Page 3 of Only Me
2
Casey
Uncle Luther and Uncle Murray have been gone over a month now, and yet I expect them to walk through the door at any minute. They loved this place and its weird cast of misfits. People wouldn’t expect a strip club to be where you make your family, but that is what we are.
And that is why I decided to reinstitute Thursday poker night. It used to be how we started each week. Yes, in a strip club the week starts on Thursday. Or at least this one does. We’re closed Monday through Wednesday, open Thursday through Sunday from eight in the evening to three in the morning. And Thursday at five the uncles would make everyone dinner, and after we all shoved way too much food down our throats, especially considering most of us would be required to take our clothes off at some point, we’d try to take each other’s money with a lively game of poker.
After the car accident that took Luther and Murray from us, we stopped the tradition. It hurt to look around and not see their smiling faces cuddled up to one another. But we needed a reminder that we are all still family.
“Damn, girl, you take ownership of one little strip club, and your luck goes right in the toilet.” Roxy lays down two pair, queens and nines.
I’ve got her beat — a full house aces over kings. But I slam my cards face down as she rakes in the money I let her win. My uncles never took any of the money, and always managed to let the girls that needed it the most win the big pots. Roxy has tuition due next week.
“Motherfucking cocksucker! How do I keep losing?” I gather the cards, making sure no one sees the prime hand I just gave up. The uncles never cussed, but I gotta be me, too.
“Uh uh, no sucky sucky happenin’ in these walls, you know that.” Zsa Zsa Grabmore, our resident mother hen, drag queen, and emcee clucks her tongue across the table from me. Her eyes, covered in tons of sparkling eyeshadow and insane false lashes, glance over my shoulder, I assume to her husband. “Ohhhhh, but I wouldn’t mind getting on my knees for that tall drink of water.”
We all turn to see who she could possibly be talking about, her giant of a husband is the one and only in her world, so the newcomer must be something worth writing home about.
And boy is he, in a weird Clark Kent sort of way. Complete with black, thick-rimmed glasses.
He’s taller than Butch by about an inch or two, but not as muscular. Which is a good thing in my book, Butch needs to put down the dumbbells every once in a while before his veins burst out of his skin.
Clark Kent is also wearing the most awful suit known to man. His arms are trying to break free from the cheap material suffocating them, but the brown fabric gapes around his obviously trim waist. And his thighs, oh lord, those thighs are about to hulk out at any minute and shred those tight pants. Not to mention the dark outline of what I think is a growing cock shoved down the leg. Surprisingly, given where I work, I’ve never seen a dick before. But by the looks of it Clark Kent is packing some heat.
“Umm, Casey, you might want to come over here.” Butch turns to me with wide eyes, and I stand from my seat.
As I walk over, the visitor takes me in from head to toe. I’ve got three-inch nude heels on my feet, bare legs up to my short pencil skirt, and a tight tank top with the Pink Pony’s logo blazing over my breasts. My skin tingles at his perusal. Which is weird, I work in probably one of the sexiest industries on the planet, and yet I’ve never experienced arousal like this.
When his dark green eyes meet mine, I almost gasp because I realize at the same time that my panties are absolutely soaked. I’m going to need to change them before we open. The man’s chest is heaving up and down as if he just finished running laps around the outside of the building.
Quick on the heels of the most intense arousal of my life is crushing disappointment that this guy is just here to get a glimpse at tits and ass like every other man to step through the door. “Listen, dude, I’m sure Butch here told you, we don’t open until eight. You’ll have to come back with the rest of the pervs.”
His eyes harden, and Clark Kent takes a step toward me, but Butch stops his progress. “I’m not here to see anything but the owner of this place. Casey Hughes.”
“Well you’re in luck, I am Casey.” I prop my hands on my hips, thrust one leg out like I’m Angelina fucking Jolie at the Oscars, and try as best as I can to puff up to my full height. All five foot five of it in heels.
Clark’s eyes widen in shock but then his lips curve up in a slow smile. I try not to notice how thick they are or how much I want to bite them. “Nice to meet you, Casey. I’m Zeke Fairwater. Murray’s nephew and apparently now part owner of this club.”
Behind me, Zsa Zsa whistles and all the girls start tittering together at the poker table.
Hell.
Gossip spreads in this place faster than the dancers’ thighs when they see a fat wad of cash.
I’ve been on edge ever since hearing the details of the will. Just waiting for the famous nephew I’d heard so much about growing up to pop in and take over the club. I don’t care how hot this guy is, there is no way I’m letting him take everything I love in this world away from me. I’ve lost too much already.
“Maybe we should talk someplace a little more private.” I nod to Butch, letting him know it’s okay to let Clark… I mean Zeke past. “The office is back here.”
I turn, leading him back a well-lit hallway to the large office Murray and Luther shared for twenty years. As I lead this stranger that claims to have a stake in my club, I can feel his eyes watching my ass,like those twin green eyes are burning a hole right through the thin fabric of my Lycra skirt to see the thong underneath.
Blood rushes to my cheeks at both the dirty thoughts I can’t seem to control and the state of the office as I show him inside. There are papers strewn everywhere, my textbooks from business school, and wrappers from lunch earlier. Luther and Murray were always neat to a fault, but I’ve discovered over the past month that they weren’t actually organized. They just slipped bills and invoices in whatever drawer had room, with no actual filing system. I’ve been trying to change that, get everything squared away so I can make this place mine, make it go even further.
But I’m not quite there yet. Right now, the place just looks like a pigsty with piles of paper everywhere.
“Sorry about the mess, still trying to figure out what my system is going to be.” I clear a pile of liquor inventory logs from a chair and gesture for Zeke to take a seat.
As he does, I swear I can hear the cheap fabric encasing his legs groan as his muscles stretch the seams to near capacity. A corresponding groan builds in my lungs as he comes eye level with my tits.
