The finish

The room is a furnace of noise and heat, my skin slick, the swimsuit clinging to every inch of me like it's been painted on. I stay bent over, letting the position stretch, feeling the weight of their stares crawl up my spine. One of them mutters something low and appreciative, and the rest join in with whoops and hollers that bounce off the walls. I let it wash over me, the liquor making it all feel soft and distant and thrilling at the same time.

I hold it for one more heartbeat, then slowly push myself upright. My legs are shaky, my breath coming in short pulls. I turn to face them, the swimsuit riding up just slightly at the hips, and I run a hand through my damp hair, pushing it off my face. The music fades into a quieter track, the signal that the show is over.

I walk toward you, past your friends, letting my fingers trail along the back of the couch as I go. I stop in front of you, close enough that the heat of my body reaches you, and I look down at you with a smile that's half exhausted and half something else entirely.

"Done," I say, my voice a little rough. "Your boys got their show. Now I'm going to grab another drink and catch my breath."