Heavy panting and warm breath have my eyelids peeling open. It's an instant mistake as a sledgehammering from last night's consequences hit me ten-fold. However, that's the least of my problems. A brown brindle dog stares at me with curious toffee eyes and drool dribbling from its mouth. I swear he's smiling at me, which would be cute in most cases, but I'm scared of muscular canines, and this one looks like it could drag me by the legs. Scooting closer to the center of the bed, I bump into something smooth and warm.

My eyes widen.

Who the hell is in bed with me?

Scratch that. Where am I?

Daring a glance over my shoulder, I glimpse Mr. Sexy Kyle Cameron before turning away to slap a hand over my mouth. Shit. This means I didn't go home last night, which means my mom is probably pacing the living room with curlers in her hair and thinking about all the ways she'll scold me for worrying her sick.

Anika will cover for me. I need to find my phone.

Thankfully, the scary dog has retreated to his bed in the corner of the room and is distracted with licking his genitals.

Too distracted if you ask me.

Male dogs are as bad as men, it seems.

Gently slipping out from the covers, I tip-toe across the hardwood floor, gathering my garments. I've never had a one-night stand, and I'm not sure I want to again. Aside from the obvious, there is something dirty about sliding on panties that I wore the night before. Not to mention how I only remember bits and pieces of making out with Kyle in an Uber, stumbling up his apartment steps, and having sex.

Did I even have a good time?

Did I give consent?

Having a fuzzy memory of the events isn't comforting, and I can't get out of here fast enough. I find my purse strewn on the couch in the living room and fish out my phone, where a text from Anika awaits—just one. It's time-stamped at two-thirty-six AM. I furrow my brows. Where are all of the missed calls from my mom and angry texts from Lydia saying how I better get my ass home?

Anika: I let your folks know you're staying at my place. You're welcome! Also, did you hear Shelly say that Penthouse is hiring go-go dancers? OMG, Mar. This is perfect, and the pay looks good. You HAVE TO apply. You'd kill it!!

Attached is a link to the job posting, but the shuffling of feet in the hallway forces me to close out of the browser and stuff my phone into my purse. It's time to go!

"Leaving so soon?" Kyle's deep, morning voice chuckles behind me.

Shit. I've been caught. Tugging on a smile, I turn around, fully prepared to bullshit my way out the door, but Kyle is shirtless, and there's a giant snake tattoo stretching across his chest that coils his arms. A memory of kissing along the black ink swirls zaps me like a lightning bolt. I should look away. Instead, my gaze wanders down his defined abdomen to the gray sweats sitting so low on his hips they reveal the indentations that meet his pelvis.

And it's very, very hot.

"Uh... yes. I have a job interview."

"On a Sunday?"

"No. Tomorrow, but... I... um." I lose my train of thought as he raises his arms above his head to stretch, enhancing the striations of his abs.

Which Greek god chiseled this man from perfection?

"It's ok," he laughs, his arms retracting to his sides, where his thumbs hook into the waistband of his sweats, making it dip a touch lower. Oh, boy... I'm in trouble. "I know you're not used to casual sex, Mara."

"How do you know this?" I wrinkle my brows, and he laughs.

"Because last night you kept saying, 'I swear I never do this,' and it was adorable."

"What else did I say?"

Grinning, he closes the distance between us and glides his fingers up my arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps, but pauses at my shoulder to adjust the strap of my dress. This gentle touch alone has my entire body vibrating with anticipation, like a cat purring and nuzzling for more. He stares deeply into my eyes while coasting his hand to the back of my neck and uses his thumb to tilt my chin upward to graze his mouth against mine.

Lord have mercy. Please, kiss me already! My spine has melted, and I am butter at his feet.

"Your ex is an idiot," he whispers against my lips. "If you were mine, I'd never let you go."

My eyes widen, a soft gasp escaping with my breath. "I... told you about Josh?"

"Enough to know you didn't deserve what he did."

"Oh." My cheeks warm from the embarrassment, and my hand finds the doorknob behind me. I need to get out of here before I say more ridiculous things. "I... have to go."

Kyle steps back, his hand slipping away, and he bows his head. "I get it."

"I'm sure we had a great time. It's that-"

"You don't have to explain," he chuckles. "You have my number saved in your phone. Shoot me a text sometime."

"Ok!" I blurt, then skedaddle in such a hurry the door almost bites my butt.

I facepalm myself. I'm such a mess.

∆∆∆

Despite all the reasons I shouldn't apply to be a go-go dancer at Penthouse, it's Monday morning, and I'm walking through the entrance. The club is so different mid-day, with a black corridor that spills into a dull and dim lobby for guests to check their coats and bags. Whereas last night, everything sparkled as countless twinkling chandeliers shimmered across the black marble titles stretching toward a balcony overlooking the dancefloor with a grand staircase leading down.

Now, I stand at the edge, gazing at the vast emptiness that looks more like a dive bar. The fog machines and laser lights that created a heavenly aura last night feel more like a rouse.

A small group of dancers gather near the stage where the DJ worked his magic last night. Only now, a giant spotlight casts onto a woman, which sets her long, wavy red hair into a fiery glow.

"Hello, everyone, and thanks for being here. I'm Tina, the choreographer and dance manager. Each of you will have a chance to come up here and show me what you're made of, but remember, this isn't a strip joint. This is Penthouse. So, even though there is a pole you can incorporate into your routine, your clothes are never to come off. Got it, ladies?"

