Clenching my hands, I rise up.
“Give me my money,” I say as I snatch my bra and strap it on.
“What? Come on. Let’s try this again, yeah?” He puts on his friendly face, and I start at the way he switches from jerk to nice guy.
“No,” I mutter.
The voice comes again. “Scott! Get your ass out of the alley. Your girlfriend just showed at the frat house.”
He blinks hard. “Fuck.” He tucks his dick in his pants and zips, then gives me a smirk. “Catch you later, baby.”
He wanders towards the street as I wipe the asphalt from my skin.
You need his money, keeps running through my head. Yeah, but am I willing to get close to him again?
Moving fast, I tug on my flowy t-shirt.
Just ask him for what I’m owed. Plus, his girlfriend is here; he won’t be forcing me to my knees in front of her.
“Scott,” I call out. “You got what we agreed to, so—”
His eyes thin as he looks at me from over his shoulder. “Get lost. You’re not even that hot.”
He turns away, adjusting his shirt and running both hands through his longish dirty-blond hair.
I stand there for a beat, then follow. When he reaches the edge of the alley, I catch up with him.
“I came out here with you. We made an agreement in the club. You said one private dance. I’ve never done that before. You owe me.”
He scoffs. “For what? The pleasure of your company? Why would I pay for that? I don’t owe you a damn thing.”
“Scott!” a female voice cries in excitement from the porch of the Kappa house. We’ve reached the end of the alleyway and houses sit on each side, all of them Greek at Hawthorne University.
Kappa is the biggest mansion, complete with imposing columns a la the White House. Our current dean of the university was a Kappa here. A sitting senator was a Kappa here. Whatever. Maybe those guys are okay, but now it’s home to some of the biggest pricks on campus. Most of it because Parker is their leader.
I follow the female voice to a gathering of co-eds with perfect tans after Instagram-lake-life summers. They’re drinking beers from Solo cups.
I look down at my pale skin from studying at the library and dancing inside a club with no windows.
It’s the first party weekend of the fall semester at a small school, but these people feel like strangers.
The girl at the front, a petite girl with red corkscrews down to her shoulders, waves at him. With her hand cocked on her hip, she’s dressed to kill in a strapless black dress and heels. “Pookie Bear, I’ve been waiting for you. What were you doing back there?” Her red lips make a pout.
Scott shrugs then jogs up the steps, meeting her on the porch. He kisses her on the mouth and I grimace.
A frat brother hands him a beer.
“Just coming back from the bars,” he says cheerfully. “Closing time.”
It’s true; two is closing time for the bars, and it sends a wave of people to this side of campus where the parties go all night.
Platinum Nights, relatively new to Sparrow Lake, is also closed. My stripping career began at the Boobie Bungalow, a decent place I liked, plus my old roommate Sugar worked there as a bartender. Unfortunately, it’s several miles off campus and requires a car. I had to sell mine for the cash. The Bungalow’s clientele was mostly older men escaping their lives. Sometimes there would be a bachelor party that included some douchebags, but the regulars knew the drill. Watch the girls, then leave.
Platinum Nights is within walking distance of campus and has an entirely different animal: frat boys. This brand of douchebag doesn’t follow any rules.
My head churns. My stomach rolls. I can’t leave empty-handed.
I have to pay Connor so his goons don’t take it out on me or my mom.
I feel eyes on me. Assessing. Mostly male. I stiffen as I smooth down my shirt. It’s sleeveless but covers my ass, something I slipped on after my last set. There’s a monarch butterfly on the front with the caption: Give up being a caterpillar and fly.
My throat tightens. I’m never going to fly at this rate.
“Hey, Scott,” I call from the front lawn of the Kappa house, feigning confidence even though I keep plenty of space between us. The bass inside the house pumps hard, mirroring my own heartbeat.
Scott must have amnesia because he stares at me like he doesn’t know who I am.
I cock my hip. “Yes, you. Asshole with the vomit on your shirt.”
Red turns to look at him, a frown on her pretty brow. “Scott. Who is she?”
I laugh bitterly. She knows me. We used to party together sophomore year. I had no idea she was dating Scott now.