Did I just get hired as a stripper?
Oh my God, I just got a job as a stripper. Well, assuming anyone wanted to see me half naked.
Speaking of, I turned and looked over my shoulder. The blond was still gyrating herself all over the place, now wearing nothing but a G-string. I’m sorry, but how did that not hurt? I mean, really, it was practically flossing her butt.
I spun back around and put my head in my hands. I felt the heavy thud of something in front of me, so I looked up.
It was a shot glass. I watched as the bartender filled it with vodka. “You look like you could use this.”
I looked up, a little higher than the glass, and caught a set of bronzed rock-solid abs. My eyes lingered and then traveled upward, past the rippling muscles, the smooth, defined chest, past the black bowtie around his neck to finally land on his face.
I understood now why his body was so mouthwatering.
A face like that could only be attached to near perfection. Square, smooth jawline, prominent nose and cheekbones, full lips, olive-toned, sun-kissed skin, and eyes that looked like melted chocolate. I couldn’t tell what color hair he had because he wore a black fedora that was slightly tilted to one side, giving him a devilish air.
If he were an all-you-can-eat buffet, I’d unbutton the top of my jeans and dig in.
I stared at him dumbly, my brain refusing to form a cohesive thought, so I knew speaking wasn’t going to happen.
He smiled, placing his hands palm down on the bar and leaning over the top slightly, bringing his manly goodness a little closer. “Bottoms up.”
“I’m not drinking tonight,” I said, proud that I found my voice.
His dark eyes swept over my face and he smiled. Then, still watching me, he picked up the shot glass and emptied it all into his mouth in one great gulp. He set it back down in front of me. “Most girls would have just taken the shot.”
“I’m not most girls.”
He leaned both elbows on the bar and stared at me. “So I see.”
A little shiver raced up my spine. It was one of those shivers that felt so delicious I just wanted to have another. The sound of his voice was like the roar of a lion, the growl of an alpha, because it churned up some primal instinct in me to obey his every command.
Man, this place was starting to make me crazy. I had to get out of here.
“Thanks for the drink,” I said, spinning the stool around and getting ready to hop off.
“So you’re the new dancer?”
I glanced over my shoulder, looking around the curtain of my chestnut-colored hair. “That depends.”
“On whether or not I have the guts to show up tomorrow night.”
A slow smile curved his lips. “Well, I sure hope you do.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I definitely wouldn’t mind seeing more of you.”
The bottom dropped out of my stomach and I’m pretty sure my cheeks turned bright pink. He chuckled, the low sound carrying over every other sound in the place and echoing through the deepest parts of my mind.
Then he picked up the empty shot glass and turned around. “See ya around,” he said, tossing the words over his broad shoulder.
It wasn’t until I was outside fumbling around with my car keys that I wondered if he meant he actually wanted to see me again… or just the parts of me I dared to bare.
I talked myself out of going that night at least a hundred times. But then I would look at the bills piled on my counter, the dwindling supplies in my fridge and pantry and ask myself how bad could it really be?
It was only skin.
Skin that a lot of strangers’ eyes would be ogling.
I couldn’t do it.
I glanced at my cell phone lying on my bed. I could call her, tell her that I needed money. She would tell me to come home, to get a job at the local diner or the bank. And then I would haul my suitcases into my old bedroom and start my life over again as the girl who tried to get away but in the end couldn’t hack it.
I could pick out an outfit, go to work, and pretend that everyone else was in their undies instead of me.
I definitely wouldn’t mind seeing more of you.
It wasn’t the first time today I heard that line in the back of my head. Yeah, okay, it probably was just that. A line. But damn if it wasn’t working.
I looked at myself in the mirror. I knew I was an attractive woman, with long legs, a thin but curvy frame, long, deep-brown hair, and blue eyes. I looked exactly like the girl next door. In fact, I was the girl next door. Until I graduated high school determined to bust out of the small town I was stranded in.
I wasn’t going back there.
I was no longer the girl next door.
I was a woman.
I was in charge of my life and my body.
And I was also going to be a stripper.
I turned to the side to study the profile of my body. My boobs certainly weren’t huge (not like that stripper I saw on stage last night), but they were a decent size, and they were perky. I had a little bit of a booty as well, so I guess I could consider myself well equipped for the job.
Now all I needed was something to wear.
What did one wear when they were going to be taking it all off?
Something sexy, the voice in my head whispered.
I pulled open my closet and studied the contents. I had the clothes of a college student who happened to live in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. That wardrobe consisted of jeans, T-shirts, blouses, and beach wear. It did not consist of lingerie, push-up bras, and thongs.
I glanced at the sundresses that hung in a row and laughed.
After the reaction I got to the one I wore last night, I doubted showing up to work in another one would go over very well. Adam would probably kick me out before I even opened my mouth.
I considered taking a pair of scissors to a shirt to make it midriff baring and to a skirt to make it sinfully short, but that seemed like a waste of perfectly nice clothes.
In the end, I yanked out my choice and threw it on, then went to do my hair, makeup, and smooth on some body lotion. My stomach growled during my primping, but I ignored it. I was so nervous about what I was about to do that I hadn’t eaten a thing all day. And I wasn’t going to. The last thing I wanted to do was get up on stage and show everyone exactly what I had for lunch that day.
If I even made it onto the stage.
What the hell was I supposed to do once I was there?
Gyrate like that girl last night? No. Thank you. But I knew I had to do something. I mean, just standing there would get me fired.
I decided to just stop thinking about it altogether. I was making myself more nervous than I really needed to be, and if I kept it up, I wouldn’t go at all.