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“If you’ll excuse me.” She brushed him off, finishing her glass of whiskey and placing it on the table beside her. “I’m up next.”
Every hair on the back of his neck raised in warning as she sashayed away, before he took the seat beside Ronnie.
~ ~ ~
The floor beneath Gretchen swayed slightly as she climbed the steps behind the stage. Usually she watered down or swapped out the drinks the bartenders slid her. Not tonight. Tonight she’d drank the whiskey in a futile attempt to quiet her jealousy, so she could focus on her job, a problem she’d never had before.
Normally she’d dance to something with an upbeat tempo. A song by Britney Spears or the Pussycat Dolls, something to get her body moving enough to have libidos rising, but nothing overly sensual. Tonight, she’d blame the alcohol for the fact that this time the low, sultry beat of The Weeknd’s “Wicked Games” greeted her instead. She easily found Finn where he sat in the booth with Ronnie, the other woman’s enhanced breasts pressed into his arm as she leaned up to speak into his ear.
Gretchen moved her hips slowly side to side. Running her hands up her stomach and over her breasts, she turned and gave a slow shake of her ass, sliding her hands down her legs as she bent over. She faced the crowd again as she made her way around the pole and rolled her body. Her sex inched closer to the pole with each gyration before she wrapped a leg around it and spun, sliding her body against the cool metal.
Finn was only a distant thought as she blocked out everything but the routine she’d choreographed and the music that pounded in her veins like a lover.
When the song ended, the crowd sat silently for a moment before someone wolf-whistled and began to applaud. Gretchen stood and soaked it in as she caught her breath. When her gaze clashed with Finn’s fiery glare, she narrowed her eyes, giving him a fuck you grin before strutting off the stage.
~ ~ ~
“Damn, she’s good.” Ronnie’s breath crawled across Finn’s neck, causing him to recoil. “I didn’t pay her enough attention earlier. What’s her name again?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he watched Gretchen emerge from behind the stage. In the back, a table of guys erupted in applause and whistles. Even in the dim light, Finn could see a blush work its way up her chest, before she disappeared down the hall to her private room.
He pushed away from the table and headed toward the back of the club.
Grant stepped in front of him. “Don’t,” the other man warned.
“They’re harassing her.” Finn gave him his best fuck off glare.
Grant only raised a brow and shook his head. “The one in the hat.” He nodded toward the table.
Finn looked at the table more closely. Two of the three men laughed and guzzled beers while the third scowled in Finn’s direction.
“Who is he?” He hadn’t seen the tall, dark-haired man before, but he didn’t like the set of his broad shoulders or the way he gripped his glass until his knuckles went white.
“That’s the one she danced with,” Grant explained.
Finn studied him more closely. He didn’t look like the men who usually came to the club to pick up dancers or waitresses. Those men tended to either try too hard with their designer clothes and slicked back hair, or not enough, looking as if they’d come straight from job sites or the street. This guy wore a gray T-shirt stretched over lean, taut muscles, and a black ball-cap, pulled low over his eyes. He lifted his glass to his lips, every movement controlled and efficient. Looked like Gretchen had found herself a fighter, and the thought made Finn’s own fists clench.
Grant cleared his throat. “She took him back to her room.”
Finn’s head snapped around as Grant’s words hit him like a punch to his stomach. “She what?”
He had to have heard wrong. There was only one reason for Gretchen to take someone to her private room, and that was ridiculous. She wouldn’t have sex with someone else when the two of them . . . He stopped. She really had no reason not to sleep with someone else.
“She said you could go fuck yourself.” Grant ducked his head as he spoke.
“She what?” Finn repeated.
He pulled his glare away from the man still watching him. As if the way Gretchen had all but fucked the pole moments before hadn’t been enough to get his blood churning, now she’s said he could fuckhim . . . self?
“I believe she thinks you and Ronnie—”
“I don’t give a damn what she thinks.” Only he did, more than he wanted to admit.
He pushed past Grant and marched down the hall to Gretchen’s room. Once there, he threw open the door and barged in. “What the hell was that?”
Gretchen turned as the door slapped the brick wall and bounced back. When her eyes met his, they were filled with molten fury.
“My job.” She turned back to the mirror and continued to button her shirt.
