Текст книги "A Little Too Hot"

Автор книги: Lisa Desrochers

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Chapter Five

THE KNO CK ON the door sends me flying. I leap off the sofa as it opens.

“Time’s up,” Nora says, peering through the crack.

I look back at Harrison, who’s still on the sofa, looking a little stunned.

“So . . .” What? What do I say? Not, “This was fun,” or “See you later.” Instead I say, “Thanks . . . I guess.”

He stands. “Thank you. This was nice.”

“Nice,” I repeat, rolling that over in my head.

Nora reaches in for my arm and starts tugging.

“Okay, well . . .’Bye,” I say as she drags me through the door and closes it.

“This isn’t the Dating Game, girlie. No pleasantries required. When your time’s up, you just leave.”

I cringe a little. “Sorry. I’m not very good at this stuff yet.”

She gives me a look, then leads me back to the dressing room. “When you’re done changing, check in with Ben. He’ll have your tips sorted.”

“What do I do with my costume?” I ask, plucking at the tuxedo collar of my vest.

“Leave anything that needs to be washed in the bags in the corner. We send it out so it’s ready for you when you come in tomorrow.”

“I’m coming in tomorrow?”

She pulls the pen out from behind her ear and scratches her chin with the end of it as she looks over the notepad that always seems to be in her hand. “We’re open Tuesday through Saturday. I’ve got you on center tomorrow.”

I nod and close the door. When I confirm I’m alone, I let out the giddy scream I was restraining and do a little happy dance. “Yes!”

Twenty minutes later I walk from Ben’s office into the club with $546 in my pocket. Apparently, Hot Guy Harrison left a fifty on the table in the VIP room for me. Adding quickly in my head, that comes out to three hundred and fifty bucks he dropped on me tonight. It leaves me wondering how much set guys for movie production companies make.

It’s after last call, so the stages are dark and the bar is emptying out. I catch my eyes sweeping over what’s left of the crowd, looking for him. I don’t see him, but I see Jonathan. He’s on a bar stool, grinding against the blonde standing between his spread knees who has her tongue halfway down his throat. A blonde who’s not Ginger. This is why I don’t see him settling down anytime soon. He’s amazingly pretty, and girls throw themselves at him—same as I did. He just doesn’t have it in him to resist.

As I step up next to him, I notice the two double shots of Jack on the bar in front of him. I clear my throat and tap him on the shoulder. “You want some Ginger with that shot?” I ask.

He unsuctions his face from the blonde, who glares past him at me as he turns to look over his shoulder.

“Red!” He drops the blonde and spins his stool to face me. “Holy shit! I know we said we’d never do the nasty again, but that performance really made me second-guess my decision.”

I shove his shoulder, and he’s just drunk enough that I nearly knock him off his stool. He knows I was on the rebound the night we slept together. “Get over yourself. You weren’t that good.”

“Jon,” the blonde behind him whines.

He glances over his shoulder at her as if he’d forgotten she was there. “Oh. Hey. So, my friend’s here. You can take off now.” He turns back to me and lifts his glass. “To hot redheads who can fuck an entire room from the stage, and make every guy feel like it was just for him.”

I roll my eyes and we shoot. This time I beat him by at least half a second.

Behind him, the blond skulks off as Gina pours us another shot.

IT’S NOON WHEN I wake up on Jonathan’s sofa. I pick up my phone and scan my texts, same as every morning, but so far nothing from Mom. It’s warped, I know, but I’m so used to her to-do lists every morning that, as much as I hated them, and usually didn’t to the things on them just to spite her, I miss them. I think about calling her, but what would I say? I’m not going to beg her to let me come home. Doing so would show her that I can’t take care of myself. It would prove her right.

My gut tightens in that way it always does when I think about our last conversation. I remember how disappointed she looked when she told me she was done with me. But the kicker? Apparently I’m a bad influence on my eight-year-old brothers. God forbid I should corrupt the golden boys. She gave me twenty-four hours to get out and that was that.

If nothing else comes of this, I want her to see that I’m not a waste of space. I don’t know if it’s retribution or redemption that I’m after. All I know is that either of them will prove her wrong about me, and that’s all I really care about.

