Page 2 of Only Me
Heck, if I’m being honest, it looks like freedom.
* * *
Three hours later,I’ve signed all the papers required, and I’m settled into a cheap motel across the street from the club. I’ve been sitting on the bed, staring out the window at The Pink Pony. There are a few cars in the lot, but I’m sure they’ll be more as it gets later.
My heart has only ever pounded this hard once before. The very second the plane to Florida took off. An adrenaline rush like nothing I’ve experienced before floods my veins. Making me feel sick to my stomach. I need to go over there. Introduce myself to this Casey dude I’ll supposedly be part owner with.
Apparently, he lived with my uncle and his husband since he was a young kid. And even though I now own half their home on paper, it didn’t feel right just showing up declaring I’d be staying there for the foreseeable future.
I sure hope the guy is open to selling the whole place because every time I picture myself in a business where women get naked on stage, I damn near start laughing so hard I snort.
But I have to check the place out. At least make an appearance.
Plus, I might be a little curious.
Even after leaving my parents’ house, I never tried to cozy up to any women. I wouldn’t even know where to start. Hell, I still can’t get past the bullshit my parents’ fed me that the lord is watching my every move and if I give in to the sins of my flesh he’ll know, and I’ll go to hell.
I tried Googlingpornonce after I bought my first laptop. The first site I clicked on and a bunch of pop up ads came out of nowhere flashing I’d won something and I owed the IRS and asking if I wanted to watch barely legal teens live on webcam. I unplugged my computer and took the battery out just in case. Haven’t turned the thing on since.
But I’m a twenty-five-year-old man. It’s about time I started living my life. That life might not end up being as the owner of a strip club, almost definitely not, but maybe if this Casey guy is willing to sell the club, I can use that money and the money I inherited to start over somewhere else. Get my electrician's certification or something. Make a real life for myself and forget about the backward little town outside Lancaster I come from.
Steeling my spine and squaring my shoulders, I get up off the bed and head across the street. Possibly I should have changed out of the same ill-fitting suit I’ve had since I bought it a discount store for my first and only job interview four years ago, but I didn’t know coming out here I would end up a millionaire and business owner in the course of a day.
With every step closer to the Pink Pony the beating of my heart increases intensity. One would think I’d be excited to walk into a strip club for the first time. That my dick would be stirring in my pants, but the opposite is true. The dude down below is pulling a turtle act at just the thought of a bunch of men sitting around and staring at women,so desperate for money they’re willing to take their clothes off on stage.
The doorknob nearly slips from my sweaty palm as I try to pull it open. It’s a goddamn heavy wooden thing, which I wasn’t expecting. Inside the door is a short hallway covered in black velvet, to the left is a coat check, but no one is standing behind the counter. What kind of strip club has a coat check?
My labored breaths fill the cool air around me as I take the five steps to reach the inner door, another heavy carved wooden thing. This time I take a moment to admire the craftsmanship. I’ve worked in home construction for a while now, and I know these aren’t some cheap off the shelf doors. These are custom. Which is an odd thing to pay attention to at a place like this.
That fact should prepare me for what I see when I finally pull the door open, but it doesn’t. I expected something seedy. Dirty. Run down. The Pink Pony is anything but. It’s glamorous. I suddenly feel underdressed and every inch the country boy I am. A chrome bar lines the back wall. Tall leather chairs set around wood and metal tables. Chandeliers hang over each table and a bigger one in the center of the stage. Just as my eyes swing toward the corner of the room where a wave of laughter rises, a man almost as big as me steps into my line of vision.
“We’re closed. Don’t open until eight.” He crosses his arms over his wide chest and, yeah, I admit I’m a little intimidated.
I’m probably two inches taller at a ridiculous six-foot-five, but this guy has me on pure muscle mass. He obviously spends a ton of time in the gym. My muscles have all been carved through manual labor, and while I’m in shape, I’ve got nowhere near the definition as this guy. His veins even look like they have their own muscles.
Plus, I’ve never once been in a fight. Unless you count the occasional whooping I took from my stepdad. I doubt this guy can say the same.
“Um. Yeah, sorry, my name is--”
“I don’t give a damn what your name is, you need to get out before I show you out.” He pounds one fist into his open palm and rubs them together.
Standing a little taller, I try to put some conviction behind my voice. “I’m the new part owner. Murray was my uncle.”
“Motherfucking cocksucker!” A smoky voice yells from across the room. And for some reason, my dick picks this moment to come to life behind my zipper. The same voice mumbles something else under her breath, but I’m too far away to hear.
But then the bouncer calls her over, and the heavy weight of my cock fills the front of my pants. Because the curvy woman with unruly red, curly hair stalking toward us is the woman meant for me.
