Page 11 of Of Desire And Deception

“Nice to meet you,” I murmured while I peeled my hoodie off and stuffed it in my bag. My plain white t-shirt went next. I’d foregone a bra so I wouldn’t have lines when I put my costume on. Nobody looked twice when I stood topless and slipped the cropped, eyelet lace-trimmed blue gingham shirt on. Hooks fastened the front of the shirt, making it easy to get off when necessary.

“Did you remember to wax?” Bubbles asked as I unfastened my jeans.

“Um, yeah. Why?” I shoved my jeans down, revealing a thong that matched my top.

“Franco just likes the clean look better,” she said with a shrug. “Says the patrons appreciate being able to see everything.”

I bet they did. Not that I begrudged the men their preferences. After all, the girls needed that money.

“Well, at least I’ve done something right.” I giggled nervously and reached for the little plastic-covered slip of paper. Girl bonding. I repeated it to myself. “Can somebody help me put this on?”

“Oh, that’s adorable!” Bubbles squealed, snatching the red rose temporary tattoo from my hand. “Where do you want it?”

I pointed to my right ass cheek. “Right here. So it’ll show when I bend over.”

“Love that idea,” Poppy echoed, grabbing a cloth and dousing it with water from a nearby water bottle. She turned me so my ass faced the mirror, and I watched Bubbles position the tattoo.

“Like this?” she asked.

I could feel my cheeks heat as I considered all the men in the club looking at that rose. “Yeah. Perfect.”

Poppy handed her the cloth, and my fingers curled into fists at the cold, damp pressure. The other girls really didn’t have any modesty, touching a stranger’s ass at the first meeting. I bit my lip to hold back a laugh.

“There.” Bubbles’ tongue poked out the side of her face as she carefully peeled the paper off the tattoo. “What do you think?”

I glanced over my shoulder. The red rose stood out against my pale flesh. “Yeah, that’s good.”

“Good!” Without warning, Bubbles slapped my ass. I jumped and spun around to her, wide-eyed, but she just laughed. “Get used to it. Those men will be thinking about dragging their tongues over that rose until they can get you in a private room for a lap dance.”

“They’re going to lick me?” I asked, alarmed.

“Not if you don’t want them to,” she answered, her eyes softening with sympathy. “Technically, they’re not even allowed to touch you while you’re grinding on their laps. But if you want a bigger tip, letting some hands—or tongues—wander can’t hurt.”

“I don’t think I’m quite ready for that.” I reached for my shorts and pulled them on. Half my ass hung out the bottom, and the denim barely covered the rose tattoo. When I slipped into the cowboy boots, I found a floor-length mirror on the back wall and stood there to check out the costume.

“Don’t let them convince you to do anything you aren’t comfortable with,” a deeply tanned woman with dark brown eyes and winged liner said as she stopped at my side. She wore some sexy rendition of a stereotypical Egyptian garment. She stuck her hand out. “Cleopatra. But you can call me Cleo.”

“Wynn,” I said in return. “Is that your stage name?”

“Of course,” she said with a laugh. “I figured I’d make my dear absent father proud of me by honoring the heritage he gave me. One day, I hope he has a heart attack when he finds out I chose not to follow his strict religious protocols. I even have my hair down.”

I smiled as she feigned shock and tossed her long, black ponytail over her shoulder. “Well, I wish you luck with the heart attack, then.”

“I think you’re going to fit in fine here,” she said with a nod. Apparently, all it took to make friends was endorsing attempted murder. She tapped a pointed red acrylic nail against her cheek. “You need a different name, though.”

I bristled. “What’s wrong with my name?”

“Nothing, but you don’t want the patrons knowing your real name. None of us go by them,” she explained, pointing around the room. “Bubbles, Poppy, and that grumpy bitch in the corner is Sunshine.”

“Sunshine,” I repeated, my brows shooting up.

The redhead stood and crossed her arms defensively. “Got a problem with that?”

“Nope,” I answered. I wasn’t looking for a catfight on my first night in the club. Or any other night, for that matter. “Not at all.”

She tossed her long, pin-straight red locks over her shoulder and scoffed before returning to her seat. I ignored the woman and slid back into the chair at my vanity, turning my curling iron on and holding my fingers over it to feel the heat. It didn’t take long to curl my newly bleached blonde hair, then spray it to within an inch of its life before pulling it back into a high ponytail that would bounce around with every movement on stage.

“You can go next, Daisy.” It took me a moment to realize Poppy was talking to me. “I figured it would be an easy stage name. Cute country girl.”

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