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Four
Jonesy
“Hey, man, everything okay?”
Deke’s peering at me with concern on his face, and I give one more vicious scrub of the towel across my chest before tossing it down.
“I’m great.”I’m aiming for affable but it comes out like a bark, and Deke’s whole body droops.He’s the beefiest dancer in the club, but he has the most delicate temperament.
“Sorry,” he says, clearly wounded by my sharpness.“It’s just that you were a little slow on the group number, and you kept playing to the left side of the stage.”
Christ almighty, those eagle eyes of his don’t miss a thing.And now I feel bad for making him feel bad.
“Seriously, I’m good.”I sell it better this time, forcing a smile and stroking my chin.“Just different dancing in the Santa beard.”
Fuck, I’m not up to chatting about my feelings tonight.I just need to get through the rest of this shift and crawl home to sleep off the sour feeling in my stomach.
It’s Little Miss Ponytail’s fault.
I was fucking thrilled when the girl from the restaurant magically turned up at the club.It was the unexpected do-over I’d been wishing for, and that’s why I’d felt it like a slap when her eyes had shifted from turned-on to transactional.But this time she didn’t have to glance down at my name tag to remind me that I’m just the help.She did it by stuffing cash a few inches away from my dick.
My big-brain brother would probably tell me my inferiority complex is making me overly sensitive.Wyatt’s an asshole like that.He’s also usually right.The woman hadn’t technically done anything wrong.I dance for cash.She gave me cash.That should be the end of it.But I just can’t let it go.
And hell, I need to because it’s time for my inferiority complex and me to mingle with the audience before the final number where we pull a handful of audience members onstage for the full-contact experience.It’d serve Ponytail right if I picked her to dry hump while her friends screamed their encouragement.Something tells me she’d hate that.Which means I’d hate it too, and normally it’s one of my favorite parts of the job.
The strict diet, the never-ending workouts, the shaving and waxing, the joint pain and pulled muscles, those are the worst.But actually dancing for someone?Making her—or him, depending on the crowd—blush and laugh and breathe a little harder because I’m making DEFCON 1-level eye contact while I move my body?It’s the best.
Not tonight though.I still feel Ponytail’s money burning against my hip even though I stashed it with the rest of the cash I’d earned.I work for tips, but for some reason I don’t want them from her.
Christ, I’m being an idiot.Her money’ll spend as well as everyone else’s here tonight.And I have at least eight million Christmas gifts to shop for, so I can’t let her prissy little smile fuck up the rest of my night or the stash of holiday money I’m stockpiling.
I consider sliding on my jeans but leaving them unbuttoned and hanging off my hips for a slightly more dressed shirtless-guy-next-door approach to go one-on-one with the crowd, but fuck that.I drop my jeans back into my bag and pull on my red booty shorts instead.They ride low on my hips and cut off just below the curve of my ass.It’s the modesty version of a thong, if your definition of modesty includes how much of your dick will poke out over the top of your waistband when you get hard.Little Miss Tight Ass wants body and nothing more?I’ll give it to her, and I’ll give it to her without the hat and beard.
I’m not usually this casual about mixing my two identities, but the stupidest, most impulsive part of me wants her to see my face and know exactly why I smirked when she brought this place up at the restaurant.To know that the man she wanted to touch earlier tonight was the waiter whose name she couldn’t even remember.
“You ready?”Deke asks.When I nod, he claps one of his big paws on my shoulder, fluffs up his shoulder-length black curls, and shakes his ass all the way out of the dressing room in full Diesel mode.I slide on my sunglasses and push through the door right after him, setting my smile to stun.
The seating area’s packed, buzzing with laughter and conversation over thethump-thump-thumpof the music our deejay-slash-emcee Eugenio’s spinning.I try not to look at her table right away, but I last about five seconds.When I give in and glance in her direction, she’s not there.
She left.She got what she paid for, so she and her friends took off.
I haven’t shared more than a few words with this woman.I don’t even know her fucking name.There’s no reason to let her throw me off my game, but I find myself scowling at the bachelorette in a light-up penis necklace who’s now sitting in Ponytail’s chair.
Deke stares me down from across the room, concern in his puppy dog eyes, so I pull it the fuck together and flash him a thumbs-up.Then I slap on my bestyou know you want megrin and set out to charm the women who did stay.
It’s what I’m here to do after all.And I’m very, very good at it.
“Hi, can I hel…”
My voice trails off in what I hope isn’t a strangled choke as I take in the last person I expected to ever lay eyes on again.
It’s Ponytail, smiling politely from the opposite side of the hostess stand in a black dress and heels, as gorgeous and composed as I remember from her first visit to the restaurant last week.
My shock morphs into delight at seeing her in the flesh, but that only lasts for a few seconds before I realize that I am well and truly fucked.After three years of working both jobs, someone I danced for figured out my dual life and followed me to Verdant, where my very nice, very religious boss is within earshot.
It’s actually happening.This is how I lose my job.Maybe both jobs.Darryl’s never going to put up with a stripper on his payroll, and most other serving gigs are going to clash with my dancing schedule.Shit, shit,shit.
“Are you okay?”Ponytail’s looking at me with concern, and I give her a weak grin as I try to suck enough air into my lungs.
