The third night I was in Reno, Amy came over because it was her night off. She wanted to take me out on the town. As much as I wanted to go, I was a little hesitant. I didn’t really have money to be throwing away on mindless things, and I wasn’t old enough to get into a lot of places anyway. But she insisted, telling me it would be fun. She also said not to worry about only being eighteen, that most of the bars she went to didn’t care as long as you weren’t drinking and didn’t cause trouble.

  It wasn’t like I’d be drinking, and I probably wouldn’t even know how to start trouble anyway, so I agreed. I owed it to myself to go out and have fun. It would probably be my one and only chance to do so before I’d have to buckle down and really start looking for a job, and once that happened, who knew when I’d have the time to do anything fun again.

  I went, and I didn’t regret it one bit. It brought me to where I am now—a job I love, more friends than I’ve ever had in my life, and more money than I thought was possible without having a degree and working at some corporation. At the rate I’m making money, I should be able to go to college in under a year, if that’s what I choose to do. But to be honest, I’m not even thinking about college right now. I’m having way too much fun and really like what I’m doing. Even if it’s something others would frown upon.

  I’m a dancer at Bottoms Up. It’s a gentleman’s club, but it’s not what most would think. Yes, what I do is technically called stripping, but that’s not all it is. I don’t even strip all the way down to the nude. It’s more dancing than it is taking your clothes off. It’s about telling a story with your body, expressing what you’re feeling, or how the song makes your body move.

  I’ve always loved dancing, and the dance school that I went to from the age of eight up until I was eighteen taught me a wide range of dances. At first, I only focused on the ballet lessons because that was what my parents wanted. But after the first month, I started to really get into the other lessons and decided I liked them way more than ballet. I’m not even sure my parents knew about the other lessons and forms of dance since we only did ballet at our recitals.

  When Amy and I went out, we first stopped to grab a small bite to eat at the diner she worked at. Although she was there most days, she said it was the best food within walking distance, which was great because she was the only one with a car, and she didn’t like driving when she went out at night. Actually, she didn’t like driving anywhere with her car, only using it when she absolutely had no other choice.

  After we ate, we walked around. She pointed out little shops and places that I should visit and talked about a few restaurants I could apply at when we passed the club.

  There were only a few lights on outside, but I could hear the music from the opposite side of the street. I’d stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and stared. Amy didn’t notice at first, but when she was a few paces ahead of me, she finally stopped too.

  She told me it was the local strip joint, and that she’d never been inside. She’d heard that it was owned by some local gang or something. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I honestly didn’t care if the mob owned it. I was intrigued.

  I’d asked her if we could go in. She was hesitant, but she finally conceded. I just wanted to listen to the music and see what it was all about. I’d never seen a strip club before, and frankly, I kind of felt like it was a way to rebel a little more, even though my parents were states away and had no idea what I was doing. It was my inner child that spoke up in my head.

  We were carded at the door by a big burly man with a leather vest. The name Wheels was stitched on the right side of his vest, and on the other side, Rough Riders MC. I didn’t know what that meant, and I wasn’t going to ask. I probably wouldn’t have understood it even if he told me.

  His face was set in stone, but when he smiled at us, I didn’t feel uneasy. I worried they wouldn’t let me in, but you only had to be eighteen to get into a club like this in Nevada. They did put a special stamp on my hand to let the bartenders know I wasn’t of drinking age. Not that I cared. I wasn’t there for the alcohol.

  Once inside, the sight before me had me speechless. There were girls on the stage dancing to upbeat music and taking off their clothes, but that’s not what had me in awe. Dancing is about expressing yourself, and the way they moved had me hypnotized. Amy was impressed too, saying it wasn’t what she thought a place like that would be.

  Finding a seat was difficult since it was a full house, but we were able to snag a table in the far corner yet close to the front of the stage that was surprisingly empty. I just hoped it wasn’t being saved for someone important.

  A few minutes later, a waitress wearing a naughty schoolgirl outfit came over and told us this table was usually reserved, but since those men weren’t there, we could sit there. We smiled our thanks, and she took our drink orders. We both ordered soda and she left, returning soon after.

  I don’t know if she noticed the way we were both watching the stage, but she asked us if we danced. Without looking away from the stage, we both spoke at the same time, but our answers were different. “Yes,” I said.

  “No,” Amy said.

  The waitress, who I now know to be Maci, laughed and told us to flag her down if we needed anything else.

  We stayed for about two hours that night. On the way home, we were both quiet. I don’t know what she was thinking, but I was contemplating going back the next night, and not to watch the show. I wanted to see about a job.

  I was a little worried about the whole stripping thing, but maybe that would be something I’d get used to over time. I’d be willing to try at least. That much I was sure of.

  When I woke up the next morning to a knock at my door, I was surprised to see Amy standing there, looking shy. I motioned her in and made us something to help wake us up. Coffee was something I was still getting used to, but I liked it. Not more than tea, but coffee was definitely a morning thing and tea more of an afternoon or night thing.

