Page 23 of Perfect Boy

The man watching me has so much cologne on that it literally burns my nostrils, even up here, onstage, five feet away. He brushes his fingers along his chin. I’m not even sure he’s blinked since he sat down. His hair is slicked back, and his suit makes him look like a man who’s trying to seem more important than he actually is. But maybe he’ll leave me a big, fat tip. That’ll make my achy feet and the icky feeling in my belly from his stare totally worth it.

It also helps that I know even though he’s looking, he can’t hurt me. My boss always keeps her workers safe. If a customer shows up and tries to get handsy or is rude, the security guards are on that shit. And that person gets exiled from the club.

I move down the pole and hold on to the metal above my head, letting my ass damn near touch the ground before sliding back up. I don’t make eye contact with the man in front of me because I’m afraid if I do, I’ll puke.

I move on autopilot through the rest of my shift. Throwing my head back when need be, rocking my hips and thrusting my breasts to seem more into it than I really am. Whatever it takes to get through this shift and earn some coin, I’ll do it.

Because my baby sister, Riley’s, birthday is coming up and I spent a lot of my savings on her gift.

As I begin to walk off the stage, he follows me on the floor below.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he calls, tipping his chin up before I get off the stage. “What do you say you and I get out of here? I have a suite at The Luxe tonight. Finest hotel in Georgia.”

Chancing him a glance, I see that Hudson is already headed his way. Hudson is one of the biggest security guards we have. All of the women here fall over themselves just by looking at him. I’ll admit, he’s easy on the eyes. But he’s also damn good at his job. And nobody wants to piss him off, so usually, a warning from him will do the trick for pesky clients like this one.

“No thanks,” I say politely. “Have a nice night.”

“Oh, come on. For ten grand, I bet we could have ourselves a good time. It’ll be fun.” He winks, and my stomach turns. “You know what? Let’s make it twenty grand. Because I know I can have fun with those tits. And that ass? Easily worth more.” He licks his lips, and I want to gag.

“No,” I snap, and he grabs my ankle.

“Come on, baby. Be the needy whore you know you are and let me show you a good time.”

His grip tightens, and I feel that panicky feeling settling in my gut. The one where fear begins to cripple my entire body even though I know he won’t actually have the opportunity to hurt me.

Before he has a chance to say or do anything else, he’s knocked down by Hudson, and I continue walking to avoid seeing any kind of confrontation. I don’t need a repeat of the other night with Watson and Denton. There’s always fights happening here, but as long as I don’t personally know the person or am not involved…it doesn’t usually affect me. Still, I try to keep my eyes from witnessing it, not wanting to take any chances on sending myself into a mental tailspin.

Unfortunately, what happened tonight happens a lot of nights. Some customers just don’t know how to take no for an answer. Or they assume that just because we’re dancers, we’ll be down for other things. I would have nothing against anyone who took that sleazeball up on his offer because it’s a free country. Except for the reason I know it isn’t safe. Someone could be a rapist or a murderer. And I would never put myself in danger to that extent, nor would I want my coworkers to either. Some things just aren’t worth the money.

I make my way into the back room and grab a bottle of water from the cooler before sitting down. Pressing it to my face, I take a few long, deep breaths and calm myself down. Breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, I tell myself over and over that I’m safe.

It works. Yet here I sit, wishing Watson were holding me together.

Watson

My headphones alert me I have a call coming in. Setting the weights down, I take my phone out of my pocket and slide my thumb across the screen.

“Hey, peckerface,” I say, grinning. “’Bout time you called.”

“You know, Twatty Watty, the phone works both ways. I know you’re a bit of a dumbass, but you can also dial me,” my brother Jameson tosses back. “What the fuck are you up to? Congrats on winning opening weekend. Wish I could have made it, but we had a show that night.”

“I’d say I wish I could have been there to watch you do your thing, but you know I’d be lying,” I say, cringing. “Can’t be watching you lose any more brain cells, big bro. You already don’t have many. You’re fixin’ to have none.”

My brother’s been a professional bull rider for three years now. When he joined the rodeo fresh out of high school, I knew why Mom was so upset and Dad was pissed. It’s dangerous. And after I watched him get thrown off a bull and wind up with a bad concussion last year, I vowed I never wanted to see him do his thing again. I know he loves it, but I don’t really want to watch the dude I’ve always looked up to die either. And my other brother, Carson, travels around the country, drag racing. Guess his name was fitting for him.

Crazy to think that out of my mom’s three boys, my career will be the safest. Luckily for her, our older sister, Nora, got married and had babies right after college. If it wasn’t for her, Mom would probably be beside herself.

“So, what’s this Mom tells me about you putting on some tights and prancing around onstage?” I can hear the amusement in his voice. “Say it ain’t so. You’re a ballerina now? Giving up that goalie life? Carson is going to love this.”

“Ha-ha. Laugh it up,” I mutter. “No tights, asshole. And it’s for a good cause. Don’t you remember my buddy Brody O’Brien? Well, this is his foundation. The money we raise will go toward kids who can’t afford to play sports.”

“Well, fuck, Watty. Now, you’ve made me feel like a complete dick,” he groans. “That’s pretty cool though. Is your partner hot?”

“She’s all right,” I say, lying through my teeth. But if I tell him the truth, he’ll be annoying as fuck about it.

“All right either means fucking ugly or that she’s really hot.” He laughs. “Hopefully, in your case, it’s the latter.” I hear someone calling his name in the background. “I gotta run, little bro. Take care of yourself.”

“You too.” I barely get the words out before he hangs up.

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