Page 82 of Left on Read

A burly bouncer came to stand a few feet from him, his eyes on the crowd of customers stuffing bills in his briefs, which were more like boy shorts. He intervened a few times when someone tried to cop a feel, but his presence seemed to be enough to keep people respectful.

Turning my attention from the bouncer, I studied Quinn’s face. His lips were twisted up in a sexy smirk, but he kept his eyes on a point in the distance, his stare blank, like he wasn’t really seeing what he was looking at.

“You okay?” I asked Ryan when Quinn was offstage. “You look gobsmacked.”

“I still can’t believe that’s a real word.” He swiped my beer and finished what was left in it. “I’m fine. Just questioning all my life choices and cursing my love of carbs and beer. Bet he made more in the last five minutes than I make in a week.”

“Doubtful. River told me they mostly get singles. It seems like a lot until you count it.”

“That makes me feel better. And like a total asshole because I never really thought about how much work must go into stripping. You said River did dance and gymnastics as a kid?”

I nodded. “And he and Zane taught themselves parkour and how to pole dance. Most of the guys who work here have been performing and dancing their entire lives. Almost all of them have years of training behind them.”

“And I thought stripping was all about being hot and shaking your ass.”

“I did too until River explained it.”

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, let’s welcome Drew to the stage,” the sultry voice of the DJ said over the loudspeaker.

My mouth went dry.

“Isn’t that River’s dancer name?” Ryan asked.

“Yeah,” I croaked. “Zane is Andy, and he’s Drew.”

“Andy and Drew.” Ryan snickered and turned his attention to the stage. “Classic.”

I couldn’t answer because my heart was pounding in my ears and my chest felt like someone was sitting on it.

The opening bars of a song, heavy on the bass and drums, blasted through the speakers. On the third bass beat, a spotlight flashed on, illuminating the stage.

River stood under the light in dark pants, a tight tank top, a vest of sorts that looked like some sort of cross between a utility belt and a flak jacket, and a black ball cap pulled low and hiding his face.

A few seconds passed, then River began to dance, keeping his head down as he moved fluidly to the music.

I’d heard this song before but couldn’t place it without the vocals.

“Bad Girlfriend.” Ryan leaned closer. “Theory of a Deadman.”

“Right,” I nodded, my eyes still glued to River as he worked the stage like he’d been born to dance.

When the vocals kicked in, River pulled off his hat, his thick hair falling around his face. He smirked and tossed the hat aside, not missing a beat of his choreography as the crowd screamed their appreciation.

“Damn, that man can move,” Ryan said, his voice full of awe. “Those hip rolls are criminal.”

I couldn’t answer. All I could do was stare at River.

He didn’t just dance to the music; he brought it to life. His smirk-smile perfectly played into the tone of the song, and his choreography was designed for maximum seduction.

But it was how he worked the crowd that brought the energy in the room up to one thousand and had people rushing to the stage to toss bills on it.

I almost swallowed my tongue when the chorus played and River mimed all the suggestive things the vocalist sang about.

He was mesmerizing, and not just because he looked like sex personified. His confidence was as hot as his impressive dance moves.

I couldn’t tear my gaze from him as he sensually peeled off his vest. His skin gleamed gold under the lights, showing off his muscles and tattoos and showcasing his amazing body.

He’d told me he used body oil and glitter on stage. Now I knew why.

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