“KITTEN?” A folding chair scrapes against the concrete floor in the other room, and Johnny’s footsteps sound down the short hallway. “Kitten, do you want to do this or is Ming volunteering you—holy shit.” Johnny finishes his statement as he steps into the room, getting an eyeful of my costume. He nearly drops his playing cards. “Oh, yeah. You’re doing a peel. Lordy, Kitten. Warn a guy before he walks in on this.” He cocks his head. “Or don’t.” He salutes me with the cards, then heads back to his game. I arch a brow at Ming.

She shrugs. “You can name your firstborn after me.”

My preshow and pre-Darcy jitters careen wildly, colliding to create a feathery gob of anxiety and hormones. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I tell Ming, and go to the wardrobe rack and the little black dress I’ve left here for peels.

My hand hovers over the hanger. This feels like a test of my principles. I changed into my second outfit as a preview for later. But to peel in front of Darcy, knowing he’s in the audience . . .

Just because burlesque appeals to men doesn’t make it an appeal to men.

That very much remains the case. However, as I remove the dress from the hanger, I can’t ignore the thrill at the thought of his watching. I finger the bright pink tassel looped onto the zipper pull. If he weren’t here, I wouldn’t even hesitate—I’d do it because I want to. And I did warn him I wouldn’t be cutting this from my life.

I think back to Darcy’s parting words last night, the heated moments leading up to it, our time in the coat check, the dance we shared . . .

A little invincibility might be just the thing.

Twenty minutes later, I stand at the top of the stairs, a goddamn bundle of nerves. Naturally, Johnny has chosen tonight to try out a new bit and has been harassing a bachelorette for pictures of her intended since he wrapped his intro. I don’t know how much longer I can stand the tension; if Johnny doesn’t shut up and let me take off this dress, I’m going to yank him from the stage with his mike cord.

It’s also getting hard to keep from watching a certain quartet. Andrea seated them in the same space Darcy and Charles had that first night, combining it with a neighboring table to make a four-top. Darcy watches me with open curiosity, his expression pleasantly intrigued, like he’s trying to work something out and is enjoying the challenge. Every now and then his eyes shift low, and I imagine he’s fantasizing about what I’m wearing under my comparably conservative dress.