I push the blanket Jonathan gave me when we got home last night to the side and sit up. Last I remember, he and Ginger were in his room, fighting. She was here waiting for him when we got home at sometime after three, and she was super pissed. Can’t say I blame her. They were screaming so loud when I finally turned off the light and went to . . . sofa, I can’t believe I actually fell asleep. But as I sit here trying to shake off my hangover and wake up, it becomes glaringly apparent Ginger didn’t make good on her threat to rip Jonathan’s dick off because, based on the rhythmic knocking of his headboard against the wall, he’s clearly using it at the moment.

I drag myself to the kitchen and start the coffee, then stand here staring at the pot until a full cup has dribbled into it. The heating plate hisses as I yank the pot out from under the drip and pour the contents into my mug. I’m holding it to my face and burning my mouth on the sweet nectar when Jonathan’s door clicks open.

I look up, and wish I hadn’t, because the only thing he’s wearing is his extensive ink, and the condom he’s in the process of peeling off as he crosses to the bathroom. And I’m suddenly feeling like I’ve made a huge mistake. Do I really want to live here with a guy I’m not dating, but I’ve already seen naked more times than his mother ever did?

Ginger stumbles out of the room behind him in one of his band T-shirts, her spiky white-blond hair looking how it always does—just fucked—and her black eyeliner smudged, giving her a distinct raccoon look.

“Hey, Red,” she croaks as she staggers into the kitchen. She makes a beeline for the coffeepot and pours a cup. I hold out my mug and she refills it, then I shuffle out to the sofa and curl into the corner, cradling my mug to my chest and breathing in the steam so no caffeine escapes.

Jonathan comes out of the bathroom in a pair of jeans that he probably left on the bathroom floor last night. “Kevin wants nine hundred,” he says as he drops onto the sofa next to me.

“A month?” I ask, my eyes bugging out of my head.

He nods.

“To sleep on his sofa?”

He nods again.

“But aren’t you paying nine hundred?”

“Yep.”

“So, if I’m paying nine hundred, and you’re paying nine hundred, what’s he paying?”

He shrugs.

I roll my eyes as Ginger comes out of the kitchen with her mug and a granola bar, sitting on my other side. “Jon says you got a gig at Benny’s.”

“Yeah, for now. Jonathan got me hooked up.”

She gives Jonathan a “what the fuck?” look. “You brought her to that flesh pit on purpose?”

He holds up his hands as if surrendering. “Hey, she needed a job. I got her one.”

I scrunch my face. “If Kevin’s going to charge me nine hundred a month to sleep on this sofa, I’ve got to sock away some cash.”

“Yeah, well . . . if it were me, I’d tell Kevin to go fuck himself,” she says. “And I can help you find a real job, if you want. One that doesn’t involve pandering to the lowest common denominator and endorsing the double standard.”

“I hadn’t thought of it like that,” I say. But then I remember the stack of cash in my bag. “You know . . . I think I’m going to stick with this for a while and see how it goes. But, thanks.”

“Whatever,” she says. “And, if Kevin’s seriously charging you nine hundred, you definitely need to find a new place to live. There are a hell of a lot better places than this for that kind of money,” she adds with a flick of her eyes at the apartment.

I burrow deeper into the sofa and sip my coffee. “Well, if you hear of any, let me know.”

“You got it,” she says, then leans in and presses her shoulder into mine. “But as long as you’re living here, can you do me a favor and remind Jonathan to keep his dick in his pants?”

“I’ll do my best, but I can’t promise anything.”

“My dick was in my pants all night,” Jonathan protests, “until you took it out.”

I don’t mention the blonde at the bar because, technically, I don’t think he’s lying.

Ginger cuts him a look, then pushes up from the sofa. “I gotta get ready for work.” She takes her coffee and disappears behind Jonathan’s door.

“Speaking of work, when do you go back?” Jonathan asks.

“Tonight. Nora put me on center stage.”

Jonathan sits up a little straighter. “Are you shitting me?”

“Um . . . not as far as I know. Why?”

“You just need to watch your back. Center usually goes to the girls with seniority. There are a couple of them who are going to be pissed.”

