whom I’d shaken my ass in front of less than twenty-four hours earlier, recognized me without any trouble. It was written all over his beautiful but horrified face. Yup. While I stood there droning on about my favorite author, he was probably remembering the freckle on my left butt cheek.
Not how I’d expected my first day to go.
When the fifty-minute class let out, I burst to the front of the stampede making for the door to get the hell out of there.
If that weren’t bad enough, in my next class, math, I had no freaking idea what my teacher was talking about. It was light years away from the algebra of my high school, which had been a long time ago, anyway. On top of that, he’d given out homework on the first day. I thought teachers never gave homework the first day.
And—there was more—it was time to report to my ‘work-study’ job, a requirement of the small amount of tuition relief I’d finagled out of the university. It didn’t matter that I had another job outside of school. As part of my agreement, I owed them six to ten hours of my life each week, for which I’d be reimbursed at the rate of minimum wage.
The financial aid counselor I’d seen had said I could either take a job at the campus dining hall or the fitness center.
I couldn’t believe he even had to ask me. Who the fuck would want to work in a dining hall?
So there I was, at the fitness center, which was abuzz with classes like CrossFit and tennis, as well as the school’s athletic teams, and students and faculty alike arriving for their workouts. How bad could it be?
My supervisor, Patti, showed me to the front desk, where I was to scan the university ID badge of anyone who entered.
That was it. All I had to do was scan badges. Deadly boring, but there it was.
“Oh my god, that pink lip gloss looks so good on you,” some girl cooed to her workout buddy while I scanned their IDs.
“Ugh,” her friend responded. “I had an extra, which I’d give to you, except my bitch roommate stole it…”
Their voices got lost as they were swallowed by the clamor of the cavernous gym.
That was a first.
I’d never seen anyone work out in full-on makeup. But I guess I couldn’t really talk. My regular workouts, which consisted of dancing at Club V, required heavy stage makeup. High intensity stage lights were not kind to the complexion, but we were still required to look our best.
“How’s it going so far?” Patti chirped after I’d been on the job fifteen minutes.
I smiled with enthusiasm. If I didn’t make this job work, I’d end up at the dining hall. And that would be a problem.
“Great, Patti. Thanks for asking.”
She hovered for a moment while I scanned the badges of a couple lacrosse players. “You know, you can take any of the classes offered here, since you’re working for the center.”
I decided not to tell her about my ‘regular job,’ where I got a better workout than I’d ever get in some gym.
She seemed like she really wanted to talk. “Good to know. Are you taking anything?” I asked.
She looked around and lowered her voice. “I am. We have a brand-new burlesque dance class. Can you believe it? It’s so sexy.”
Cripes. I probably could have taught it.
I nodded with wide eyes. “Wow. That’s really cool. I expected you to say something like racquetball.”
Jesus. If she only knew.
Just prior to Club V, I’d been working a low-paying job at a day-care center. The only good thing to come out of that gig was realizing I was pretty sure I never wanted kids. Otherwise, I had constant colds from wiping the rugrats’ snotty noses, and was always being hit on by the single—and some not so single—dads.
I was barely making my rent, and plans for anything better were sorely out of reach, until I talked to my neighbor, Godiva.
“Why don’t you come down to the club? See how we do things there?” she’d suggested after I’d had her and her son over one night for some mac ’n cheese. Boxed mac ’n cheese.
Was she fucking kidding?
“Oh no, I couldn’t be a stripper. For one, I’m a shitty dancer, and for another, I just don’t know that I could drop trou for a roomful of strange men.”
She looked at me patiently. “Well, you don’t have to get naked, you know. The owner, Zin, likes