The next song started and Aiden began to dance, rubbing his palms over his body in sensuous sweeps as he swayed his hips from side to side. He moved in close, teasingly trailing his fingers up Zielinski’s thighs, feeling the firm muscle beneath the slacks. Aiden straddled the big man’s lap, lowering himself until he felt the heat of those muscular thighs against his bare skin. He had a reason for instigating this lap dance and he got to it as soon as he and Zielinski were face to face, close enough that they could speak low without the others hearing them.
“I didn’t think I’d see you again this soon,” he said as he lightly touched a hand to the perfectly broad chest in front of him.
“They’re my co-workers,” Zielinski said with a slight head tilt toward the people seated next to him. “They wanted me to come out.”
Aiden kept dancing, moving on autopilot while he spoke. “But you didn’t want to come.” He said it as a statement not a question. Zielinski answered anyway.
“Not really.”
“Strip club isn’t your scene?”
“I don’t have a scene. I usually stay in.”
Aiden continued with his questions, and their eyes stayed locked through what had become part lap dance—part interrogation. Zielinski’s voice remained even with each response, but the flush still on his face gave him away. And when Aiden braced his hands on those broad shoulders, using them as leverage so that he could tease with body rolls, he brushed against more proof that Zielinski was affected—a thick, hard length hidden by those crisp business slacks. Aiden raised a brow, and let the tiniest hint of a grin curl his lips. “Impressive.” He shaped the word with his lips but didn’t speak it aloud. Still, that flush deepened on Zielinski’s cheeks and Aiden felt his shoulders tense beneath his palms. Aiden backed off and returned to his questions, learning what he could about this man that he might be working with soon.
“And you’re looking to change that with our mutual friend?”
“Maybe. I haven’t decided yet.”
“What made you want to become a superhero?”
For the first time Zielinski didn’t respond.
“Too much to explain during a three-minute lap dance?”
“Something like that.”
“Strong wants you. He doesn’t reach out to anyone unless he really wants to partner with them.”
“That’s good to know.”
“Hmmm... But what doyouwant?”
Zielinski swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. But the song ended before he could answer.
Aiden leaned in close to whisper in the other man’s ear. “Hope I see you again, soldier. Here or at the firehouse.” He pulled back, speaking louder for the benefit of his friends. “Welcome to St. Louis. I’m sure you’ll love it here.” He swung his leg over Zielinski’s lap to stand up straight, then strolled off, leaving longing glances and piercing wolf whistles in his wake.
∞ ∞ ∞
After leaving Zielinski and his friends behind, Aiden roamed the club floor for another hour, giving two more lap dances, sitting with groups to add to their party vibe—which led to a bigger bar tab, and chatting with people who simply wanted someone to talk to. At the end of his shift, he made his way back to the dressing room.
Here the music was muted, thanks to the soundproof blankets hanging on the walls. The carpet was old but free of tears or holes, and a ceiling fan whirred overhead to keep the scent of dozens of body sprays and perfumes from becoming too cloying. A stand of metal lockers, its tan factory paint covered with doodles and rude messages written in Sharpie, stickers, and pictures of patrons who were shitty tippers stood in the far corner. Mike went over and unlocked his locker to grab his backpack.
He peeled off the black body suit and boots, then stood there in his briefs to let his skin breathe for a few moments before he changed into a pair of black joggers and a crop top t-shirt. He sighed with relief when he slid his feet into the cushioned comfort of his tennis shoes. After nearly twenty years of dancing, his feet were a mess of almost constant soreness, and the boots and pleasers he wore on a near nightly basis didn’t help.
Once he was dressed, he sat down at his assigned spot on the long vanity table to remove his makeup and tie his hair back. He’d just wiped the last of the glitter from his eyelids when the dressing room door opened. A moment later someone called his name.
“Hey, Glimmer, you’ve got company at the front door.”
Aiden turned to look over his shoulder at the club staff member. “Who is it?”
“It’s Steve. And he’s got The Look.”
At that answer, a chorus of sympathetic groans from the other dancers rolled through the room. The Look was one they all knew. It was the tell-tale expression of a man who was ready to push for the dancer they were dating to quit the stage. Aiden shook his head, disappointed but not surprised. “Right on schedule,” he muttered to himself. “Thanks. I’ll be right out.”
He quickly braided his hair, snapping an elastic band around the end of the braid. Then, he shrugged into a light jacket and grabbed his bag. He said goodnight to his fellow dancers, kissing a few cheeks and smacking several sequined covered butts as he left the dressing room and walked down the narrow hallway that led to the front of the club. Near the entrance, a tall, broad shouldered red-head waited for him.
“Steve. How are you, sweetheart?”