The truth is, I’m not nearly as excited about going back tonight as I thought I’d be, and I know why. Dancing for Harrison got me hotter than I want to admit. There’s something about the way he watched me on stage—like I could actually feel his gaze—that was totally erotic. It’s depressing to think about going back there and not having him in the room for inspiration.

Ginger struts out of Jonathan’s bedroom, now fully dressed, and I do a double take. She’s in heels and a cropped black jacket over a green silk blouse and black pencil skirt. Her makeup is minimal and her hair is freshly gelled.

“Try not to fall dick first into anyone today, honey,” she says with a syrupy smile, and blows Jonathan a kiss before vanishing through the front door.

“Where does she work?” I ask Jonathan, staring after her.

“She’s a paralegal for the ACLU.” He flashes me that boyish grin. “Hot, huh?”

“How old is she?”

“Twenty-five.”

“Jeez, Jonathan. Didn’t know you were into older women.”

“Yes you did. You’re older than me and I’m into you,” he says, nudging his elbow into mine.

“Only by a few months.”

He shrugs. “She’s hot. I don’t discriminate.”

I suck down the rest of my coffee and hand him my empty mug. “She knows you too well.”

He takes it and goes to the kitchen to pour me a refill. “She just thinks she knows me too well. She really doesn’t know shit, because I haven’t screwed anyone else in the month we’ve been official.”

I roll my eyes. “You know grinding against fake blondes in bars counts, right?”

“Why should that count? If I was jacking off in the shower, would that count?” he says, coming around the corner to the living room with a beer in one hand and my mug in the other.

I shrug. “If you were making sense, maybe I could answer that question.”

“It’s the same thing,” he says, handing me my cup and dropping into the sofa.

I roll my eyes. In order to argue with him, I’d have to untangle his twisted logic, and that’s just too hard this early in the afternoon.

We curl into the sofa and watch the Doctor Who marathon, reciting all the best lines, until it’s time for me to get ready for work. I’m surprised when he follows me out the front door.

“You don’t need to come tonight, you know. I’ll be fine.”

He grins. “I’m not going for you. Or,” he adds with a smirk, “I guess I am. I’m even going to stay sober tonight . . . at least until you’re done—just so I know I’m not imagining how hot you are up there.”

I roll my eyes but don’t fight him. I’d rather have the ride than take the BART.

When we walk in, Jonathan heads toward Pete in the DJ booth, and I head for the dressing room. I push through the door and find a black girl at the makeup table, and a brunette with legs up to her eyeballs, sitting on the sofa, slipping on a pair of red nylons.

“Hey,” the black one says, spinning the stool to face me. “You must be Newbie. We heard you were all that last night.”

“Yeah. Hi. Sam,” I say with a lame finger wave.

“I’m Izzy and that’s Brittany,” she says with a nod at the brunette.

Brittany looks up from straightening her nylons just long enough to glare at me.

Great.

“It’s usually more crowded in here,” Izzy says, waving at the room, “but Nora’s still short girls, so Brit and I are doing doubles.”

“Son of a bitch,” Brittany growls from the sofa. I look over and her red dagger of a thumbnail has poked through her nylon, running it all the way to her toes. “Fucking cheap things Nora buys,” she says, ripping it off.

Izzy turns back to the vanity table and finishes with her eyes. I drop my bag near the sofa and find all my stuff in the closet, folded into a box labeled with my name. As I tug off my shirt and start to change, I feel Brittany’s eyes on me, but I don’t turn around.

“Where did you dance before?” she asks, reaching past me into the lingerie closet.

“Um . . . I haven’t really done this before,” I answer, looking over my shoulder at her as I button my vest.

She rolls her eyes. “Figures. Nora doesn’t know her ass from first base.”

“Cut her some slack, Brit,” Izzy says from the vanity, teasing her hair into an Afro and spraying it in place. “She bailed Ben out last night.”

Brittany grabs a new nylon and gets in my face on her way back to the sofa. “You’re new,” she says, running a finger under the tuxedo collar of my vest. “The guys like fresh meat every once in a while. But they always come back to the best, so don’t get used to it.” She brushes past and drops onto the sofa again.

I put on my garter and shorts, then find a empty vanity chair and slip on my nylons. I really don’t want to piss anyone off. I wish Nora hadn’t given me center.

