They’re getting braver

The bass keeps pumping and I keep moving. The liquor has settled deep in my bones now, making my limbs feel heavy and light at the same time. I spin around the pole, my back to them, then arch over it, letting my hair drag across the floor. Someone says something I don't quite catch, and then a laugh ripples through the group. Louder now. Bolder.

"Hey, Joe — she single?" one of them shouts over the music playfully, and the others crack up. I don't let it break my rhythm. I flip upright, catching the pole, and let my hips roll in a slow circle. The swimsuit is soaked through at this point, clinging to every line of me. I can feel their eyes like hands, but I keep finding yours in the mess of it.

Another voice cuts through. "Shit, man. That's the best damn replacement we could've gotten." I bite my lip and keep dancing. I'm turned on in a way I didn't expect, the attention buzzing under my skin like electricity. The noise, the drinks, the way their eyes track my every movement — it's doing something to me. Something I'm not sure I want to name.

I hook my leg around the pole and climb, slow and deliberate, giving them a long view of the climb. I twist mid-air, spinning down, and when I land, my hands are on my hips and I'm looking at you again. The music swells. I can hear the anticipation in the room.

"One more song," I say, breathless, my voice cutting through the chatter. "Then I'm done. Deal?"