Page 12 of The Last Dance

He didn’t react, but he didn’t back off either. “You’re quick.”

“Thank you?” I said, uncertain if it was safe to be snarky.

He leaned in, close enough that I could smell something expensive and dangerous, like aftershave mixed with gun oil. “You will dance for me.” It wasn’t a question, and it wasn’t up for debate. But it also wasn’t a threat. It was more like gravity.

I considered my options and came up empty. “I won’t sleep with you, either,” I said, just to see if the world would end.

He nodded, once. “If you do, it will be because you want to.”

That hit me in the gut, but I pretended it didn’t.

We sat there for a few more seconds, the silence charged and weirdly companionable. I watched the way the light traced the side of his face, and he watched me watching, like he had all the time in the world.

“Tomorrow night,” he said. “After close.”

I almost made a joke about time clocks, but thought better of it. Instead, I said, “Okay.” I didn’t say thank you. I didn’t need to.

I stayed put, hands folded, letting the memory of the exchange linger. Most silences made me want to claw out of my skin, but this one felt—what’s the word—companionable. Like the pressure in your ears after a flight, weird, but not intolerable.

I ran my thumb along the seam of the cushion, staring at the place his glass. I was still vibrating from the conversation, and I realized it wasn’t fear. It was something closer to the adrenaline you get at the top of a rollercoaster, the half-second where you realize you can’t get off until the ride is finished.

I told myself I was deciding to go through with it, the dance. That it was my choice, not his. He wanted power; I wanted autonomy. Maybe we could split the difference.

I stood, knees wobbly. As I turned to leave, I felt the sudden grip of a hand around my wrist, not hard but definite, and before I could process the motion I was pulled backward and down, landing in Vadim’s lap with a jolt that realigned every nerve in my body.

My first instinct was to struggle, but his arms were heavy and warm and absolute, holding me in place. My spine snapped upright, and I could feel the heat of his thighs under me, the ridged muscle, the electric hum of his presence. My pulse relocated itself from my chest to my throat.

I turned my head, expecting a threat or a joke, but he just looked at me—close, so close I could see the gold glint in his irises. He didn’t smile. He even didn’t blink.

His hand came up and tucked a loose strand of my hair behind my ear, slow and methodical, like he was committing the motion to memory. The whole thing took maybe three seconds, but it played out in my head like an hour.

When his fingers brushed my cheek, I stopped breathing altogether.

He spoke, low enough that it wouldn’t carry past the curve of the booth. “You don’t have to wear the costume for me.”

I had no response to that. Nothing clever, nothing bitchy, not even a token sarcasm to armor myself. My mouth opened, then closed.

He let me sit there for a beat longer, then shifted his grip from my wrist to my thigh, anchoring me, before finally letting go. He angled his head toward the exit.

“Tomorrow,” he said.

I nodded, and this time it wasn’t performance. I peeled myself out of his lap and walked backstage on legs that weren’t fully under my control.

In the dressing room, Carmine gave me a look. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, “just low blood sugar.”

He tossed me a juice box. “Take care of yourself, kid.”

I did. I packed up, counted the tips—better than average—and changed into my street clothes. My hands shook as I tied my shoes.

When I crossed the floor, I didn’t look at the owner’s booth, but I knew he was still watching. I could feel the burn of it, the same way you can sense a storm rolling in through a closed window.

At the back exit, I paused and looked over my shoulder.

Vadim was there, hands splayed on the table, gaze locked on me like he could will me back into the seat if he wanted. Maybe he could. I left, but the feel of his hands stayed on my skin all the way home.

And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t bored.