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He turned to face Marco. Was it just Joey's imagination, or was there a light flush to his cheekbones? Was his breathing a little ragged at the edges? "Thanks for the dance," Marco said, his voice low and husky.
"Anytime," Joey replied, his heart still racing from their intimate encounter.
"Marco!" a voice called out, interrupting them. It was one of Marco's associates, beckoning him to the other side of the club. "Angelo's got a mess for you to clean up!"
"Looks like I've got to go," Marco said, his lips curving into a wistful smile. He gave Joey a lingering look that sent shivers down his spine. "Good job, kid. Soon you'll be pulling big money."
"Ahem." Joey held out his hand.
Marco looked down at it, and cocked an eyebrow. "What?"
Joey opened and shut it a few times. "You had a dance. Pay up."
The surprise and irritation that bloomed in Marco's expression was almost better than being paid in cash. Marco stared at Joey like he was insane. "I thought you said that was employee training."
"If there's one thing I'm learning from my most esteemed co-workers," Joey said, shoulders back and looking Marco in the eye, "it's that you always get paid. Pay up, Marco. Or are the Toscanos penny-pinchers?"
With a grumble, Marco tugged his wallet out of his pocket. He flipped open the leather, and before Joey could react, Marco slapped the notes into his palm.
Notes. Plural.
Joey stared at the five hundred-dollar bills in his hand. "Wow. Looks like you're a good tipper."
Marco smirked. "We'll call that an advance payment," he said. "You can work the rest off in dances—and next time, kid, choose a better song."
With that, Marco turned and strode away, leaving Joey standing there amidst the pulsating music and neon lights, his heart pounding in his chest as he grappled with the conflicting emotions swirling within him.
Chapter eight
Joey
Joeysighedheavilyashe wiped down the bar top, his shift finally coming to an end. The strip club was still bustling with inebriated patrons, but as the night wore on, they were starting to head elsewhere. Back to their homes, or just on to another bar—Joey didn't know, and he didn't care.
All he could think about was Marco—those dark, mysterious eyes, and that sinful smirk that made him weak in the knees. He'd never imagined himself falling for someone like Marco, a man so deeply entrenched in the dangerous world of the Mafia.
And yet, here he was, utterly captivated in a way that had nothing to do with the money that was burning a hole in his pocket.
Shit.
When he'd first met Marco, he'd dismissed him as an arrogant playboy. But after witnessing the genuine care and vulnerability Marco showed toward the people under his command, Joey couldn't help but question his initial assumptions…
A voice shook him from his thoughts. "Nice job tonight," Sasha said as she came by, giving Joey a friendly pat on the back. "You're getting the hang of things pretty quickly!"
"Thanks," Joey replied, forcing a smile despite the turmoil in his mind. He couldn't share his thoughts on Marco with anyone at work; it was just too risky. "If only the drunks tipping me shared your optimism."
"Aw, I'm sure you're raking it in." Sasha looked around, aching her neck to scan the club. "Is Gina gone?"
Joey looked. It wasn't exactly easy to miss a nearly-naked redhead in towering stripper heels, but he couldn't spot her. "Uh, I don't know… I can't see her. Maybe she's off with a patron?"
His stomach sank. His earnings were heavy in his pocket: he wanted to hand over Marco's money as soon as he could.
A few hundred dollar bills weren't exactly going to clear his dad's debt by themselves. But it was still more than he'd earned in a single shift before. The faster that he could get that sixty thousand ticking down, the better.
The faster that he could get out of this place, the better.
"I thought I heard her say she was leaving early tonight…" Sasha sighed. "Do you want me to do your tally tonight, hon?"
"Would you? Thanks, Sash."
