I take a twenty directly from a patron and carefully arrange it in my thong, then cha-cha my way along the catwalk to the edge of the bar where Paul reluctantly waits. If the bar was cleared for dancing, I could step over—Do it anyway, do it for the bit—but it’s not cleared tonight, so I stay at the edge doing a demure little Betty Boop swivel while Paul hides his face and inches closer to take the money.
I drop low and grab his hands, making the crowd laugh and cheer. When it’s clear I’m not going to let him escape, Paul relents and takes the bill with his teeth.
The crowd’s approval drowns not only the music but also Jamie’s voice as they try to announce the revue’s times. I saunter back to her microphone. With a gesture from me, the crowd hushes.
I make eye contact with Laur still sitting at his high-top sipping his whiskey. I coo into the mic, “I’ll see you all at the show. Starts at nine.”
Then I wink and kiss and dart out the fire exit to escape the crowd.
****
The fire escape goes to the alley. The alley wraps around the side of the building and into the man cave. When I step into the familiar darkness, the heat of the club tingles on my skin. The other three Cuties are still working the crowd.
I dab away the sweat with a baby wipe and rub off the tape keeping the thong publicly decent. My plan is to rush upstairs, take a shower, and make Laur sweat.
“Hey, Stagger, you ready for that blow?”
There he is, un-sweatable, leaning in the doorway. The whiskey tumbler refracts the light around a new cherry and straw, but the man himself is only a shadow against the wild dancing lights. How did he get past the bouncer? It freaks me out a little, especially with my luck with stalkers.
“You shouldn’t be back here, Laur.”
“The owner likes me more than you.” He sips his drink and smacks his lips. “So … we doing this here or elsewhere?”
Right here. Right now. Fuck his face against that wall with the dance floor two feet away. Yank down those pants and rail him in front on the dressing room mirror, so he and anyone else in the club who happens to look in can watch the fuck machine that is Chard Stagger in action.
My mouth dries. If I’d been off my meds … if I hadn’t been taking my cognitive behavior therapy so seriously … fuck, if I didn’t know three other Cuties could wander in here any second…
“Upstairs. Now.”
Laur, unimpressed by my authority, doesn’t take a step from the doorway. In the backlight, he plucks out the cherry and sucks it off the straw again.
Christ, those lips were going to feel so fucking good.
“You sure you want me? You walk back out there and at least a dozen panties will drop. You’re only getting a blowjob from me.”
I tower over him and I promise, “I’ll change your mind.”
He smirks, colder than the ice tinkling in his glass. “Unlikely.”
I reach out to caress his face. “I’ll be very gentle.”
He dodges my touch. “Oh, be still, my beating heart.”
Then he drains the entire whiskey sour like it’s a shot and then drops to his knees.
Hot damn. It is happening here.
It can’t. If even one of those boys saw, they’d run right to Jude to complain about how her mentally unstable sex-crazed cash cow is misusing the space.
Shit. I don’t have the self-discipline to stop him. Shit.
I can see the bar and Paul smiling to the patrons favoring him, still blushing. The twenty is tucked into his black shirt like a badge of honor.
Laur stands again, leaving the empty glass at the edge of the door. Disappointment and relief ripple through me. Raging lust pushes out every other emotion and I beat down the desire to hurl him on the couch.
He looks at me, his left eye droops at the edge. “Well, I don’t know where the fuck we’re going. Lead the way.”
Chapter Three