Page 76 of Hate Mates

“As opposed to dead ones?” I joke.

Blaze chuckles. “Not your usual scene, princess?”

I glare at him. “Shut up.”

We approach the back door cautiously. It’s unlocked, the knob turning easily in Blaze’s hand. He pushes it open. The odor hits me first—a nauseating mix of stale beer, cheap perfume, and something else I don’t want to identify. The carpet squishes beneath my boots, sticky with God knows what.

Dim red lights line the stage, illuminating a solitary pole with a lone stripper and two patrons in sniffer’s row. Upended chairs on vacant tables clutter the shadowy recesses, but around the stage, glitter sparkles on the floor.

“Thought they’d be closed.” Blaze scratches the scruff on his jaw. “Looks like a twenty-four-hour club.”

“I feel like I need a shower just standing here,” I whisper.

Blaze smirks. “You mean you don’t want a private dance?”

I elbow him in the ribs. “Focus.”

We move further into the club, toward a door markedDressing Room. It’s ajar, and I push it open with my fingertip, not wanting to touch more than necessary.

Inside, the room is a chaos of sequins, feathers, spandex, and more, ranging from schoolgirl plaid to dominatrix leather. Vanities are cluttered with makeup and half-empty glasses of flat champagne.

I wrinkle my nose. “Reeks like desperation.”

Blaze chuckles, rifling through a rack. “These costumes better be worth it.”

I pick up a G-string between my thumb and forefinger, dangling it in the air. “What do you think, Blaze? Your color?”

He glances over, his eyes sparkling. “Depends. You modeling for me?”

Heat rushes to my cheeks and I toss the scrap of lace aside. “In your wildest dreams.”

“Every night,” he quips.

I roll my eyes, but a small smile tugs at my lips. Who knew the golden boy of the Crown City MC had a sense of humor?

Moving to another rack, I flip through. Nurse, cop, firefighter … every male fantasy represented. Nothing subtle or practical for blending in.

Behind me, Blaze lets out a whistle and drawls, “Dayum. Vina?”

I spin around to find him holding up a skimpy French maid outfit, complete with a frilly white apron and a feather duster.

“Excuse me?” I put my hands on my hips, cocking an eyebrow. “What exactly are you implying?”

A mischievous grin playing on his lips, and he lifts one shoulder. “Nothing. But the way you’re digging into these outfits seems like you know your way around.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Please. I’m not the one who zeroed in on the sluttiest costume here.”

“Oh, you’ve been looking?” He takes a step closer, the maid costume dangling from his fingertips.

I tilt my chin up, meeting his gaze head-on. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Me?” He presses a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I’m not the one eye-fucking the lingerie.”

My mouth drops open. “I was not?—”

But before I can finish, Blaze closes the distance between us, backing me up against the vanity. The edge digs into my spine as he plants his hands on either side of me. The maid outfit flutters to the floor, forgotten.

His face is inches from mine, his breath hot on my skin. The air between us is alive.

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