As if I conjured her by thinking her name, she slips into the room. “You girls almost ready?”

Izzy stands from the table. “Good to go.”

Brittany just grunts at her.

“I’ll help you with those boots,” Nora tells me as I clip my nylons to my garter.

Brittany moves to the closet to find her shoes as I’m reaching for my boots. “You fit into those?” she asks with another glare as I pull them down.

I shrug. “They’re a little big, I guess, but not too bad.”

Her jaw tightens as she drops her shoes to the floor and slips them on, then stomps past Nora out the door.

“She tried wearing those,” Izzy says, “but she’s an eight and they ripped her feet apart.”

Nora takes them from me as I sit on the sofa. “Don’t mind her,” she tells me with a flick of her eyes at the door.

“She’s usually on center,” Izzy says from the door with an apologetic squint. “She’ll get over it.”

What am I supposed to say? “Okay.”

She nods and pulls the door shut behind her.

Nora helps me get my legs strapped in, then I throw on some makeup and I follow the others out. When I step through the door behind the curtain onto center stage, all three stages are dark. But just as I peek through the curtain, Big Pete’s voice starts over the music. “It’s the bewitching hour,” he purrs as the stage lights to my right flash on. “And the lovely Izzy is going to lock you in her spell,” Pete adds as she starts to writhe on stage in her kinky witch costume. “The only way out is to sell your soul to the devil,” he says as the stage lights to my left illuminate. “But when the devil looks like Brittany, you’re gonna be paying her to steal your soul.” Brittany spins around her pole in what I now see is a devil costume.

I step through the curtain onto my stage as Pete says, “Or you can give in to sin and let yourself be seduced by the scandalous, salacious, sensual, smokin’ hot Sam!”

My eyes drop from Big Pete and Jonathan, up in the DJ booth, to the crowded pit below my stage in anticipation of the flash of blinding light. And the instant before the stage lights flare in my face, my gaze locks on Harrison’s.

Chapter Six

THERE’S N OT ENOUGH time between when I spot him and when I’m completely blinded by the stage lights to decipher if he was real, or a figment of my overactive (and overeager) imagination.

But then I decide I don’t want to know. I want him to be out there. I want to feel his eyes on my body, making me sexier and more beautiful than I really am. So I let myself believe.

As Pete brings the volume up and the music floods my senses, I give in to the fantasy. I tip my hat down over my eyes and pretend that Harrison is the only man out there. My hips begin to sway to the music, a slow, pulsating rhythm. I lift my arms overhead, then work one hand down my curves as I roll my body with the beat. Without really knowing how I got here, I find myself straddling my pole. I plant my legs wide and grind my hips in a slow circle as I glide down to the floor. And then I arch back and ride it, up and down. A momentary flash of coherent thought worms its way through the music into my brain, and I remember that I’m supposed to be making eye contact—collecting tips. I ride the pole back up and shimmy around it, tipping my hat off my eyes and making my way to the front of the stage, where dozens of guys are waving bills. I waggle down to my hands and knees, then roll onto my back and arch up as they tuck money into my shorts and top.

When I stand again a minute later, I see Marcus has moved to the side of my stage. His thick arms are crossed over his massive chest as he polices the crowd in front of me. He’s scary, and I’m glad he’s on my side. He looks over his sunglasses at me and I give him a wink as the music works my body in waves. He shoots me a toothy grin and shakes his head, then pushes his glasses up his nose and returns his vigilance to the men in front of me, who are waving more money in the air.

I move to the music, living out the fantasy that it’s just Harrison and me. If I had that private dance back, I’d do it differently. Maybe I’m not allowed to touch him, but there are other ways I can make him feel me. And I can definitely make him forget his broken heart. I look for him in the crowd when I get the chance and don’t find him, but still, for the next three hours I give him my best.

I’m no sooner in the hall after my gig than Nora is there, dragging me toward the dressing room. “Christ, girlie. I don’t know what you got going on out there, but whatever it is, keep doing it. You have three privates, and one guy wants you for an hour.”

My eyes widen. “An hour? But that’s, like, four hundred dollars.”

