Page 8 of Thirst Trap
She doesn’t say the words loudly, but somehow, I hear them over the roar of the crowd, which is currently going wild at moves you can usually only see in Vegas. The applause only gets louder as the song comes to a close. While I’m upset it’s done—I still had a few more moves up my sleeve—I’m also glad it is.
I need to see her. I need to hear that sweet voice again. I need to see if she enjoyed the show.
I need to know her name.
I right myself and quickly turn to her. She’s still sitting in the chair, and the look on her face is exactly what I wanted to see.
Her eyes are heated. Her cheeks are flushed. Her breathing is heavy.
Best. Dare. Ever.
I take a step forward and hold my hand out to her, which she immediately takes.
“What did you think?” I ask as she stands up.
“I’m not sure,” she says, that playful smile coming back on her face. “I’ve seen better.”
I put a hand to my heart, feigning shock. “And where, may I ask, have you seen better moves than those before?”
“You’re good, don’t get me wrong,” she says, taking a few steps toward the bar, though not letting go of my hand. “But Channing Tatum might want his moves back.”
I laugh. “Movies and Vegas review shows don’t count.”
“Oh,” she says, putting her manicured finger to her lips as she pretends to think. “Then I am wrong. You win, sir. Best real life lap dance I’ve ever had.”
“Damn straight,” I say, ordering myself a beer and telling the bartender to get her whatever she’d like. “And you didn’t even get to see my good moves.”
She turns to me, her eyebrows shooting up in question. “Those weren’t your good moves? I thought I told you not to hold back.”
I smile, leaning in a little closer. “My good moves are saved for a more… private audience.”
I feel her shiver again, loving the fact that I have this effect on her. Lord knows, she has the same effect on me.
“That audience must be real lucky,” she says, reaching for the water she ordered from the bartender. “You’ve got some moves… oh my gosh, I don’t even know your name!”
I laugh as a look of mortification rolls through her face. “I don’t know yours either, sweetness. So, it makes us even. I’m Jake.”
“You don’t know mine?”
That wasn’t what I was expecting.
“Should I?”
“Whitley!” someone yells, and Whitley looks over her shoulder. “We are getting ready to head to the next bar. Are you coming or are you going to keep flirting with Wish.com Magic Mike?”
I would laugh at the joke, except the jealousy is rolling off of the girl’s tongue. Frankly, it’s not very attractive.
“Oh, come on, darling. I’m at least the Wal-Mart version.”
She lets out a huff as she storms off. I look back at Whitley, and all I see is sadness in her eyes.
And that just won’t do.
“I should go,” she says, gesturing to her group. “It’s my best friend’s bachelorette party and her bitchy sister will never let me live it down if I ditch them for you.”
I smile, giving her hand a squeeze. “We can’t have that.”
“I guess this is goodbye?”
“Oh no, sweetness,” I say, quickly pulling out my wallet and tossing a few twenties on the bar to cover my tab. “This party is just getting started.”
