants nervous, but creeper-who-slobbers-and-wants-to-put-his-balls-in-my-shoes nervous. Picking up a random guy sounds so hit-or-miss. Knowing my luck, I’ll end up with a bad kisser who has a furry fetish.

I motion toward Travis. “How thoughtful of you to stand in if the need arises.”

“What are gay best friends for?”

I turn around and push out my lower lip. “Why couldn’t you be straight? We’d make such a great couple.”

He pulls me to his chest. “I know. We’d be perfect. We could even color-coordinate our outfits when we go out for dates.”

“Oh, that’d be fun!”

“Right?” He flips his hair out of his face. “By the way, tonight, don’t ask the guy’s name or you’ll get attached, and you don’t want to get attached.” He makes it sound so simple. Travis lets go of me to grab a shirt off a hanger. He holds it up. “Here, try this on.”

After pulling off my shirt, I slide on the tiny spaghetti-strapped tank top. He reaches for my shirt and tucks it into my skirt before he kisses the top of my head.

“Total hotness. This pink push-up bra makes your hooters look huge.”

“It’s an optical illusion. I’m tiny, so proportionally, they look big.” I used to hate having boobs when I did gymnastics. Now, they’re not so bad.

As I change out of the clothes and back into my jeans and t-shirt, Travis holds the skirt up to his waist, and I start laughing.

“Are you thinking of going in drag?” He’d make a gorgeous girl because he’s a gorgeous boy, but I know he’s not wired that way.

He rolls his eyes and hands me my clothes.

When I finally check out the price tag, I wish I hadn’t. “Crap. This is expensive. Which reminds me, thanks for snagging the art lab job for me. Professor Zinzer is amazing, and working there will force me to do something with my journal of ideas. I think I’m going to love that gig.” Except for my stupid co-worker who thinks I’m a pushover already. But I’m excited to hang out and soak in the creativity in the art department.

“My pleasure. If I can’t get you to switch majors, maybe I can try to brainwash you. Why you’d rather hang out with suits all day is beyond me.”

Nobody gets my business major, not even my best friend. Hell, I don’t even understand it some days. While I do okay in those classes, they don’t rock my world like art does. But what the hell am I supposed to do with an art degree?

With a business degree, I’ll be able to do things for myself. I watched my mom implode after my dad left us. No, thanks. I’m all for dating and love and hot sex, but there’s one thing I have to do for myself and that’s make my own way.

* * *

Several hours later, as the pounding beat of music vibrates all of my internal organs, I wonder what the hell I was thinking. Travis keeps saying no one really watches, but I’m sure that’s so I don’t back out and hide under a table. Somehow this activity went from dancing on a bar to writhing in a cage, and for the last twenty minutes, I’ve been trying to psych myself up for this.

“You look stunning, girl.” Travis’s breath smells like orange juice and vodka. “I love the garters.” He reaches down and tugs on the ribbon holding up my tights, and I swat his hand.

“I look like a hooker.” In the quiet of my friend’s apartment as I was getting ready, this seemed like a good idea—dress up, dance my ass off wearing a crazy outfit, and get out of myself for a little while—but now I’m not so convinced. Aside from the leotards I used to sport when I did gymnastics, I’ve never gone out flashing so much skin. But I have to admit I like the Mary Janes that give me a couple of extra inches on my five-four frame.

“You do, and it looks fucking fabulous,” my girlfriend Margo shouts in my ear, making it ring. “What time are your roommates coming?”

“I’m not sure,” I yell. “I haven’t seen them yet.”

After a few back-and-forth texts with Jenna, I finally realize that tonight’s outing is to celebrate Clem’s twenty-first birthday. All of their friends are meeting up for a few drinks before the club, but since I only really know Jenna, I opted to skip the party and spare myself some awkwardness.

“This bra hurts,” I say, tugging it down.

“But these babies are going to make some guy so happy.” Margo’s hands wrap around my boobs and squeeze, making me wince.

Why my friend thinks she can grope me, much less in the middle of the dance floor, makes me shake my head. Laughing, I look up and lock eyes with… the most beautiful guy I’ve ever seen. Holy sweet Jesus.

He’s tall and lean but muscular. His hair is short on the sides and a little longer on top, flopping into his eyes and drawing my attention to those high cheekbones and some seriously pouty lips. He’s wearing a fitted long-sleeved black Henley and jeans. Judging by the smirk on his face, he clearly saw Margo feeling me up.

God, there is something so familiar about him.

I stare. He stares back.

My heart stops beating.

“I need a drink. A very, very strong drink.” I turn and beeline straight to the bar where Travis’s Uncle Joe bartends. Yes, when faced with a total hottie, I run like hell. #SoSmooth

The plan for tonight? Drink. Heavily. Dance. Pretend Hot Guy didn’t see Margo clutch my boobies. And hopefully live to see tomorrow.

“What’ll it be, Dani?” Joe wipes condensation off the counter and reaches for a martini glass. “The usual?”

