There are only two mirrors in the back room available for waitresses to use. The other ten are taken up by what has to be a ton of makeup, hair products, and changes of clothes for the dancers. I study myself in the mirror, wrinkling my nose and mentally critiquing the new uniform Rick has us wearing. The corset I’m wearing is pretty, but Lexi pulled it way too tight when we put them on after telling me to “pull tighter” when I helped her with hers. It does push my boobs up so they look bigger than they really are, not that they’re anything to sneeze at. My tits are pretty nice if I do say so myself. I cup them instinctively, turning to the side to view how I look in the getup. The red and black corset, in addition to the tiny pair of black booty shorts that barely cover said booty, fishnet thigh high stockings and heels is the new Guilty Pleasures uniform. One Rick guarantees will get us higher tips. Honestly, I think he’s just trying to entice more of us to get up on stage, because these sure don’t leave much to the imagination. Either that or the slimeball just likes looking at all of us wearing what he tells us to.

I’m just finishing pulling my long black hair up into pigtails, the red tips just hitting my shoulders, when Clarissa comes up beside me. Her blonde hair tumbles down her back in perfect loose curls, almost reaching her waist thanks to the expensive extensions she’s wearing. Her outfit is skimpier than mine, but then, she’s a dancer. It’s her mermaid look, a teal bikini top with “scales” and matching ruffled skirt, if you can really call it that. The front looks like regular white panties because the skirt only wraps about halfway across on each side and barely covers her ass. A pair of teal elbow-length gloves completes the ensemble. With her powder-blue eyes, ski jump nose, cupid’s bow mouth and natural double-d’s, she’s the most popular dancer here.

“Damn girl, you make that new uniform look good. And, bonus, it matches your hair!” Unlike most of the dancers, Clary is nice too. She’s not the type to be phony and act like your friend to your face, only to spread rumors about you behind your back like my friend Kat’s ex-roommate Becca. “You know,” she muses, the smile on her face reaching her eyes, “you’d make way more money if you’d get up on stage.”

My head shakes no immediately and emphatically. “No thanks.” My eyes meet hers in the mirror, and I grin so she knows I’m not mad she’s made the comment…again. It’s an ongoing argument between us. “I’m pretty much the most uncoordinated person you’ll ever meet, so me getting up there would be a disaster waiting to happen. Especially since Rick doesn’t offer worker’s comp.”

Clary laughs, “Rick doesn’t offer anything he doesn’t absolutely have to.” Her smile slips, and her eyes turn serious on mine. “I mean it though. You’re gorgeous, and the guys who come in here always drool over you.” She nudges me with her hip when I look down so I’ll meet her earnest gaze again. “Besides, if you need some help, you know I’ll teach you. We’ll get rid of your clumsy ways in a heartbeat.”

“Thanks.” I wrap an arm around her waist and squeeze. “I’ll think about it.” We both know I won’t, but I do appreciate the offer. Waitressing in a strip club is one thing, but actually taking off all my clothes? Yeah…that’s not a low I’m ever going to stoop to. I’m not looking to be mom two-point-oh.

Having me at sixteen wasn’t a party for her, and she hated that. Until I was seven, I had more “uncles” than I knew what to do with, and not one of them was a decent guy. I’m just lucky one of them beat her so bad she wound up in the hospital when I was twelve. That “uncle” thought my just starting to develop body was more attractive than hers, and I’m not sure if she was more upset that he tried to touch me, or that he wanted me more than he wanted her. Unfortunately, when she was given the ultimatum to either get rid of him or lose me, she picked him and I ended up in foster care. It definitely wasn’t a picnic, but when I was seventeen, after a horrible experience with a foster “dad,” I got placed with Gloria, Annabelle’s grandma, and that was it. I finally had a place I belonged, and I got Belle out of it too.

Finished with our conversation, Clary goes back to checking herself out in the mirror, making sure her teeth don’t have any lipstick on them and her winged eyeliner is equal on both sides. I leave her to her primping and head out to the bar to find out which section I have tonight.

