Riley stepped into the locker room of the warehouse club, mentally preparing herself for another night behind the bar. The usual noise hummed through the building—music, low chatter, and the occasional booming laugh from early customers already getting into their groove.
Her heart involuntarily fluttered in her chest as she wondered if Luke would be there tonight. It had been a week since that night in Luke's dingy apartment, where she'd bandaged his wounds and felt something shift between them. Maybe they'd crossed the threshold into a real friendship, or maybe it was something more, but Riley wasn't ready to admit that yet. She had spent every day since trying to bury the growing feelings she refused to acknowledge.
It wasn't like she hadn't seen Luke. He'd been at the club a few times, blending in with the crowd, his undercover persona firmly in place. But they hadn't had any time alone, only fleeting glances exchanged across the room—quick, charged moments that left her heart racing before she shoved the feeling back down. Riley didn't want to feel anything for him, especially not when everything was already so complicated, but Luke had a way of making it impossible to ignore.
Just as she was strapping on her heels, her boss, a short, balding, burly man named Greg, appeared in the doorway.
"Hey, Riley," he called out, a grin on his face that instantly put her on edge.
Riley turned, raising an eyebrow. "What's up?"
"We're short a dancer tonight." He tossed something black and lacy at her. "Put that on. You're on the floor."
Her stomach dropped as she caught the lingerie. "No way, Greg. I'm a bartender, not a dancer."
He crossed his arms, eyes narrowing. "You don't have to dance. Just serve drinks, look hot, keep the customers happy. It's not a request, sweetheart. You wanna keep this gig? Play along."
Riley opened her mouth to argue, to find any way out of it, but she knew the risk. If she pushed too hard, she'd blow her cover. She clenched her jaw and nodded, hating every second of it. "Fine. But only drinks."
Greg smirked, satisfied, and walked out. She stood there, staring down at the ridiculous, skimpy outfit. It was a tiny black bodysuit, covered with see-through mesh and black lace, with thigh-high stockings and a garter belt. This wasn't just lingerie—it was meant to leave little to the imagination.
"Unbelievable," she muttered to herself as she changed. Once dressed, she caught her reflection in the small mirror. Despite the humiliation coursing through her, she couldn't help but notice that she looked damn good. The outfit hugged her curves in all the right places, and she looked confident, sultry—even if she didn't feel it. She took a deep breath. It was all part of the job. Just another role to play.
Once on the floor, Riley headed straight to the bar, trying to keep her mind focused. The bartender, a guy named Ty who she worked with often, raised an eyebrow when he saw her.
"Damn, Riley, you look like you're about to break hearts tonight," he joked, handing her a tray. "What happened to your sexy-but-conservative bar outfits?"
Riley gave him a dry look, leaning against the bar. "We're short a dancer. Greg pulled me in. Don't say a word."
Ty chuckled, sliding a few drinks her way. "I won't. But I gotta say, you're pulling it off."
She managed a smile, thankful for the lighthearted banter to ease the discomfort gnawing at her. "Yeah, well, it's either this or I'm out of a job. So, here I am."
"You'll be fine. Just keep your head down. And if any of those guys get too handsy, I'll send Big Joe over."
"Thanks, Ty." She grabbed the tray and turned toward her first group of customers.
YOU ARE READING
Blurred Lines
Romance"I made a promise to always be there for you," he said, his voice tight with emotion. "And you're making it impossible for me to keep it." She froze at the door, her back to him, her heart pounding in her chest. The words hung in the air like a weig...
