The heavy, melodic pulse of the R&B track slowed the world down around us. I pulled Sasha into my arms, my hands finding the small of her back where the sheer mesh of her dress met the heat of her skin. We didn't just dance; we occupied a different frequency.
While the rest of the club was a blur of grinding bodies and strobe lights, we moved with a deliberate, agonizing slowness. I looked down into her eyes, and the usual mask of the "Sex Icon" had completely vanished.
Usually, when women looked at me—especially tonight with Cami and Evelyn—it was with a hunger that was purely transactional or primal. They saw a performer, a thrill. But Sasha was looking at me with something much more dangerous: hope.
