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“Yeah,” I say on a groan.
She barely holds the door open long enough for me to catch it.
“You think you’ve got it so tough out there,” she says, plumping her enhanced double-D’s inside the pink sequined bra. “I’m starting to get a callus between my legs from riding that pole.” She spritzes setting spray on her face, and the super-sweet vanilla and coconut scent is almost too much.
I feel bile rise up my throat and I move back toward the house.
The house is much louder, darker, and bordering on rowdy. Grover has his A-team on call tonight, and I notice one of them, a newer hire named Cash, hovering near a group of businessmen. I’ve never understood the appeal of coming straight to the strip club from work and letting your nice suit pick up the Lysol and greasy wings smell of the place. But then I’ve never made enough money to understand spending it on someone taking off their clothes.
“You doing okay, Meggy?” Grover says, his face impassive but his eyes round with concern.
“Just needed some fresh air,” I say in return, punching into the system to figure out who needs what.
“You’ve got a new party that just arrived.” He nods toward the house right, near the stage. Five guys who are sitting together, watching Leann—otherwise known as the Scintillating Scarlett—writhe on stage to a Halsey song. They seem like they’re here for the girls and as one of them leans forward to feed Scarlett a bill, she flashes me a look.
“Good tippers,” I mumble, grabbing my notepad and a tray. I make my way to where they’re sitting and take their drink orders. They’re easy, ordering double whiskeys and keeping the bullshit to a minimum. If only all patrons were like this. I turn to leave when one of them lifts a hand and asks about a private dance with Leann. I tell him I’ll arrange it for him, and I get back into the rhythm of the night.
I move some drinks around and then put in the call for Leann to do a private. By the time I get the room set for them and then introduce him to her, I’ve nearly forgotten about the bachelor party.
“There’s my favorite girl,” a voice says behind me. It’s one of the guys from the party, looking shit-faced and leaning against the wall.
“You’re too sweet. Are you having a good night?” I ask with my usual smile-for-show.
“Great night. Can’t believe my buddy is getting married. He’s the first… I was there when they met…” His trip down memory lane is interrupted by a massive belch. The smell hits me in the face and I gag. It’s almost too much, and I have to turn away from him.
“Oh, shit, I’m sorry, princess,” he says.
I tense, hating the way that endearment sounds on his lips. Then I realize it’s because the last person who called meprincesswas Derek, and I never heard from him again. It’s been almost a month and a half, and now I can’t stop thinking about how it sounded so different passing between his lips as he worked my body into a frenzy. Everything about him was too good to be true.
The best man’s hand brushes my shoulder, and I jerk away.
“No touching,” Grover says from behind the bar, ten feet away.
The guy lifts his hands in surrender as the door to the private suite opens, revealing his friend, who definitely just came in his pants. I make an apologetic face and urge them to go sit with their friends as I rush to the supply closet so I can help Molly clean up.
When I get back, her back is to me, and she’s using a sweater to wipe up the bench.
“Shit, what happened?” I ask. She turns around, and not only is the pink sweater brown and gray from cleaning up the spill, but her tits are covered in what looks like vomit.
My stomach lurches and I turn just in time to heave all the contents of my stomach onto the floor next to the entrance.
“Damnit, Megan!” She runs over to me and pulls my hair back, handing me a small trash bin. I continue to heave until my stomach just contracts and I’m dry heaving.
“Stay here,” she mumbles. The door opens and shuts, and I let myself sit down on the bench. I’m exhausted, and I don’t know what just came over me. But my stomach and back hurt in the way that only a terrible stomach bug can make them ache.
“We need to change your clothes,” she says when she returns, nodding at me. I look down and realize that when I aimed for the floor, I missed. Like, really missed. The front of my V-neck, skirt, and boots are covered in splatters of vomit. It’s enough to make me gag again, but there’s nothing left for me to vomit.
“This is all I have,” she says, handing me a pair of gray sweatpants and a t-shirt from Señor Frog’s in Cancun.
“Thanks,” I say. I change out of my clothes, cringing at the stains that seeped through to my bra. There’s a knock at the door and Molly opens it.
“Everything okay?” Grover asks, filling the doorway with his large, six foot four frame. He takes in the scene and frowns. “You okay?” Grover pulls a bucket and a mop into the room and Molly, to her credit, takes it, getting to work while Grover removes the trash bag.
“Yeah,” I say, and then realize I actually am. “I must’ve just eaten something off. I’m feeling better.”
Tansy just came back from a road trip with the soccer team and she’d caught the stomach bug they’d been passing around. I guess it was my turn now.
“Well, you know the rules. If you vomit, you can’t serve,” Grover says.
