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That was the sign of a good man.
“You’re giving me too much credit.” He stepped past her and out into the hallway. He paused and tipped his head toward the rear exit. “Come on. I’ll walk you out.”
“I’m not giving you too much credit. Let me tell you how I know…” She followed him out, closing the dressing room door behind her. “Not all men should be at this club throwing money at women they don’t know. Not because it’s immoral or anything like that, but because the truth is, they can’t afford it. Yet, they love and need the attention they get from the girls. Maybe they’re lonely and need the companionship, even if it’s paid for and for only a few hours. A myriad of reasons exist why they come here when they can’t afford to. But here’s the kicker, while one night they may only be able to spare a couple of bucks in tips, if the girls look past that and still shower him with attention and kindness, the next time he comes in with money he can spare, you know who’s getting it?”
“The dancer who was nice to him.” The deepness of his voice rumbled through her. It was the cream cheese icing on his delicious carrot cake.
She ignored that deliciousness and after he briefly moved to the side to let her pass, she continued down the dimly-lit hallway. “You got it. I remind the girls of that all the time. My advice to them is to be kind no matter what. Kindness, like karma, pays, even if it’s not in cash.”
“Very wise.”
She shoved the push bar on the rear door with her hip, opening it and spilling the two of them out into the dark night. She took a deep inhale of the late night air. For mid-September, the temperature was perfect and the humidity low. It made her wish she had spent a quiet night at home on her back deck. While she enjoyed tonight’s performance, she also enjoyed her much-needed down time.
“As the manager, I make sure the girls are nice to everyone when it’s their rotation on the floor. Of course, if the guy’s a complete asshole by being rude, handsy, even verbally abusive, she can avoid him until I can have his ass tossed. Don’t get me wrong, being nice doesn’t mean being a doormat.” She scanned the rear parking lot, only seeing her turquoise Trailblazer at one end of the paved area and a white Kia Soul at the other.
The car did not match the man. In fact, she didn’t know any men who drove a Soul. Maybe he was more in touch with his feminine side than most men she dealt with on a daily basis.
She assumed a lot of male strippers were gay. It could be Danny was, too.
Or she could be completely off-base for both of those theories. She’d never dealt with an all-male revue before.
She stopped in the middle of the parking lot since she would be heading to the left and him to the right. “Welp—”
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
Again, he seemed like a good man, but her assumption could be completely wrong. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Of course I don’t, but I’m doing it anyway,” he insisted.
She thought he was going to put a hand on the small of her back when he lifted it. But he caught himself, curled his fingers into his palm and dropped it back to his side.
Interesting. That respect for her, even as small of a gesture as it was, made him look even better in her eyes. Men should never touch women without their consent first. Not only was it safer for her, it protected him, too.
That was actually one of the club policies Mel had put in place once the former owner promoted her to manager. Touching a dancer without prior approval was a good way for a man to get permanently banned from The Peach Pit.
“Suit yourself,” she said with a quick shrug and headed in the direction of her Chevy. However, his next question made her pause at her driver’s door.
“How long have you worked here?”
Maybe his interest in her had been genuine. If so, she’d need to squash that. “For the last ten years.”
Both rust-colored eyebrows shot up his forehead. “I didn’t realize a strip club manager would be a long-term career. Especially one worthy of that kind of loyalty.”
Most people tended to look down at her choice of employment. Because of that, she normally kept what she did for a living to herself or gave them a generic answer. She usually said she was a night club or social club manager. And if she had to reveal the true details and she received flack about it, they could take that judgment, roll it up into a suppository and shove it up their ass.
