Page 1 of Promiscuous Lies

CHAPTER 1

Posie

Ididn’t plan to work here; it wasn’t exactly on my career path. I didn’t wake up one day and say,today is the day I will become a stripper.

But here I am, two months in, working as a fucking stripper. If my parents were alive, I’m sure they would be really fucking proud.

Not.

But that’s what happens when you have bills and a body you can use to pay those bills.

A fucking stripper.

Yep, that’s what I grumble in my head every night when I have to pay the babysitter to watch my son so I can shake my ass for men who are more than likely cheating on their wives.

Fuckfaces.

“Posie, you’re late,” Paula says. I roll my eyes because I’m always late. It’s the one constant about me. She should be used to it by now, but I make up for it when I bring in the money. I only work here twice a week, sometimes only once. And I make enough on those nights to pay my bills and put food on the table. At the moment, that’s what I’m happy with; it’s all I need. Once my son starts school, it will be a different scenario, but rightnow, I want to give him all of me like my own mother did for me when I was a kid. So I work one to two nights here instead of getting a full-time job because it pays the same.

“I’m here,” I reply, throwing my things on the counter and pulling out my makeup bag. “You know I can get ready quickly.” I slip off my dress, revealing hot-pink lingerie.

Paula is more adamant about my tardiness tonight as she stands behind me while I touch up my hair and makeup. “I told you I needed you to be on time tonight. The boss doesn’t usually come in, and you still haven’t met him.” She throws her hands up in the air. “You know he likes to meet everyone.”

So I’ve been told.

And I still don’t care.

I don’t work as much as the other girls do, and ass-kissing isn’t exactly my thing.

“Is he still here?” I ask, in between applying my soft-pink lipstick. I don’t care if he is, but I’m pretending to be at least a little bit interested.

“He’ll be leaving soon,” she says, side-eyeing me.

“Okay, next time, then.”

She sighs and walks away, shaking her head. Paula and I have an interesting relationship. She gave me a job when I desperately needed it, and I work my ass off to bring in good money and tips. She won’t admit it, but I know she likes me.

“You really piss her off,” Samantha, one of the other dancers, says next to me. I can’t help but smile, not even attempting to deny it.

“Posie, you better be ready because you’re up in ten,” Paula calls out. It irritates her that I’m always ready and presentable for my sets despite being late.

I throw a barely-there cover-up over my lingerie and smirk as Samantha waits for her turn to dance. “Have fun,” she calls out as I wave her off and open the door to wander the mainfloor. The lights are dimmed to focus everyone’s attention on the current girl dancing on the stage. Seats circle the stage, with private booths scattered throughout the main room. In the center is a bar, and one of the other girls stands there, waiting to take her customers’ drinks out.

I admire the woman on stage, but I know all eyes will be drawn to Samantha when she comes out. She earns the most tips. I’m second to her, and she fucking works her ass off for it. She’s an amazing dancer who is studying it as a profession, but like all of us here, she struggles to pay her bills, let alone pay for dance lessons. Working here fixes that.

I skirt along the edges of the room, eyeing the night’s patrons. I smile as men’s gazes roam what is usually off-limits, although, for the right price, they can touch. I rarely let that happen. Men are easy. They want what they can’t have. And they’re willing to pay for it.

When I overheard two women discussing what strippers could potentially earn, I looked into clubs in Manhattan. Two weeks later, I met Paula by chance at the hospital. My son was running a fever, and her husband was sick that night as well. Although I usually keep to myself, we were in the same room, and she mentioned her workplace. Pearl is an exclusive, invite-only gentlemen’s club, which means the clientele has plenty of money to spare.

Most importantly, this one has the best reputation for keeping the girls safe. And they do. I get walked to my car every night. And if I feel unsafe, I even have the option of having security drive me home. So if I have to dance my ass off for money, I want to do it somewhere extra safe.

As I walk past the side of the stage where a group of men are watching the main dancer, I caress the men’s shoulders. Some look my way, and I offer them a small wave.

“Anything I can get you, fellas?” I ask, standing to the side. One in particular stares at me with lust in his eyes while the others rattle off drink orders. I smile and head to the bar, passing their orders to the bartender.

“Looking good, Posie,” Mike, the bartender, says. He’s well-groomed, with light brown hair tucked behind his ears. He has a long earring dangling from one ear, making him look edgy in a pretty-boy way. I wave him off with a flattered laugh. He always says that to me, and at first, it made me uncomfortable, but now I know he’s not hitting on me; he’s just playing. Now we enjoy bitching about the men together and admiring his failed dating app attempts. But, hey, at least he’s trying.

“Thanks, Pookie.” I wink at him as I lean over the counter. “Been busy this week?”

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