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“And you came here?” I giggled.
“Ithaca’s… cute. Didn’t know this place would be more like a truck stop had a baby with a dive bar.”
“Right.” I bit my bottom lip. “And where’s your friend?”
He shrugged a shoulder.
“He’s back at the hotel, not feeling well.” He glimpsed the stage in horror.
“He’s probably better off.” I lifted my gaze to the dancer before lowering it back on him. “This place is a shit hole.”
He pursed his lips as if he were trying to hide his amusement. “And what about you, Jade Sinclaire?” He cocked his head, twisting his glass back and forth.
“What about me?”
“When do you dance?”
“Oh, hell no.” I shook my head. “You couldn’t pay me to get on that crusty ass pole ever again.”
“What?”
“I only do private dances these days.” Not wanting to chase the poor guy away, I got ready to change the topic, but the music went to full volume.
Standing, he curled his fingers around my elbow, leaning close to my ear. “Let’s go somewhere more private, then.”
He smelled better than he looked, if that was even possible. Woodsy bourbon with a hint of citrus. But all I could see were the dollar signs. I was going to drain his wallet dry. A sinister smile pulled at my lips. Taking his hand in mine, and just happy I didn’t have to dance for one of the regulars, I sashayed through the crowded bar in my stonewashed denim bra and high cut matching shorts.
I led him to one of the private rooms, closed the door, and twisted around. “Don’t!” I scolded as he got ready to sit on the torn brown leather couch.
He froze, gawking at me.
“Here.” I waltzed over to the side of the room, taking one of the wooden chairs, and dragged it across the stained, 1980s skating rink patterned carpeted floor to the middle of the room. “You can sit here.”
He lifted his hand to his chin, stroking his neatly trimmed black beard. “Why don’t you want to dance?”
“I do.” I sighed, taking a step closer so my boss wouldn’t hear me. “Listen, we can’t be talking in here unless you?—”
He reached into his back pocket, sliding out his wallet, opening it. Fanning out all the money he had, he handed it to me.
“Uh,” I inspected it, “this is a little much.” Even though I was planning to rob him, I didn’t expect he carried that much cash; many one-hundred-dollar bills.
He pulled the chair toward him and sat. We didn’t have our own music, so I danced to the rock song playing in the bar two rooms over. The walls didn’t go up to the ceiling, so the entire interior could hear everything that went on. When the song faded into the next, moaning could be heard from the neighboring room.
I half-expected he’d want to fuck me because of the amount of money he paid, but he wasn’t like the other men who tried. And he didn’t grab me or disrespect me. He allowed me to dance at my own pace. I teased him just as I did every man who paid. Throughout the song, I danced around him, on him, and wound myself into him while placing his palms on my naked breasts.
When I was finished, he stared into my gaze for what felt like an eternity before he finally spoke. “You definitely don’t belong in this hell.”
I backed off his lap, snorting. “No shit.” I leaned down, picking up my clothes and slipping them back on as if I didn’t care about being sexy. “Neither do you, especially in that hat.”
“Well,” he adjusted his cock through his jeans, “I’m glad I ended up here. Truthfully, we took a wrong turn.”
“I thought you said?—”
He lifted a hand. “What I said was true, but we took a wrong turn and so we only planned to stop for the night. My friend needed to rest, anyway.” He stood. “Married?”
I sighed. “Never.”
“Kids?”