“It’s not ‘like’ four hundred dollars,” Nora says. “It is four hundred dollars, two of which go straight into your pocket. You must have an admirer.” She shoots a wary glance over her shoulder at me. “Those are the ones you need to watch out for.” She opens the door to the dressing room and prods me through. “You have fifteen minutes to rest your feet, and then you’re on.”

When she closes the door, I take a minute to just breathe before I make my way to the sofa, where I toss all the money I stuffed in my hat. It’s turned into more of a necessity than an accessory. I pull more bills out of my shorts and top and add them to the stack, then drop onto the sofa with my head back and close my eyes.

Three privates. If one of them isn’t Harrison, I’m going to be sorely disappointed. And if one of them is . . . he’ll never know what hit him.

I’m mid-fantasy when Nora pushes open the door. “You’re up.”

I scoop up my cash and hand it to her. “Can you have Ben hold this?”

She takes the money from my hand as she turns up the hall to the VIP room. “You got it. I’ll get your guys rotated so all you have to do is your thing.”

“Thanks, Nora,” I tell her as I grasp the knob. I take a deep breath and pull the door open. Inside, planted in the middle of the sofa, is a sweaty, overweight, middle-aged guy who I remember from my stage. He’s wiping his palms on the knees his khakis and staring at me with scarily hungry eyes.

“Remember,” Nora says low, so only I can hear over the music from the stereo, “any weirdness, just walk out or hit the panic button.”

I nod and close the door behind me. I go directly to the stereo and turn it up, loud. I don’t even look at the guy as I shimmy around the room. Instead, I think of Harrison . . . how I’m going to drive him wild. When the knock on the door comes, the time has gone faster than I realized.

Nora pokes her head in and Sweaty Guy stands. “That was . . . you were . . .” He wipes the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “Thanks.” He leaves a twenty on the table near the door on his way out.

The next not-Harrison guy comes through in a T-shirt and jeans, already sporting wood. Nora flashes a glance at his crotch, then gives me a meaningful look that I know means I should watch this one. I nod as he lowers himself gingerly onto the sofa, adjusting his pants.

Nora closes the door, and in all the time it takes me to turn around, the guy has his fly open and his dick in his hand.

In a single heartbeat all the blood in my body rushes to my face. I’ve been with three guys total and it’s always been in the dark. Other than Jonathan, because I wanted to see his jewelry, I’ve never seen one so up close and personal. It’s a little bit of a shock.

“Oh my God!” I say, spinning back for the door. “You have to put that away.”

But when I glance back over my shoulder, he’s staring at where my ass is hanging out my bootie shorts and going to town.

I pull the door open and step into the hall to find Nora in Ben’s door, just a few feet away. “I need Marcus.”

She rolls her eyes. “Well, that was fast. Wait in here.”

I move past her into Ben’s office as she lifts her phone and calls Marcus.

“I’m impressed with you,” Ben says, lacing his hands behind his head and leaning back in his chair. “You’re a natural out there.”

Warmth spreads through me and I smile. No one’s ever been impressed with me before. Not my parents, or teachers, or former employers. I’m usually just a big disappointment. “I really like it. Thanks for giving me a shot.”

“Well, you’ve brought in more than most of my best girls the last few nights, so, I know I said you were on probation yesterday, but you’re off today. This job is yours for as long as you want it.”

There’s a bang in the hall as the door from the club flies open and hits the wall, and Marcus barrels past Ben’s office on his way to the VIP room with Nora on his heels. There’s a shout from the direction of the VIP room, and I peek out to see Marcus dragging Horny Guy out by the arm. He opens the door at the end of the hall marked EMERGENCY EXIT and very unceremoniously throws the guy through it.

As the door slams shut, Marcus spins, and I stagger back a step when he beelines straight for me, stopping just a few feet away. He rips his sunglasses off. “Did he touch you?”

Without his glasses, I can see his whole face, and there’s not murder on it, like I’d thought. What’s creasing his face is worry. He looks me over like a concerned big brother.

“No . . . only himself.”

“Piece of shit,” he mutters, then shifts his intense gaze on Nora as she comes out of the VIP room. “You and Pete got to screen them better.”

Nora shrugs. “You can’t always tell. That’s why I pay you the big bucks.”