"What about the private rooms?" a dancer asks.

"Private rooms?"

"Yeah, I heard there are private rooms guests can rent, and the girls who dance in them make bank! I want in on that."

Tina's expression sours, but she takes a deep breath with her fingers flexing at her sides and straightens her posture. "What is your name?"

"Liz."

"You are dismissed, Liz."

"What?"

"You will not be moving forward. Enjoy the rest of your day." Tina pivots her attention, but I catch her gaze while descending the stairs. "Can I help you?"

"I'm here to audition."

"Your name?" She looks at her clipboard.

"Mara Santiago."

"I see. Well, come down and wait for your name to be called."

When I join the group of girls, some glance while others size me up. According to Delilah's new bestie, Shelly, go-go dancers earn excellent hourly wages since they don't earn tips like the servers and bartenders. However, spots rarely open up, and dancers across the Bay Area covet them, so I've stepped into shark-infested waters. I can practically feel the sharp teeth sinking into my flesh as I study the competition.

These women are stacked. Like they've spent hours and years in the gym sculpting their gorgeous bodies. Compared to them, I look like a toothpick, which is comical considering that when it comes to ballerinas, my hips have always been a little thicker, my butt a little jigglier, and my boobs a little fuller.

But I can't think of my appearance as being a disadvantage.

I have a skill these other women don't have.

So, when my name is called, I climb onto the stage, take my place under the spotlight, and inhale a deep breath. Then, when the music starts, I stretch my arm above my head in a graceful arc while extending my right leg behind me in a classic Arabesque pose before hooking it around the pole. I use the momentum to swing my body weight, allowing gravity to take over and whirl me as my left foot leaves the floor.

The girls become a blur, and I lose myself in the escape of dancing.

I show everyone what Mara Santiago is made of.

∆∆∆

Every cell in my body buzzes from the high of being selected. I made the cut along with a Brazilian babe named Bianca. She used to dance at festivals in her country and won awards. With her accolades, I'm surprised I made it. Yet, here I am, holding my new uniforms, and Tina is walking us through a corridor, rattling off what to expect from the job.

I'm still dazed, but I notice several doors labeled Private Room, which means Liz was telling the truth. Interesting. According to Tina, this section of the club is where exclusive guests can hold private parties, and staff working them must sign NDAs. Therefore, we do not talk about these private rooms. Ever.

My curiosity is officially piqued.

However, the paintings on the walls of half-naked men and women distract me from those thoughts. It almost feels like I should look away. We step into an office at the end of the hallway that contrasts the risque paintings with family photos and a dollhouse full of Barbies in one corner.

"Hey, Gav," Tina says. "Meet Bianca and Mara. They made the cut and will be our newest dancers."

"Congratulations." He looks up from his computer and removes his reading glasses. "You're part of the Penthouse family now."

"Ladies, Gavin is the owner of this club, so that means you answer to him," Tina says.

"Nah." He bats his hand. "I just hand out the paychecks. Tina is your boss."

She rolls her eyes playfully and picks up a picture frame. "He's just being modest. Is this from your trip to Disney World with Gigi?"

"Yep. She loved it. Wanted to go on all the rides and buy all the mouse ears."

"And I bet, like a good papa, you spoiled that little girl rotten."

"Of course." He smiles.

"Lucky daughter."

Tina shifts her focus to hand us employee forms to fill out, but I'm still dancing somewhere on Jupiter to hear her instructions. I promised myself I would push Josh out of my heart and mend the broken pieces of my life. This opportunity starts that, even though it's completely different.

"Yo, Gav, are we getting another shipment of..."

Shit. My eyes widen at my brother's familiar voice and his footsteps coming to an abrupt halt.

"Mara?"

I turn slowly and grin widely like an idiot. "Yes?"

"What are you doing here?" He steps into the office, his brows furrowed and his gaze bouncing from Tina to me.

"Ladies, this is Lucas. One of our lead bartenders," Tina says, not reading the room.

"Gav, what is my little sister doing here?"

Tina places her hands on her hips in surprise. "She's your sister? I should have known when she said her last name. You should have seen her, Lucas! She danced so beautifully."

"No," Lucas says.

"No?" Tina quirks a brow.

"This isn't the place for you, Mara."

"Pretty sure that's up to me, not you," I snort.

"You're a classical dancer, so there is no way my little sister will be a go-go dancer at some nightclub."

"Hey," Gavin interjects.

"With all due respect, my sister can do better than this place."

"Lucas!" I snatch his elbow and shove him into the hallway. "Don't embarrass me. I need this job."

"Embarrass you? I'm looking out for you. This place... it's not what you think it is."

"You can't just say that." I cross my arms. "Elaborate."

He takes a deep breath and places his hands on my shoulders, his knees bending slightly to be eye-level with me like I'm a child. "There are things that go on here—corrupt people."

"Like the Abramovitz sisters?" I laugh. "Oh, please. They're just rich heiresses."

"This isn't funny, Mara. I know this place is fascinating at night, but underneath the glitz and glam is a shady world that I don't want you going near. I mean it. Find a job somewhere else."

"Right. So if this place is so terrible, why do you work here."

"I'm a guy. I can handle myself."

"That's the most sexist thing you've ever said. And no, I will not look elsewhere. I want this job, Lucas. You don't get to tell me no."

"Mara, wait!"

But I don't listen. I march back into the office and fill out the forms to officially become an employee at Penthouse.