Chapter 8 Not So Professional Stripper

• "You can start!" Sitting on the couch with his legs crossed and a glass of beer in his left hand, Skye gave me his orders.
• I inhaled shakily, not knowing how to handle my nervousness. We were both in the disco room, me standing next to the dance pole, the lights shining on me and the sensual music filling the place. Skye sips his drink without taking his eyes off me, looking impatient to see my performance.
• I hold the pole with both hands, trying to get a feel for it. Should I climb up and hang from it? No, that seems dangerous. What if I fell? Not only would Skye know I couldn't dance, but I could get a concussion or worse.