  Once the coffee was done, we both sat on my loveseat, staring off into space. She was the first to speak.

  “I think we should apply at the strip club.” That surprised me. First of all, because she already had a job. Second, she’d said she didn’t dance. Plus, she seemed a little afraid of the stories she’d heard about the place and was uneasy about who owned it.

  But I was also happy that she wanted to work there as well. I would have gone by myself, but I’m glad I don’t have to now. It’ll be good to have a friend with me there.

  That night, we both got ready at her apartment then headed out again to Bottoms Up. We didn’t dress like we were going out on the town, though. Instead, we wore jeans and tank tops. I still felt like I wasn’t covered enough, but compared to the dancers and a few of the girls I’d seen the night before, I probably looked like a nun. Plus, if I was going to work there, I was going to have to get used to showing more skin.

  The guy at the door was the same from the night before, and surprisingly, he remembered us.

  Amy led the way to the bar and flagged down a different waitress, asking to speak to the manager. The poor girl almost choked on her gum when Amy asked that, probably thinking we were about to complain or something.

  A few minutes later, a man wearing the same leather vest as the man at the door—except this one had an extra patch on it which read President—came walking up to us. “Hello, ladies. My name’s Bear, and I was told you wanted to speak to me?” He was an older man who looked like he’d had a hard life, but he was still handsome for his age. Like the man at the door, his face was hard as steel, but he had a kindness in his eyes when he spoke to us. It was for that reason I felt like I could trust him, why I knew I could work there.

  We told him we were interested in a job then followed him back to his office. We found out he wasn’t just the manager but that he owned the place. I was surprised and a little dumbstruck. I wasn’t expecting the owner to interview or talk to us about a job, but I was glad he did. He gave us some details and asked us to come back the next morning for an audition, to which we agreed.

  The rest of that night, I helped Amy with a few simple dance moves to prepare her for the audition. She was a natural, even though she’d never taken a lesson before that night.

  The next morning, Amy came over and we had a small breakfast together before quietly getting ready. We didn’t speak as we dressed in yoga pants and loose fitted tank tops over our sports bras.

  Maybe she was nervous about working in a strip club and baring her body for all to see. Heck, I was a little nervous about that part as well, but she had nothing to be worried about. She’s freaking gorgeous. Standing at about five feet, six inches, she’s a little shorter than me. Her hair is a vibrant red, but not fake, that much I could tell. And she has stunning blue eyes, which I’ve never seen on a redhead before. And finally, she has lips that any woman would kill for. She would have any man eating out of the palm of her hand without even taking off her clothes or dancing. If she just looked their way, it would be enough.

  The walk to the club was quicker than I remembered, both of us excited and ready to get this over with, but it felt good—like a warm-up before a workout. I felt ready and eager to start a new chapter in my life.

  The man we’d seen both nights outside the door was not there now. I thought the doors would be locked, but when we pulled on the handle it opened into what looked like a whole different bar. All the lights were on and only a few people were inside. Bear was there, sitting at a table flipping through some papers. There was a man I hadn’t seen before behind the bar, stocking the coolers and relaying inventory to one of the girls I’d seen the night before, holding a clipboard.

  I didn’t notice it before, that all the men were wearing the same vest as the bouncer and owner did. They were all the same on the back with the same image of a red skull and what looked like wings behind it. On the front, they were a little different. They each had some sort of nickname on their own vests. They all said Rough Riders MC, but some also had titles of some sort too. It makes me wonder if all these men are the gang that Amy spoke of, or if she was wrong. Maybe it’s something different altogether. Like work uniforms. Either way, it didn’t matter to me. As long as they were fair and nice while I worked there, I didn’t care what they were a part of.

  The two behind the bar didn’t even glance our way when we walked into the building, but Bear looked up from his papers and smiled a warm, kind smile. He still had a hard edge to his face, but his smile was nice, though I’m sure it could change in a second if the situation called for it.

  He continued to be pleasant during our conversations about the job and throughout the auditions. He even let us do them together, for which I was grateful. I wasn’t shy when it came to dancing—or anything, for that matter—but it was nice having Amy there with me. Dancing on a stage by yourself can be daunting, so having someone with you makes the stage not feel so big and intimidating. I’m sure she felt the same way.

  After the audition, he sat us down and asked if we still wanted the job and listened without annoyance when we told him how we were reluctant about stripping all the way down to nothing. Of course, we had seen women dance and strip everything off, and some only took a few garments off while we watched the show the other night, but we still wanted to tell him how we felt. He assured us that what we took off was up to us, that he didn’t care if we wore burlap sacks as long as we put on a good show. He did convey that he would eventually like if we at least went down to our undergarments, but again, he said it was up to us.

  Stripping down to my underwear wasn’t a problem, for me or Amy. To me, it was just like wearing a bikini. Not like I’d ever worn one before, but that was the way I was picturing it. Plus, I’d danced in my sports bra in front of a small crowd before, so it would be fine. I hoped, anyway.