Scott’s stocking the bar when I walk up, and I cringe inside when he turns to look at me, his eyes traveling the length of my body before he finally comes back up to meet my eyes. “When are you going to let me show you a good time outside of this place again, Scar?”

Groaning inwardly, and not wanting to piss him off since he’s one of the bartenders that watches out for the waitresses, making sure no one gives us shit. I just don’t want to go there a second time. He and I hooked up my first night working the floor, back when I had to do shots before my shift to get through the night wearing what amounted to a bikini top and skintight pleather—yes pleather—pants. By the time we closed, I was drunk, and he offered me a ride. The ride ended up taking place at his apartment, and while it wasn’t bad, it wasn’t all that memorable either. It also wasn’t like he took advantage. I was drunk and lonely, and he was nice to me. I’m not proud of it, but I don’t blame him for my actions either.

Trying to soften the blow, I stretch to place a quick kiss on his cheek. “You know you can’t handle all this,” I gesture down my body like a game show girl, and wink.

He leans down to speak in my ear so it’s easier to hear his low voice over the music. “I can handle anything you got, babe.” A smirk crosses his face, his eyes heating with lust as they follow the path of my arm. Shaking my head, I can’t stop my own smile as I check the floor map for which section will be mine tonight. I’ve got the area to the left of the stage. I’m still staring down, memorizing which tables in that area are mine, when Scott’s voice startles me. “Watch yourself tonight. There’s a birthday party that just got seated in your section, and they’re already pretty wild.”

“I’ve got this,” I reassure him…well, more like shrug off his concern. A raucous group of drunk birthday partiers can either mean better tips or if it’s frat boys, awful ones. Taking a few extra seconds to study my hair in the mirrored back of the bar, I pull on each of my pigtails to tighten them.

It’s easy to see which guys are the birthday party because one is wearing one of those ridiculous cone-shaped hats little kids wear. His friends are laughing at the open-mouthed awe on his face as he looks around at all the more-than-half naked or almost completely naked girls walking around the room. I walk up to the table to take their orders, and look around the table at each of the guys. My eyes freeze on the one sitting directly across from where I’m standing. All the guys are attractive, but this one is a whole other level of hot. He’s got shaggy light brown hair, a little longer than it should be. In fact, it looks like he’s way overdue for a cut. His eyes though, they’re what I’m stuck on. They’re framed by long, thick lashes and the color…ohmigod. The color is a bluish green, almost turquoise. I’ve never seen eyes that color naturally, and quickly decide he’s wearing contacts; he has to be. This guy is already too attractive for words, and no guy should be that hot. He’s wearing a light blue button down dress shirt, no tie, with the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms to show off the colorful tattoos taking up just about every inch.

The whooping of his friends when a new girl comes out onto the stage jolts me out of my trance, and I turn to the birthday boy and smile, turning up the southern accent. “Hi, I’m Scarlett. What can I get y’all tonight?”

His face falls a little. “Aren’t you gonna card me?” Ah, so it’s the twenty-first. Funny, I thought girls were the only ones who pouted because they weren’t carded. Plus, it’s not like he didn’t get carded when he came in. If he wasn’t twenty-one, they wouldn’t have been able to bring their alcohol in the building.

“I was getting to that,” I lie smoothly, still feeling Mr. Hot Guys eyes on me. Birthday Boy grins, making a big show of pulling his wallet out of his back pocket and handing me his license. “Well, look at that.” I pretend to be shocked by his age. “Happy birthday! Now, what can I get ya?” It’s a lot easier to serve them when they’ve brought their own alcohol.

He hands me a bottle of cheap vodka, and requests shot glasses for everyone at the table. I take the bottle and make my around the table taking orders and bottles from everyone else. Most of the bottles are variations of the same, tequila, vodka, and one douchebag even hands me a bottle of Jäger. Yes, drinking shots of Jägermeister makes you an automatic douche before you say another word.

