Page 13 of Jinx

“That’s what she said,” one of the guys muttered.

It took the space of a blink for the laughter to burst out of me before I could catch it with both hands slapped over my mouth.

“Hey, there we go,” the same guy said, a wide grin on his face. “Still nervous?”

I swallowed back the giggles that were still trying to break loose. “Not so much. That was a good one.”

I sat in the empty folding chair across from them and felt the tension in my chest ease a little. The group—which I learned was the husband-and-wife owners, the hiring manager, and the operations manager—asked me a few standard interview questions before finally inviting me to take the cage.

The steps leading up to it were built into the pedestal, and the back of the cage was left open for easy entry and exit. I unzipped my hoodie and shrugged it off my shoulders. I was wearing my favorite lace-print sports bra like it might bring me luck. I dropped my phone and wallet onto the sweatshirt and toed off my sneakers.

One step, then another. By the time I was in the cage, they’d queued up my chosen track—a remix of Hozier’s ‘Movement’, because obviously—and I was ready. There was a metal hoop fashioned to look like a bird swing in the middle of the space. I let the sultry beat pull me to my knees in a graceful drop, gliding under the swing. My hands moved up the front bars of the cage, and I rose in a seductive wave.

The music took over, and my limbs followed its lead. I wasn’t thinking anymore. Not about curses. Not about college. And definitely not about boys. I was just moving.

Sexy. Powerful. Free.

It felt like I danced forever, the track ending and silence descending before my observers called me back down from my high. I stood for just one more moment, breathless and almost dizzy with elation. My magic swelled in my chest, feeling like I’d done the job well. Around the front of the cage, the four got to their feet when I rejoined them.

“Cordie, that was great!” Jenny, the female owner, said with a smile that rivaled the spotlights. “You have real talent.”

“Nice work, kid,” her husband, Glen, added with a quick wink.

“Do we really have to sit through more of these? Call it done.” This came from Dante, Mr. That’s What She Said, and operations manager for the club, and my face flamed with pride. Even the warning glare that the hiring manager, Alicia, gave him couldn’t burst my happy bubble.

“Thank you for coming in today and sharing your passion with us, Cordie,” she said with a warmer smile for me. “You’ll be hearing from us one way or another within the week.”

I ducked my head, thanking them again, and my feet never touched the floor as I floated out of the club.

9

RAMI

The case of bottles landed on the bar with a heavy thud. Lifting the hem of my tee, I wiped the sweat from my face only to hear a whistle down the bar.

“Damn, Rami,” Ava, one of tonight’s bartenders, teased with a smirk. “I may be playing for the other team, but abs like that should be illegal.”

I huffed a short laugh and arched my back to stretch out a kink between my shoulder blades. “Start lifting weights and then you can use your own muscles to bring up bottles.”

Ava rolled her eyes and went back to spot-checking glasses. We both knew that no amount of weight-lifting would put enough bulk on her tiny five-foot frame to do this job. Being six-foot-eight and layered with muscle made me good at two things: bouncing drunks and carrying heavy things.

I looked out over the interior of the club while I unpacked the assorted liquor bottles I’d brought up from keepstock. The house lights were dimmed, allowing the stage lights to reflect off the gilded cages that lined the perimeter of the dance floor. The place felt almost cavernous when it was empty, without the crushing presence of a hundred writhing bodies.

A feminine voice, high and excited, cut through my thoughts as it escaped the breakroom down the hall. Jake had gathered all the hopefuls there, leading them out one by one for their auditions. It’d been dragging on for what felt like hours. The dancers got to choose their own music, and I must have heard the same Taylor Swift song fourteen times already.

Could be worse.

I’d watched the first three, curiosity getting the better of me. They were okay. Then I stopped paying attention when one of the girls face-planted while trying to maneuver the swing. She fled in tears, and it was for the best. The club had a reputation for having the best dancers, and not everyone made the cut.

“Hey, man.” Jake stopped at the bar after escorting another dancer to the cage being used for auditions. He held his fist out to me. “Glen’s got you doing the heavy lifting, huh?”

I bumped my knuckles against his and then stooped to grab a bottle of water from the mini-fridge under the bar. Feeling the answer was obvious, I just shrugged and twisted the cap off.

“Yeah, I volunteered to come in early for this,” he went on, undeterred. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the breakroom. “Spandex and sports bras, brother.”

Suppressing an eye-roll, I took a swig from my bottle and returned to work. Jake liked to talk like a player, but he was a—what did Ava call him?—a cinnamon roll. “You fool no one, Jake.”

“I’m serious,” he said, leaning his elbows on the shining bar top. “Look at the one I just brought out. She’s not just smoking hot. She’s got presence.”