“You’re okay?” he asks, looking at me, the concern fading a little.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“All cleaned up,” Nora says. “Wait in Ben’s office while I track down your next one. He’s the one who’s got you for an hour, but if there’s any of that,” she waves a hand at the VIP room, “you know what to do.”

I nod.

There’s a burst of crowd chatter as she opens the door to the club and disappears through it. Marcus gives me a last concerned once-over and follows her out.

Ben gestures me in, then closes his office door. “Sit.”

I sink into the sofa, wishing it would swallow me. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Sam,” he says, opening a cabinet and pulling down two glasses. “Men want you. And you’re going to make both of us a ton of money because of it. Just be mindful of the rules. They’re there for a reason—to protect both of us.” He pours a shot of Jameson in each of the glasses and hands one to me.

“Thanks,” I say, then pound the shot and slam the glass on the corner of his desk.

He gives me a curiously amused smile. “Impressive. Not even a wince.”

My eyes flick to the glass and back, and I feel them widen. He must think I’m some kind of lush.

He bursts out laughing . . . probably at the look on my face. “No judgment here, Sam,” he says, lifting a hand, then knocks back his own shot. He slides my glass closer and pours us refills. “Jonathan said you’re crashing at his place? That your parents threw you out?”

I take the glass and rest my head back, watching my hand swirl the amber liquid. “Tough love. They think I’m a screw-up.”

He tips his head at me. “Why would they think that?”

I shrug and down my shot more slowly this time. “I was partying a lot, I guess, and sort of forgot to go to class most days. I flunked out of school.”

“Are they helping you out at all? With rent or food?”

“No. I haven’t even spoken to them in over a month.” I slide the glass onto the desk, not sure if I want Ben to refill it or not. He doesn’t.

“They haven’t even checked up on you?” he asks, surprised.

I swallow the lump rising in my throat. “Nope.”

He leans back in his chair and sips the last of his scotch. “If there’s anything Nora or I can do to help, let us know. We take care of our own here.”

“Thanks. This job has saved my life. I really appreciate it.”

“Don’t thank me for that. Like I said, you’re going to make us a ton of money.”

I sink deeper into the sofa, feeling the scotch seeping into my bloodstream. But when I hear Nora’s voice in the hall, I know it’s showtime. She’s says something low, then giggles like a pubescent teen just before a door in the back of Ben’s office clicks open. I’d thought that door was a bathroom or a closet, but I now see it leads to the hall that threads from the dressing room to the stages.

I don’t know if Harrison was really even here tonight. I just caught that one glimpse of him a second before the stage lights blinded me. It was probably my imagination. But, still, when Nora steps into Ben’s office with a good-looking guy in his forties at her heels, disappointment drops like a stone in my stomach.

I really wanted it to be Harrison.

His hand is on Nora’s back, and even though she’s contained the giggle, her cheeks are flushed. She smiles up at Ben. “This one’s going to steal me away from you if you’re not careful, Ben.”

“Try it and they’ll be finding little pieces of you in Dumpsters all over the Bay Area,” Ben says, standing and shaking the guy’s hand. But even though what he said sounded like a joke, there’s no humor in his expression as he stares the guy down, and I wonder if I’m the only one who caught the edge to his voice. He glances at me. “Will you excuse us, Sam?”

I look between the guy and Ben, confused.

“Come on, girlie. The boss has business to attend to,” Nora says, scooping up my elbow as she crosses to the door to the main hall and pulls it open.

I step into the hall, still confused, and out of nowhere Jonathan nearly tackles me, hoisting me over his shoulder.

“You son of a bitch,” I screech, whaling my fists on his back. “Put me down!”

“Hey, Nora! Anyone in the VIP room?” he asks through my shrieks, hauling me that way. “Red and I need the couch and a thermometer for a science experiment. How hot is backstage sex between a rocker and an exotic dancer? Will spontaneous combustion occur? Inquiring minds want to know.”

“Put her down, you Neanderthal! She’s got work to do!” Nora yells up the hall behind us, but Jonathan has already turned the corner into the VIP room.

“Hello.”

I freeze, mid-shriek, as Harrison’s warm honey drawl trickles over me, sending a shiver up my spine.