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“No, because I complained to management.”
“Barry must like you,” I said.
Phoenix gave me a grin that was part sex and part fun. “Everybody likes me, Beautiful.”
“I’ll bet they do,” I said, and stopped petting her hip, because if I wasn’t going to move my hand and do more, it was just a little too much repetition for me.
I wrapped my arms around her as if I was making sure she didn’t fall off my lap, just to have something to do with my hands. Again, Phoenix could have told me to keep my hands to myself, but she didn’t. She was using me to get the other customers warmed up, which meant she’d let me take liberties that she probably wouldn’t have a male customer or even a female customer whom she wasn’t using to build the illusion of girl-on-girl sex. It’s a fine line to walk, promising sex without giving it. I could never have done it, but Phoenix understood the game, and thanks to the men in my life, I could play for a while.
“So the other lap dances got spaced out through the night?” I said.
Phoenix nodded, settling herself more comfortably in my lap. “Your girl in the photo did her last lap dance onstage with Giselle.”
“What time was that?” Newman asked, sipping his coffee.
“Between two and three a.m.” She turned in my lap so she could take a sip of the drink Newman had bought her. She was going to nurse it and let the ice melt to weaken the alcohol, which didn’t mean she didn’t have a vice—just that alcohol wasn’t it.
“Are you sure?” I asked, because if she was sure of the time, then Jocelyn’s alibi was solid.
Phoenix put her drink down and turned to me. The look on her face was real again, not sexy but an unhappy frown that showed small lines on her face that the smiles didn’t. “I’m sure. Until your girl and her friends left, I wasn’t making nearly what I normally do. Even when Giselle wasn’t with them, the three of them were making out. They were just giving the show away for free, so no one wanted to pay to just watch.”
“All three of them were making out together?” Newman asked.
“Early it was just your girl and the tall, dark-haired one, but later the third girl got drunk enough that she joined in, too.” Phoenix made a derisive snort that wasn’t sexy but was very real. “If you have to get that drunk to do it, you’re going to regret it later.”
“Totally agree,” I said, and I did, which was a little weird.
Phoenix was far more practical than I’d expected. It made me like her better as a person, but be less attracted to her. I debated asking her to change from my lap to a chair, but she’d have taken the request as an insult, so I didn’t bother. But the longer she sat in my lap just talking, the less seductive she became. It was like we could talk about any ordinary thing, but instead of sitting in a chair, she was in my lap. The illusion of the sexy siren was vanishing under her real emotions. Her being real helped both the investigation and my ability to control my metaphysics.
Phoenix seemed to remember where she was and what she was supposed to be doing, because she touched the side of my face and looked deep into my eyes as she said, “I bet you don’t need to drink to have fun.”
“No, I don’t need to drink,” I said, smiling because she had gone instantly back into sexy siren mode like she had slipped a mask back into place. Edward and “Ted” would have been proud.
Phoenix leaned her forehead against mine, her thick hair falling forward on one side so that to most of the club it might look like she was kissing me. Stripping is all about the illusion. It’s a bait and switch of the highest order, all sweet promises and no follow-through. It’s like dating used to be before the terms hook up and friends with benefits were needed. Dating was supposed to be about testing the waters for a lifetime together, not just for fucking—ah, the good ol’ days, or maybe just the old days.
“I’ll go check on our food,” Newman said.
“Yes, please,” I said. I couldn’t see him through the fall of Phoenix’s yellow hair, but I heard his chair scrape and felt the air movement as he walked away.
Phoenix and I sat there alone with her face pressed to mine. We were still in full view of everyone else in the club. Nothing had changed, but suddenly the sound of the music, the noise and movement of the rest of the club, fell away. The two of us sat in a space of intimacy, as if it were just us. If I’d pulled back enough to see, there would have been no one else in the club but us. I knew it wasn’t true, but the woman in my arms wasn’t the only one who could create illusions. The only difference was she did hers on purpose, and I didn’t have full control of mine.
My hands slid along the sides of Phoenix’s hips, my fingertips tracing farther back to the soft curve of her ass. She put her hands on mine to stop me, rising enough to see my face. Her face was unhappy now, her mouth forming no, but she never said the word out loud, because she looked me in the eyes. Her face went slack for a moment, her gaze unfocused, and then an intensity that hadn’t been there before filled her eyes. She wrapped her hands over mine and helped me cup her ass in my hands. Her breath came out in a low, eager rush. Her body seemed to soften; the careful control of distance she’d maintained with me melted away. Her in my lap had only looked intimate before; now it was real. It was like she let go of some invisible tension that had been holding her away from me, like the tension on a pond that an insect skates across. She’d decided not to skate above the
water anymore. She wanted to drown.
Phoenix kissed me like she meant to climb inside me through my mouth. I had a moment of kissing her back. We were all hands and arms, and finally her body was on the table with me above her. My feet were still on the ground, but her legs were around my waist. If I’d been a man, we might have passed the point of no return, but two women make fast sex harder. Girl-on-girl sex is about foreplay, not fucking. Just the confusion of how to give her the pleasure she wanted helped me climb back into control of myself, at least enough to stand up straight and stop dry-humping her against the table. That let me see Newman with our tray of food. He was staring at me like I’d grown a second, ugly head or maybe sprouted some other monstrous body part.
He said, “Your eyes, Blake. What’s wrong with your eyes?”
I looked down at the woman lying across the table with her legs still wrapped around me. Her lipstick was smeared like Goth clown makeup across her face, and her eyes seemed to shine. But it wasn’t her eyes that were shining; it was mine. I could see the glow of my eyes in hers like cognac diamonds reflecting sunlight into this room that never saw the light of day.
61
I STRUGGLED FREE of Phoenix’s hands so I could slide my sunglasses over my eyes. I told Newman, “Help me get her off of me.”
He laid the tray of food on a nearby table and came to help. I gave him points for that. I knew some fully human marshals who would have refused to touch her or me after they saw my eyes glow. He helped me peel her off without hurting her, which is a lot harder than it sounds.
She was saying, “No, no, please, please, don’t stop. Please!” She struggled in Newman’s arms, not trying to fight him, just trying to reach me. I wasn’t exactly sure what I’d done to her, so I didn’t know how to undo it. It was like the ardeur, which was feeding off of lust or love, but it should have stopped when she wasn’t touching me or looking into my eyes. Why wasn’t it stopping?
