Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
As I walk past the side of the stage where a group of men are watching the main dancer, I caress the men’s shoulders. Some look my way, and I offer them a small wave.
“Anything I can get you, fellas?” I ask, standing to the side. One in particular stares at me with lust in his eyes while the others rattle off drink orders. I smile and head to the bar, passing their orders to the bartender.
“Looking good, Posie,” Mike, the bartender, says. He’s well-groomed, with light brown hair tucked behind his ears. He has a long earring dangling from one ear, making him look edgy in a pretty-boy way. I wave him off with a flattered laugh. He always says that to me, and at first, it made me uncomfortable, but now I know he’s not hitting on me; he’s just playing. Now we enjoy bitching about the men together and admiring his failed dating app attempts. But, hey, at least he’s trying.
“Thanks, Pookie.” I wink at him as I lean over the counter. “Been busy this week?”
He nods as he starts making the drinks. “Boss has been in all week, so everyone’s been on edge. One of the girls stumbled down two steps when she saw him across the room because she was so nervous,” he tells me with a sly smile. But then he looks back out over my shoulder toward the floor. “He’s here right now; just a heads-up.” I make no move to turn around. I don’t care about the boss. I come to earn money and go home. As long as I have a job and am not doing anything wrong, I don’t see the problem.
“Good to know.” I place the drinks on the tray and walk them over. Leaning down, I place one in front of the man who hasn’t taken his eyes off the dancer, and the other two, I make sure to show my cleavage when I bend down to hand them their drinks.
And like usual, their eyes track to my tits.
“Is that all, boys?”
A cheer erupts, and they look to the stage as Samantha struts out.
Two of the men hand over a nice tip, only one of them taking their eyes off Samantha. I pocket the cash with a smile and go back to the bar with the empty tray.
“How’s the kid?” Mike asks.
“Good. Didn’t want to sleep tonight, though,” I say, rubbing my temples. That’s why I was so late tonight.
Mike laughs and shakes his head before cutting himself off quickly as a customer approaches the bar.
I eye the man because I haven’t seen him before, and he certainly looks like he has more than enough money to tip handsomely. He’s dressed in a suit, with light brown hair, blue ocean eyes, and a watch that probably costs more than everything I own combined.
Another cheer erupts, and I turn to watch Samantha basically backflip in her heels on stage and can’t help but smile. Gosh, she’s good. I mean, I can move my hips and climb a pole, but what some of these women can do is mind-blowing.
Not a chance in hell that I am trying to do that stuff unless I want to break my neck.
It’s then that I feel suffocated. When I look over my shoulder, I understand why. The man in the nice suit is standing in my space. No, he’s consuming all of it as if entitled to do so. It’s so unnerving that I step back while faking a smile.
“Hello,” he says, and his voice is sweet as honey but with a lethal edge that raises the hair on my arms. It’s a confusing mix, considering how pretty he is. He doesn’t look any older than me—in his mid-twenties—but there’s a cold calculation in his gaze that ages his presence.
“Hi, handsome. What can I get you?” I push my breasts out, and he notices. Not once has he smiled, and even as I stand here smiling at him, he doesn’t reciprocate it. Instead, he looks… disgusted. “Nothing, then?” I ask, raising a brow flirtatiously. He remains silent, simply studying me.
“Is this your first time at a gentlemen’s club, sugar? Don’t worry; it doesn’t cost you anything to talk to me.” A lie, of course. I make any man who occupies my time pay for it. I go to step past him and tap his shoulder, but his hand snatches my wrist before I can touch him.
“I don’t think we’ve met,” he says. I try to pull my wrist out of his grip, but his hold won’t budge. It’s only when he finally releases me a few moments later that I’m able to regain my composure.
“We don’t need names, sugar. Do you want a dance?” I ask, batting my thick eyelashes.
“Is this how you are with all the clients?” he questions. I flick my long blonde hair over my shoulder and smile at him, even when I would much rather tell him to go fuck himself.