  We left the bar with new jobs. We work Thursday through Saturday, nights of course. Even though it’s not five days a week, we make more than enough to cover what we need and even get things we’ve always wanted but could never afford.

  Now, almost a month into our jobs, things are going great. I still don’t strip down to the nude, but it hasn’t affected my performances. The patrons of the club haven’t complained about not seeing me naked, liking all my routines no matter what I’m wearing. So, I’m taking that as a good thing and that I’m doing what I’ve set out to do—give them a show and expressing myself through dance.

  Amy strips down to just her bottoms, but she didn’t start out that way. A week after we started, she asked me what I thought, and I told her to do whatever she was comfortable with. So, that night she stripped off her top, and now it’s a part of her routine.

  The people I’ve met are amazing. Amy and I are better friends than I could have imagined, and I’ve even added a few other girlfriends to that list. Even the male staff are great. They make me feel safe and cared for.

  I learned that they’re a part of a motorcycle club, not a gang. They are the Rough Riders. They don’t talk a lot about what they do in their club, but I do know that Bottoms Up is one of their many businesses and that they are all really nice men. Sure, they can probably be mean, but it feels good knowing they’d have my back if I needed it. All the women who work there say they would never let anything happen to us girls, that they’d even go as far as to give us rides to and from work if needed, just to be sure we didn’t come across any trouble. It’s a nice feeling to have, knowing people care that much about my well-being.

  So much has changed since I left home. I’ve got a job I love and my own apartment. I do what I want and wear what I want without having to worry about what anyone thinks. I’ve even colored my hair, changed my wardrobe, and even changed my name.

  I figured with the dancing job—I’d rather say dancing than stripping—I needed a new look and a stage name. So, I came up with Angel. I wanted something that would be close to my real name, but also something I could use on stage. There is only one person who still calls me by my full name sometimes, and that’s Amy. She usually only calls me that when she wants to be funny though, so I don’t mind.

  I hadn’t planned on changing my hair at first. I was out shopping, buying clothes I’d always wished I could buy when I lived with my parents. And on the way home, I passed a salon. The idea came to me to do something different with my hair since all I’d ever been allowed to do before was get a trim. I’d never colored my hair before, so I immediately wanted to give it a try.

  I didn’t change the color too much. I still have my blonde hair, but now I also have some brighter blonde highlights, some red and brown low lights, and even some black mixed into it. I absolutely love it and am so glad I decided to do it.

  Now, it’s Friday night, so it’s going to be one of our busiest nights of the week. I’ve been going to the local gym a lot lately. They have this new workout session with pole dancing. I figured it couldn’t hurt with my job and all, but it’s a really good way to build muscle mass as well. I can’t believe the amount of arm muscles it takes for some of those moves, but boy am I glad I started taking the class.

  I’ve been working on this new routine that involves mostly pole moves. I really want to do it tonight, but I’m unsure if I should. If I do, I’m going to need a new outfit. The song I’ve been practicing to is fast-paced and a little more rock. It’s sexy, with a bad girl vibe to it, so I was thinking maybe leather would work for my costume.

  I’m just not good with fashion. I am barely even good at doing my own makeup. Sure, I’m better than I was a month ago, but I could use all the tips and opinions I can get. The little that I do know, I’d gotten off trial and error and watching lots of YouTube videos.

  Grabbing my soda off the end table, I head over to Amy’s. Maybe she’ll be able to shed some light on my situation. I’m hoping she’ll know of a place I can go to find what I’m looking for.

  I also want to ask her what she thinks of me doing a pole routine. Most of the girls at the club use the pole, but it’s only for effect or a few simple moves, which means I’ll be doing something different than the others. I think it’ll be a great addition to the show. At least, that’s what I’m hoping for.

  Making my way through my apartment and out the door to Amy’s, I think about how good of a friend she’s become to me. We’ve even started talking about getting a bigger apartment and living together. I’m looking forward to that day, having more room than I do now. We want to take our time and find the perfect place that gives us both space and fits our personalities, though. It would be a plus if we could find one close to the club too. Her car took a crap a few days ago, and she doesn’t want to spend the money to fix it. It’s so old, it’s not worth putting money into, since it would probably break down again in a week.

  I’ve looked in to buying my own car, but I want to wait. I have some money left over from what I took from my parents, plus I’ve been able to save some money from working. I could probably find a cheap, decent car, but I’m holding off. I don’t feel the immediate need right now, as everything I need is within walking distance, even though work is a longer walk, especially at night. But if we found a place closer, it’d be perfect. Maybe I’ll ask Bear if he knows of any places nearby.

  I only knock once on Amy’s door before I open it and let myself in with the key I have. We exchanged keys almost right away to make things easier for both of us. We spend a lot of time in both apartments; it’s like we have one big one.

  I don’t see her in the living room or the kitchen. Her apartment is a lot like mine—there’s not much to it. Only a wall separates the two rooms, if you could even call it that. Then, down a small hallway, there’s a bathroom and one bedroom.

  Making my way toward the bathroom, figuring that’s where she probably is, I open the door. “Hey, hun. You busy?”