Hot Guy surprises me, handing me a bottle of Woodford Reserve, something college boys don’t normally have the budget or the taste buds for. Once I’ve gotten all the orders, I rush back over to the bar so I can fill them and bring their glasses.

As soon as I start setting the myriad of bottles on the bar, Scott’s eyes start rolling in sympathy. “Jesus, that table sounds like frat boy central. Sorry, babe, your tips are going to suck.”

I shrug, knowing he’s probably right, but unable to think about anything but the guy with the blue-eyes. I give him the rest of the orders, and when I show him the hot guys bottle, his brows go up. “Well, maybe it won’t be a total loss then, huh?” He grins at me, and I smile back in return.

As soon as their order is ready, I head back to the table, careful not to trip on the higher than I’m used to wearing heels. I quickly pass out the drinks, making sure not to linger or make eye contact with the hot guy. Birthday boy finishes his shots before I’m done passing everyone else’s out, and when I stand beside him, he looks up at me with a goofy grin on his face Boy clearly can’t hold his alcohol if three shots has already gone to his head. Either that or they did quite a bit of pre-gaming before coming here tonight.

“It’s my birthday.”

I laugh along with his friends. One of the guys says, “You already told her that dumbass.”

“Oh yeah,” he says, the goofy grin still on his face. “Can I get a dance?”

The smile on my face this time is genuine. “Sure, birthday boy. Which girl would you like?”

“Can I have you?” The way he says it sounds like he’s asking for much more than a dance, but before I can decline a sound comes from across the table. We all turn to look at the hot guy. He’s glaring so hard at his friend, like he’s ready to kick his ass right here for reasons I don’t understand. Birthday boy looks confused, his head moving from side to side as he looks between us. “Brax?”

A name…I have his name now. I want to squee at the thought, at least in my head, but Brax answers BB’s, because I refuse to refer to him as “birthday boy” in my head anymore, unasked question. “You can’t get a dance from her. She’s our waitress, not a dancer. Pick someone else.”

BB pouts for just a second, and I roll my eyes at just how young he looks. When I’m finished, I lock eyes with Brax, and I can feel the blush cross my cheeks knowing he saw me. Rolling your eyes at the ridiculousness of a customer isn’t the way to get a tip. I can hear BB debating with himself over which girl to choose, and finally he points towards one.

I look over and see he’s requesting Clary. “Oh, she’s a good choice,” I assure him. “She’s one of our best dancers, and she loves to give birthday dances.” His grin widens, and I yell Clary’s stage name to get her attention.

She walks over, eyes locked on the silly hat, and stops beside me, wrapping an arm around my waist. “You shouted?”

“Yes ma’am, I did. This birthday boy would love a dance from you this evening. He just turned twenty-one.” Her smile widens, and I turn to the guy practically drooling as he stares at her. “This is Ari,” a name close enough to Clary, and similar to the Disney princess mermaid she tries to emulate—minus the red hair of course. “She’ll be happy to entertain you.”

Clary immediately steps forward and gestures for BB to move his chair out. As soon as he does, she moves in between his chair and the table and begins to sway her hips, running her fingers through her long hair. That’s my cue to go, so I take my tray and go check in on my other tables.

The night passes pretty quickly, thanks to full tables and lots of drink orders, and before I know it, it’s time for me to take a break. I drop my tray off with Scott and walk down the short hallway that leads to a small deck off the side of the building. It’s the place smoker’s come to get their fix, but there’s enough space out here that I can relax in the somewhat fresh air without gagging on nicotine.

It’s even better when I walk out, letting the door shut behind me, and see that the deck is empty save for two people who are much more interested in their cigarettes than me. I walk over to the side furthest from the door, bracing my arms on the railing as I look out at the lights from downtown Nashville. We’re only a few blocks out, but they’re so pretty. Inhaling a deep breath, I shut my eyes and just enjoy the quiet.