Riley stepped into the locker room of the warehouse club, mentally preparing herself for another night behind the bar. The usual noise hummed through the building—music, low chatter, and the occasional booming laugh from early customers already getting into their groove.

Her heart involuntarily fluttered in her chest as she wondered if Luke would be there tonight. It had been a week since that night in Luke's dingy apartment, where she'd bandaged his wounds and felt something shift between them. Maybe they'd crossed the threshold into a real friendship, or maybe it was something more, but Riley wasn't ready to admit that yet. She had spent every day since trying to bury the growing feelings she refused to acknowledge.

It wasn't like she hadn't seen Luke. He'd been at the club a few times, blending in with the crowd, his undercover persona firmly in place. But they hadn't had any time alone, only fleeting glances exchanged across the room—quick, charged moments that left her heart racing before she shoved the feeling back down. Riley didn't want to feel anything for him, especially not when everything was already so complicated, but Luke had a way of making it impossible to ignore.

Just as she was strapping on her heels, her boss, a short, balding, burly man named Greg, appeared in the doorway.

"Hey, Riley," he called out, a grin on his face that instantly put her on edge.

Riley turned, raising an eyebrow. "What's up?"

"We're short a dancer tonight." He tossed something black and lacy at her. "Put that on. You're on the floor."

Her stomach dropped as she caught the lingerie. "No way, Greg. I'm a bartender, not a dancer."

He crossed his arms, eyes narrowing. "You don't have to dance. Just serve drinks, look hot, keep the customers happy. It's not a request, sweetheart. You wanna keep this gig? Play along."

Riley opened her mouth to argue, to find any way out of it, but she knew the risk. If she pushed too hard, she'd blow her cover. She clenched her jaw and nodded, hating every second of it. "Fine. But only drinks."

Greg smirked, satisfied, and walked out. She stood there, staring down at the ridiculous, skimpy outfit. It was a tiny black bodysuit, covered with see-through mesh and black lace, with thigh-high stockings and a garter belt. This wasn't just lingerie—it was meant to leave little to the imagination.

"Unbelievable," she muttered to herself as she changed. Once dressed, she caught her reflection in the small mirror. Despite the humiliation coursing through her, she couldn't help but notice that she looked damn good. The outfit hugged her curves in all the right places, and she looked confident, sultry—even if she didn't feel it. She took a deep breath. It was all part of the job. Just another role to play.

Once on the floor, Riley headed straight to the bar, trying to keep her mind focused. The bartender, a guy named Ty who she worked with often, raised an eyebrow when he saw her.

"Damn, Riley, you look like you're about to break hearts tonight," he joked, handing her a tray. "What happened to your sexy-but-conservative bar outfits?"

Riley gave him a dry look, leaning against the bar. "We're short a dancer. Greg pulled me in. Don't say a word."

Ty chuckled, sliding a few drinks her way. "I won't. But I gotta say, you're pulling it off."

She managed a smile, thankful for the lighthearted banter to ease the discomfort gnawing at her. "Yeah, well, it's either this or I'm out of a job. So, here I am."

"You'll be fine. Just keep your head down. And if any of those guys get too handsy, I'll send Big Joe over."

"Thanks, Ty." She grabbed the tray and turned toward her first group of customers.

The men at the table were a group of four, clean-cut in comparison to some of the others in the room, laughing and talking over their beers. They spotted her coming, and their conversation paused as she approached.

"Hey, sweetheart," one of them called out with a grin. He was the youngest, probably early twenties, with a baseball cap turned backward and an easy smile. "What's a girl like you doing working in a place like this?"

Riley smiled, but it was forced. "Just trying to make a living, same as you," she said, her voice smooth and playful enough to keep the vibe light. She set the tray down on the edge of their table, careful to keep her movements graceful despite the awkward feeling of being on display in the skimpy outfit.

"Well, you're definitely improving the scenery," another guy said, flashing a smile that was more charming than sleazy. He was older, maybe mid-thirties, with a beard and tattoos peeking out from under his sleeves. He raised his beer in a casual salute. "Can we buy you a drink?"

"Sorry, boys," Riley replied, her voice carrying a teasing lilt. "I'm working. But I'll take a tip if you're feeling generous."

The men laughed, and the guy with the beard shook his head. "You're good at this. Dangerous combination, looks and wit. You're gonna make us go broke tonight."

