Trick - By Lori Garrett Page 0,49

and scowls.

“This is a mistake, Harlow. I can feel it.” He grabs my hand and drags me in, not letting go of me until we’re through the back door and to the curtained-off area next to the bar. It’s basically a stage set to look like a second bar with several poles. It’s perfect for what we’re doing, but I can feel the anger rushing off of Gunner in waves.

“Thank you, Mr. Hunt,” June says, and all the girls other than Jilly stare. I nod to let them know that, yes, we’re dancing the bar where Gunner Hunt, my Mr. Hunt, works.

“What did he say?” Jilly asks.

“I’d rather not discuss it before performing,” I whisper back.

Suddenly the moves I could have down backwards in my sleep are slipping out of my head, and I feel the worst case of stage fright I can imagine settling in.

We take our positions and a man who sounds so much like Gunner it’s actually a little eerie thanks the people who came for their hard work and tells them to enjoy the show.

The curtain goes up and the lights in the bar dim while we get the focus of small spotlights. When the first notes ring out, it’s a relief that my eyes haven’t adjusted yet, because I can focus on the dance, on moving my body in time to the music. The crowd is enthusiastic and claps along, cheering now and then when we hit a particularly hard move in unison. It’s loud, sure, but no one is being anything more than excited.

And I’m thankful, because my eyes do adjust just as I’m shimmying down a pole upside down, and Gunner is staring, arms crossed, mouth a tight, flat line. I can feel the aggression radiating off of him, and I know that if anyone makes any move that’s less than okay, he’s going to come out, fists flying.

I’m so nervous, I almost misstep. As hard as it is, I have to tear my eyes away from him, tall, muscled, and pissed as hell, glowering from his corner.

Bad as it is to see Gunner, it’s worse to catch sight of Rochelle rolling her eyes and throwing back shots. She looks so beautiful and polished, a little piece of my self-esteem shakes hard. There would be plenty of guys who would probably pick Rochelle over me in a side-by-side comparison. I know it doesn’t matter as long as Gunner isn’t one of those guys.

And he isn’t. But I’m not sure Rochelle knows that, and that may spell trouble for tonight.

I tell myself over and over that he isn’t in love with Rochelle, no matter how at home she looks in this bar, tough but gorgeous, confident and sexy.

It rattles my nerves, but I turn back to the dance.

I focus on the way my body moves, the way the music pulls me in, the sound of the other girls’ claps, stomps, and slaps. The routine is meant to be sensual and beautiful, with an edge of sexy. It also spans three songs straight with no more than a pause in between.

By the time the last chords play, we’re all panting and sweaty. I would murder with my bare hands for a glass of water, and I need to adjust my fishnets.

We wait a tense second, mid bow, before the entire bar erupts with screams of and claps that are true music to our ears. We worked our asses off to learn these steps in no time, and it feels so good to have people actually appreciate them.

We come off the stage and Jarred has a line of ice water glasses with lemons waiting, along with cool damp towels. The girls cheer, and I press the towel to my neck, careful not to muss my makeup. I take a long sip and am surprised to see a guy who looks so much like Gunner, I almost reached out to him.

“You must be Harlow,” he says, his smile not entirely nice. Like he’s maybe laughing at me behind it. “I’m Ryker, Gunner’s brother.”

I hold my hand out and he shakes, holding on a little too long and a little too tight. “It’s nice to meet you,” I say, looking over his shoulder for Gunner, who’s headed my way at lightning speed. I catch sight of Rochelle trying to pull him back and talk. I guess she’s the reason he wasn’t waiting for me as soon as I finished.

“So, I know my brother has your name tattooed on