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If they’re regular enough for Cherry to know their order, I’m actually surprised she’s been ignoring them.
“Is there a problem with them?” I ask. “Because they’ve definitely been waiting for a while now.”
“No problem. They just don’t tip well,” Cherry says. She’s clearly hiding something, and I debate coaxing the truth out of her. But the men at the table haven’t been rowdy or openly hostile, and it sounds like too much trouble to bother with right now. I’ve got Slayer to deal with too, who is getting more and more impatient the longer I string the meeting along.
“Okay,” I say. “But if there are problems, you can talk to Jeremy. And if Jeremy isn’t handling things to your liking, you have my number, too. I want Ruby’s to be a fun place to work at.”
Slayer snorts but keeps his thoughts to himself.
Cherry nods quickly. “Yeah. Thanks, boss.” She walks off with her tray, and this time she stops at the troublesome table to deal with whatever the men want. I don’t notice anything overtly out of line, so I shrug it off.
I notice Slayer’s steady stare, though.
“What?” I ask. “You have somewhere to be?”
“No, I just think it’s hysterical how nice you are to the girls here. Vanessa’ll get jealous.” He smirks at me, but then he pauses, considering. “How come you didn’t bring her here? She’d probably be more… comfortable and all.”
I try to imagine Vanessa here, in one of the most high-end gentlemen’s clubs in New Bristol, and laugh. “She’d spoil the club’s reputation! Besides, I don’t want to scare anybody working here. And… It's not a secret I own this place. We don’t want to make iteasyto find her, do we?”
“It’s not a secret you own Ntimacy, either” Slayer points out. “But yeah, I get it. The girls here might get spooked if they knew you had an unwilling broodmare stashed away.” He shrugs. “Not that they could do much about it. It’s not like they could go to the cops.” He laughs at that, smirking at me.
“You got that end covered, right?” I take another sip of my raspberry piña colada. “I’m not going to have to worry about anybody coming to knock on my doors?”
Slayer shakes his head. “Nah. None of your places are currently on anybody’s radar. There’s a new guy I’m keeping my eye on, but nothing to worry about so far.”
That’s good to hear, considering how much I’m paying Slayer. Putting him on the payroll was one of my better decisions though, one that I’d fought my old man about. He didn’t trust Slayer as far as he could throw him, but Slayer proved his worth pretty fast.
“I got you a present, by the way,” I say.
“If it’s a lap dance…” Slayer eyes the dancer from the stage, who is finally finishing up her set and coming our way.
“Yeah, that too.” I fumble with my backpack and pull out a small, gift-wrapped box. “I dare you to open it while she’s grinding on your lap.”
“Fuck you,” Slayer says, tearing into the wrapping paper. He lifts the lid just a little, like he’s expecting something to come crawling out of it, and his face lights up in a grin as he sees what I got him.
He’s been looking for this particular model locomotive for his newest train set, and I know he hasn’t been able to get his hands on it. Despite how small the train is, it cost me several hundred dollars. A limited edition something or other. He quickly closes the box, though, as the girl approaches us.
“Thanks,” he mumbles awkwardly, but he still has that giddy grin on his lips as he sets the box down on the table in front of him.
The dancer, Jasmine, smiles at us, all professional. I like her outfit and her makeup, and she’s got the right kind of attitude to make it here. Still young and glowing, without that hint of cynicism some of the girls who have been in the industry for longer have. Although I don’t doubt she is cynical; she’s simply good at hiding it.
“What can I get for you boys?” Jasmine says, leaning forward provocatively. Her breasts are very close to Slayer’s face now, firm and plump, just the way he likes them.
“A nice, intimate dance for my friend here,” I answer, stuffing some of the bills into the side of her g-string. “He’s been working hard and needs a pick-me-up.”
Slayer’s eyes are trained on her breasts, and I can tell he’s just itching to grab them. But he knows better. Unlike at Ntimacy, he’s not allowed to touch the girls here. He finally looks up at her face, and he slides back in the booth so she can get closer to him.
“Scoot forward a bit,” she tells him, keeping her eyes locked with his. “If it’s easier, you can sit on your hands.”
She doesn’t have to give Slayer a lot of instructions, since he’s very familiar with lap dances. He spreads his legs enough so that she can step between them, and soon she’s twerking her ass in the direction of his face.
Objectively, I can tell she’s well-practiced. She’s got no problem keeping her balance, and she’s expertly avoiding anything that could look suspicious to cops. There’s no direct genital contact, and when she drops her bikini top, her breasts stay well away from him.
But if I’m honest, it’s a bit boring. I’ve seen this exact same dance millions of times before.
And from the look on Slayer’s face, he has too.
He’s watching her, but he doesn’t look glazed over and interested like he usually does when I let him play here. I can tell when he’s getting worked up, but one glance at his crotch shows he’s only sporting a semi. Not immune to her charms, obviously, but it’s not enough to get him going.
