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He gives Ariel a wink, and she rolls her eyes.
“Someone actually agreed to go on a date with you? Did you have to pay her? Because where I’m from, that’s called hiring a prostitute, not going on a date,” Ariel says sarcastically.
“Alright, that’s enough,” I say, stepping in between Ariel and Eric before she starts throwing punches. “We’d really like to just speak with Tiffany, and then we’ll be out of your hair.”
“Holy shit, you’re serious? I thought you were kidding. You actually think the three of you could make it as strippers?” PJ asks, letting out another soft chuckle, this one doing absolutely nothing to my heart, since I don’t really care for the disbelieving tone of his voice.
“Yes. We really think we could make it as strippers. Why is that so hard to believe?”
He moves closer to me until I can feel the heat from his body and smell his spicy cologne.
“You have a stick up your ass the size of the Empire State Building, your friend can’t keep her mouth shut, and your other friend looks like she’s going to need some smelling salts just from setting foot in this place. You’re not cut out to be strippers. Go home to your husbands and bake something. Find another hobby to fill up your bored little lives, and get out of my club.”
With that, he turns and stalks away, leaving me standing with my mouth wide open, unable to believe that a man who knows absolutely nothing about us would speak to me that way.
“You’ll have to excuse my friend. He’s a little protective of his club, considering his name is on the sign,” Eric apologizes.
“His name is PJ Charming?” Ariel asks in surprise.
“Yep,” Eric replies with a nod.
“What does PJ stand for?” she asks.
“I could tell you, but then I’d have to take you into the back room and screw you.”
“You are a pig,” Ariel mutters in disgust.
I’m too busy staring across the club toward the hallway where PJ disappeared, wishing I had the courage to start using all that foul language Ariel has been going on about, to worry about Eric and Ariel bickering with each other. PJ would be a great reason to forget about my manners and start shouting expletives.
“Well, I don’t care if he does own this club, I kind of want to rip his dick off and make him eat it,” Ariel complains.
“You kind of scare me,” Eric mutters, still smiling down at Ariel.
“Good. Now go get Tiffany before I shove my foot up your ass and really terrify you.”
He shakes his head and laughs, but heads off down a different hall than PJ did, shouting Tiffany’s name as he goes.
“I hope you’re still on board with this, because there is no way in hell we’re changing our minds now,” Ariel whispers, saluting Beast, who still stands a few feet away in the same position, not saying a word as he glares at the three of us.
“Oh, I am so on board with this. I’m going to show that jerk face he just made the biggest mistake of his life,” I reply angrily, opening up my purse and pulling out a package of Clorox wipes.
Moving over to one of the tables, I rip open the package and begin wiping down the leather chair, crumpling up the wipe when I’m finished, tossing it on the table, and taking a seat.
“What?” I ask Ariel when she makes no move to sit down next to me but continues to stand staring at me.
“Yo, Beast!” she shouts. “Get us some booze. The top-shelf stuff. We’re gonna need a lot of liquor.”
Chapter 8: Forget About Dicks, I’m Switching to Chicks
“Move your hips slower. If you keep dry humping the pole at that rate of speed, you’ll break something. Slow and steady wins the race and gets you the most tips,” Tiffany instructs Ariel in the middle of the room.
With her hand clinging tightly to one of the four stripper poles lining the center of the room, and her leg wrapped around the pole, Ariel glares at Tiffany for a few seconds before doing as she’s instructed. Tiffany gives her a smile and words of encouragement before moving a few feet away, to where Isabelle stands in front of her own pole.
“Sweetie, I know it’s scary, but you’re gonna need to release the death grip you have on that pole before you cut off circulation to your fingers and snap this thing in half,” she says softly to Isabelle while rubbing small circles against her back in a soft, soothing manner.
I have to say, I really like Tiffany. I was surprised when she came out into the main area of the club to meet us an hour ago. She’s not at all what I expected a stripper to look like. She’s a little over five feet, with a small, curvy body and short, wavy brown hair with blond highlights. She doesn’t have a stitch of makeup on and she’s wearing a loose-fitting T-shirt and a pair of black yoga pants. She made us comfortable immediately by talking about herself as she led us here to a small dance studio hidden behind the stage.
