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Sure, I had to sell my antique store in order to continue to be able to afford it and the fucking alimony I’ve been forced to pay my ex-husband, but it’s fine. I still have a roof over my head, and even though I’ve recently had to start selling off a bunch of my antiques to pay for shit, my house is still filled with a lot of beautiful items that keep me warm at night.
Okay, fine. China, a plethora of grandfather clocks, vintage paintings, and a shit ton of other odds and ends that cover every available surface in my house don’t actually keep me warm at night, but whatever. They make me happy. I deserve to be happy, damn it.
Cindy and Belle have been making a killing doing stripping parties for the Naughty Princess Club, and since right now I’m only handling the administrative duties for the business, I only make a small percentage of their take. A very, very small percentage. Not nearly enough to keep paying my mortgage and save me from selling everything in my house, which is why I’ve been conducting interviews to find a roommate. But I need to suck it up and take my clothes off for money already. My friends just don’t understand what’s holding me back and honestly, neither do I. Out of the three of us, one would think I would have been the first one to take the leap into stripping, considering this whole business was my idea anyway. When the three of us showed up at the annual Fairytale Lane Halloween block party wearing princess costumes, we were hired by one of the neighbors to do a party for him. We all thought it would be a princess party for his young daughter, but it turned out we were actually hired to be strippers for PJ’s birthday. That party did not end well, let me tell you. We ran out of the house screaming, but our neighbor still paid us for losing our shit. And it was a nice chunk of change. I immediately suggested we do parties where we actually strip, and the rest is history.
It was a good idea at the time. And honestly, it’s still a good idea, considering how amazingly Cindy and Belle have done with these parties, and how week after week, our client list and party bookings continue to grow. I just need to get out of this funk I’m in. I can’t exactly save my house and all of my antiques unless I figure out what the hell is wrong with me.
Turning off my car, I shove my keys into the front pocket of my tattered jeans shorts and turn to head down my driveway when four sheriff cars pull up along the curb in front of my house. I pause midstep in confusion when they all exit their vehicles and begin making their way towards me.
Shit. Am I being arrested because I said nut cock hole at the courthouse? Is that illegal?
Glancing beyond, them a few houses down, I see Cindy, PJ, Belle, and Vincent come out of Cindy’s house and head in my direction. I can see the confused looks on their faces, probably mirroring my own.
“Can I help you gentleman?” I ask as the first man in uniform approaches me.
He’s older than the other three, with salt-and-pepper hair and wrinkles around his eyes. He looks nice enough, and I guess I should respect my elders and all that shit, but seriously, is it illegal to say cock in a courthouse parking lot?
“Are you Ariel Waters?”
“Who the hell wants to know?” I respond in annoyance, crossing my arms in front of me.
One of the younger men in a matching sheriff uniform moves up next to the older guy and chuckles.
“Yep, that’s her. Should we get our Tasers out now, sir?” he asks.
The other two deputies flank these two, staring me down with their hands hovering over the Tasers attached to their utility belts.
“I don’t think that will be necessary, Deputy Louis. I’m sure Mrs. Waters will remain calm. Isn’t that right, ma’am?” he says in a soft, kind voice.
His use of the word “Mrs.” makes me feel anything but calm. Sure, I never went back to my maiden name after my divorce went through, but that’s only because it was too much of a hassle and cost too much money.
“What’s going on here?” PJ asks, leading my group of friends as they walk around the deputies to surround me.
I open my mouth to reply when a fifth person in their little group suddenly emerges from behind the deputies.
“What the fuck is he doing here?” I ask in annoyance, momentarily forgetting about the law enforcement taking up half my driveway as I glare at Eric Sailor.
“He’s our friend. And he’s helping us move,” Cindy whispers from behind me.