Riley couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips. It was harmless, just part of the job. She felt a little more relaxed around this group, and she appreciated that they weren't crossing any lines.

"Is that so?" she asked, playing along. "Well, I'll do my best to keep you entertained, but I won't take the blame for your empty wallets."

As they laughed again, the guy in the baseball cap reached into his pocket and pulled out a crisp fifty-dollar bill. He slipped it into her tray with a wink. "You're worth every penny. Don't let these other guys give you a hard time tonight, alright?"

Riley's smile softened. "Thanks," she said genuinely, appreciating the kindness. "You guys need anything else?"

"We're good for now," the bearded guy said, giving her a friendly nod. "But we'll definitely be seeing more of you."

Riley gave them a little wave as she picked up her tray and headed back toward the bar, a slight bounce in her step.

The next table was different—rougher around the edges. The moment she walked over, she could feel their eyes on her like they were undressing her right there, treating her like an object. She ignored it, putting on her best customer-service smile.

"Hey, boys," she said, trying to keep her tone light, though the unease in her gut was hard to shake. "What can I get you tonight?"

One of them, a large man with greasy hair and a beer belly stretching his shirt, looked her up and down with a slow, leering gaze. "How about you bring that pretty little ass of yours over here?" he slurred, his voice rough and dripping with sleaze. The rest of the table erupted in laughter, and Riley's jaw clenched, but she kept her smile plastered on.

"I'm only serving drinks tonight," she replied, her voice cool but steady. "What'll it be?"

The guy next to him, a lanky man with a dirty cap pulled low over his eyes, leaned in closer, his breath reeking of alcohol. "C'mon, sweetheart, don't be like that. You look like you're here to entertain, not just pour drinks."

The men laughed again, this time louder, and Riley felt the heat rise to her face. She wasn't sure if it was anger or embarrassment, but either way, she wasn't about to let them see it. She gripped her tray tighter, willing herself to keep her composure.

"Beer all around, I'm guessing?" she asked, ignoring the comments and scribbling their order down on her notepad.

"Make it quick, babe," the first guy said, his eyes still glued to her chest. "We've got things to discuss. Man talk. Don't worry your pretty little head about it."

Riley bit down on the inside of her cheek and gave them a tight nod before walking back to the bar. As she waited for the drinks to be poured, she could still feel their eyes on her, even from across the room. Every second felt like an hour, but she forced herself to stay calm, not wanting to blow her cover—or lose her cool.

When she returned with the tray of beers, the conversation at the table had shifted to something even more disgusting. She could hear them making crude jokes about the dancers, talking about what they'd do to them if they got the chance. Riley fought the urge to grimace as she set the drinks down in front of them, but the moment her hand touched the table, one of the men leaned in again, his lips curling into a sleazy grin.

"Bet you're fun after hours," he muttered, low enough that only she could hear. He grabbed her arm, pulling her closer to him. "How about you stick around after your shift, and we can find out?"

Before she could respond, he placed a wet, open-mouthed kiss to her collar bone. Her stomach twisted as he slipped a $20 bill into her bra, his hand lingering too long on her chest. Every fiber of her being wanted to rip his hand away, but instead, she forced a smile, playing her part. She thanked him with a saccharine sweetness that made her sick.

But the worst part? As she turned to walk away, she caught sight of Luke. He was sitting across the room, undercover, his posture relaxed but his sharp gaze alert as he talked to a few rough-looking guys. The low murmur of their conversation was drowned out by the bar's noise, but what caught her off guard was the way Luke's eyes were fixed on her.

He'd seen everything.

Her heart lurched, a sick mix of humiliation and frustration boiling inside her. She could feel his gaze burning into her as she walked back to the bar, her steps a little too quick, a little too stiff. She didn't want him to see her like this, didn't want him to see how much this place was getting to her. But there was no hiding from Luke. He saw through her mask, just like always.

Why does it have to be him?

As she reached the bar, she could still feel the heat of Luke's stare, but she couldn't let herself react. Not here. Not now. She busied herself with cleaning again, her mind racing as she tried to regain control of her breathing, of her emotions. She was fine. She had to be fine.

******

Author's note:

Guys!! Things are getting INTENSE. Is Riley in over her head???

I have a BIG surprise coming next update - SPOILER ALERT - we're FINALLY getting a LUKE POV chapter.

Things are getting STEAMY!