“Yes!” I have to shout over the music so he can hear me. Even though none of us are twenty-one yet, Travis’s uncle knows we won’t do anything stupid, so he gets us in and lets us have a few drinks.

He hands me an apple martini and waves off my money when I try to pay. “You’re cage dancing. Booze is on the house.”

I grin and lean over the bar to grab a cherry off the tray of garnishes.

Crossing his burly arms over his chest, he shakes his head. “It’s only ’cause you’re so cute that I don’t kick your ass for that.” His mouth twists as he tries to look tough, and I wink at him and head back to my friends.

When I find Margo and Travis, they look pissed.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, taking a swig of my sweet concoction.

Margo bumps me with her elbow and nods her head across the dance floor. “Asshole is here.”

That can only mean one person. My ex. Reid.

“He hates clubs,” I mutter.

It’s ironic that he was always calling me uptight because he’s the one who never wanted to go clubbing, and yet here he is, twenty feet away, looking all preppy in a dark polo. Damn. He looks good. A second later, Ashley sidles up next to him and plants her mouth on his. I actually see her tongue extend before their lips connect. Gross.

I chug the rest of my drink, hoping the booze will ease the ache in my chest, and turn back toward my friends.

“I’ve had two drinks. Let’s do this before I lose my nerve.” Because nothing distracts a girl from her former lover like writhing around in a cage.

When I get to the platform, I turn around and bump into Travis, who has to grab me to keep me from falling over. Once I’m steady, he holds me by my shoulders and leans down.

“Dani, I know I put this on your list, but if you’re not comfortable, you don’t have to go through with it.”

“I’m not backing out. Not with dickhead down there.” I put my mouth against his ear and whisper, “Do I look okay?” I brush down my skirt. Man, it’s short.

“You look like sex on a stick, and he’s going to be blue-balling himself all over the club when he sees your hot little ass up there.” Travis pats me on the bum and shoos me up the small steps. Thankfully, there are five other cages, so it’s not like I’m the main attraction.

When we got here, Travis’s uncle said one of the girls called in sick, so my best friend kindly suggested that I take her place. I’ve been here enough times to know how the girls move, and if I don’t think too hard about it, I should be okay.

As I get to the top of the stairs, I turn back to give Travis a nervous smile. It’s now or never. I gulp, wishing I had another drink, and strut into the cage before I can rethink this.

Closing my eyes, I feel the beat in my chest, and I let my hips move while I grip the bars like my life depends on it. The crowd is busy. No one will notice you.

I’ve always been a decent dancer, probably from years of gymnastics. Hopefully, I’ll check off item number four on my list without making a total ass of myself.

I start to let myself go, and the pounding in my heart subsides and is replaced with the driving rhythm of music. The lights pulse above, and I swirl my hips and thrust my chest and move. Heat flushes my cheeks. Sweat beads on my skin.

Feeling braver, I open my eyes. At first I just look at the floor of the cage. It takes another few minutes before I brave looking out into the crowd. And then I wish I hadn’t.

Because staring at me is Hot Guy.

I’m not good at being coy. That’s Margo’s game. She can lure them in and chew them up before they realize what’s happening.

Somewhere in my alcohol-addled brain, I decide to pretend I’m her. Why didn’t I think of this sooner? This is just a game. No biggie. Why am I so serious all the time? See, this is what my mother is always talking about. I’m too structured. Too rigid. Too damn nice. Anger starts to pound through my veins as I think of all the times I’ve been called that word. Reid called me nice. Screw nice.

I wink at Hot Guy and decide I definitely need more alcohol. Looking to the side of the cage, I see Travis, and I make a drinking motion, and he nods.

I continue to dance until he steps into the cage with my martini, which I chug.

“Damn, girl. Take it easy.”

“I’m not drunk enough to do this.”

He pushes up against me and smiles. “Move over. You’re hogging the limelight.”

Travis grabs my hips and spins me so I’m facing the crowd. Then he pulls me tight and grinds against me, making me gasp.

“I thought you weren’t into girls,” I yell.

“As much as I’d love to say this boner is for you, I was dancing with Evan a few minutes ago.”

I laugh and dance with him until we’re both hot and sweaty. I thrust my hips back against him and wrap my arms around his neck as his hands wind down my body.

He spins me around to face him, and he dips me back, grinding his hips into mine. Okay.

When he pulls me up, he laughs at my expression. “Was that too much?” he whispers in my ear.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had this much foreplay before with a straight guy.”

He laughs again and kisses my cheek, turning me back to the crowd. “That’s a shame, honey.”

When I turn back, Hot Guy is gone. Damn.

I search for him, my eyes scanning the crowd, but after half an hour, I finally give up.

My insides feel deflated from the lost potential of tonight as I descend the stairs onto the main dance floor. But who am I kidding? Even if I had talked to that guy, he probably has a girlfriend. Or ten. He’s too gorgeous to be here by himself.

Spotting an opening in the crowd, I decide to head for the bar and drown my disappointment in vodka.

And as I turn, I run straight into Reid and Ashley.