Page 130 of Overcast

As if.

“Just a little,” Mills replies, pinching his thumb and index finger together. “Don’t worry, I made sure we rationed them out.” He knocks into my side with his elbow because we didn’t.

This dump that they call the “classiest strip club in town” looks like five decades of dust, and dirt was an add-on to the decor, but I do want to stay. Half of the neon in the parking lot wasn’t working, so that should’ve been my first sign on what to expect when Mills parked the SUV.

But I’ve already overlooked the chipped and faded mint green paint that lines the walls and the lack of space for all the people here. They’re definitely breaking the fire code for being over-occupancy, and all the ancient furniture would be a fire hazard. The hardwood floors alone are a risk, lifting upward in spots to where it’s like you’re walking on a century-old pirate ship.

Then there are the cages that are suspended in the air with dancers—yeah, I made sure not to stand under one of those because the chains look like they’re going to snap at any minute.

I bat my eyelashes at the man who appears like he wants to throttle me with his bare hands when really he should be directing that towards his buddy who started it.

“Please,” I coo, clasping my hands together. “Just an hour.” I see Bishop’s lips move, but whatever he utters isn’t loud enough for me to hear over the music.

“Bishop has things to do,” Emric responds flatly.

“Then Bishop can take an Uber home,” I deadpan. Both men bore daggers into me, and I’m proud of myself (and the jello shots) that I don’t cower back from my rude comment.

Bishop takes a step forward then, massive arms crossed along his chest, muscles screaming that he worked them too hard, and positions himself directly in front of me.

“One hour,” he pledges, leaning in so I don’t miss what he’s saying. He smells like leather and man, all perfectly wrapped in an intoxicating scent. “And you better make it worth my while to be staying here.”

He dismisses any opportunity for me to speak—not that I was going to—when he motions for the boys to follow him. But Emric remains glued to his spot while Mills faithfully follows, leaving me to deal with the cranky, uptight monster.

Emric crooks his index finger, signaling to come closer. I do, a moth to the flame, feeling the hairs on my arms stand to attention as I get into his space and wait for how he wants to yell at me.

I stop within an inch of his chest, my jaw opening to heave in air with my mouth because I need to stay calm and collected.

I need more shots.

“How buzzed are you?” he asks me, eyes zeroed in on my face.

“How do you measure that exactly?” I don’t know how to answer that question properly. If I’m aware of my surroundings and the songs that are currently playing, how my body is humming to how close Emric is—damn, I think I’m a little more than buzzed if my insides are singing a symphony to his proximity. “I’m fine, Emric.”

“Alright—” He plucks my forearm and loops it in with his. “—let’s go find Beavis and Butthead.”

We pass the center stage that lies to the right of the room, surrounded by men and women of all sorts of bank accounts. Three women, all dressed in silver, sparkly, outfits, seductively dance for the customers lining the edge.

The crowd erupts in cheers, and I glance back over to see the one on the left has removed her top, her breast on display as she rubs her nipples with the pads of her fingers.

My own perk at the sight as Emric leads me to wherever his buddies ended up at. His body rubs and grazes mine from the congested throng of people. At one point, Emric draws me in front of him as we walk in a straight line, his groin lining up to the fringe above my ass.

“Take a seat, sweetheart.” We stop at a secluded booth that doesn’t look like the others I’ve seen. It’s shaped like a “C”, wrapping around a small table centered by a singular lit candle. The lighting overhead is red, casting down on the nicer-looking material of suede that covers the seating as Mills and Bishop lounge next to each other.

The space could fit at least five more people, and I gracefully plop down, immediately being handed a pink drink from Mills.

“It’s a Shirley Temple,” he announces loud enough for Emric to hear.

“The fuck it is,” he responds, stretching out his legs and encroaching on my space.

A young female approaches, arms adorned in colorful tattoos, a Marilyn Monroe piercing, and a lack of wanting to be here. Her expression illuminates that this is just a job, and she can’t wait for her shift to be up.

“What can I get you?” That to Emric as she smacks the gum in her mouth and adjusts her black tank top over her abdomen.

It draws my attention to her anatomy, her boobs are a great size, not too much but not lacking either. Her lips are painted red luring me to high cheekbones and dark eyes.

“Coors Light.” She asks Bishop and Mills if they want anything else then takes off before applause and hollers overpower the music throughout the space.

My eyes run over the crowd to find a voluptuous woman in all pink swinging around a stripper pole at one of the smaller stages in the corner. Her bare ass is accompanied by a thong extended over her hips. Porn Star Dancing byMy Darkest Days ironically plays overhead on the speakers, and the men engulfing her space are pouring bills all over her area.

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