Page 61 of Heart Over Heels

Oz frowned at those of us gathered at the sink counter then corrected, “He didn’t say it was a date…”

Elliot stopped mid-stride, lips twitching, and threw me a look over his shoulder. “Guy shows up after hours with combed hair and a clean shirt? That’s a date. Plus, you two give each other more attention than you do the actual paying customers.” His gaze drifted upward, where it caught on my wig. One brow hiked.

I planted a fist on my hip and glowered. “Have any more insights to share, wise ass?”

Elliot’s smirk was tight and sharp. “Not a one.” He headed for the showers, ducking into one stall as Oz claimed the other.

With only two showers to share between the six of us—five since Zephyr had traded up for Beck’s rainfall and massage jet paradise—it didn’t take much to book up the place.

“Damn it, I was here first!” Colt barked after them.

The showers swished on, one then the other. I needed to wrap this up before the humidity sapped the strength out of my hairspray.

“Found it!” Callum crowed, holding up a bottle of lube. He spun away with his tail waving and darted out of the bathroom.

The door had barely started its swing toward closed when Colt broke into a grin. His emerald eyes flashed as he turned,already on his way out after his twin. “I’m gonna go help him with that.”

With them gone, I finally had peace. Well, as close to it as I was likely to get in this place.

Leaning on the counter, I took a long look at my reflection. The fitted denim dress hugged where I wanted it to, kitten heels promised I wouldn’t regret walking by the end of the night, and I’d tied a pair of bows into the buns of the wig, hoping they would distract from the sheer size of the thing.

I still looked like myself, just dialed back a notch.

As Colt had reminded me, fetish was a selling point. People loved a quirk, a gimmick, an experience they could write home about. But being a sideshow attraction wasn’t always fun. After a while, the spotlight started to burn. The glare became too harsh and the eyes beyond it too many. Even for a self-professed attention whore.

Casual sounded nice.

Low-key.

Normal.

Those were things I’d never been, but I could fake it. Perform like I did every night.

I packed up my mess, shoving the hot tools into my bag and kicking it under the counter. I’d come back for it later when my hands weren’t so shaky. The mirror was beginning to fog by the time I slipped out of the bathroom and headed for the stairs.

The last time our resident soldier had picked me up, Beck and Colette had been on standby. This time, Mercer stood alone inside the club doors, looking a little stiff. Shiny. Maybe he put something in his hair? And he’d shaved. Pity. I liked the scruff.

He straightened when he saw me, shifting from at ease to attention in a heartbeat. My grin came out nervous, which might’ve been the first time I’d put a name to the flutter in mygut. The uncertainty about why I’d agreed to put myself in such a dangerous situation.

The threat wasn’t physical. I wasn’t worried about a bunch of blue hairs committing a hate crime over Bingo. Looks couldn’t kill, but they could cut. And while I could paste on a smile as easily as a Band-Aid, that didn’t stop the scars from piling up.

As I drew near, I wondered what, if anything, Mercer had told them about me.

Did my presence come with a disclaimer?

A warning label?

Would I embarrass him?

Or was this his chance to bring a piece of the freakshow to his veteran buddies?

Worries I thought I’d buried with my past spun in my head as I crossed the floor, grateful already that I’d chosen low heels. I didn’t need to be questioning my balance on top of everything else.

Upon noticing me, Mercer looked perplexed with question marks in his eyes and a subtle pinch between his brows.

I faltered a step.

“What’s uh…” Whatever he was about to say died with the clearing of his throat. “We’d better get going if we want to be back by open.”