Ryker
Sitting beside my friend and former frat brother, a stack of ones and two beers between us and two women in tiny G-strings humping brass poles onstage, I feel like I’m back in college.
Except now I’m not entertained by the titty glitter the strippers take pride in smearing all over every man they come in contact with.
I officially feel too old for this shit. But when Brandon called to say he wanted to hit the strip club to celebrate his new promotion, I wasn’t going to say no. First, because I’m genuinely happy for the guy, and second, because I don’t feel like doing anything else. Not even one whole week into the semester and all I can think about every time I sit down in a class is how much I can’t stomach the thought of being a lawyer.
I’ve officially hit the zero fucks given point.
So instead, I’m sitting in a strip club on a Thursday night instead of doing my reading for my classes on Friday. I haven’t done the reading for any class yet, so why start now?
“Dayum, you think she’s on the menu tonight? She looks a little classy to climb that pole, but if I’m right, I call dibs.”
Brandon’s gaze leaves the stage and tracks someone moving across the club floor. From my angle, I can’t see who he’s talking about.
“Where?”
He turns completely around in his chair and nods to the brunette a dozen feet away, head down as though she’s intentionally trying not to look at the stage or make eye contact with any of the patrons. Her posture doesn’t match any of the strippers working the floor. No way does she work here.
But why does she seem familiar?
She nearly runs into a cocktail waitress in a bra, five-inch heels, and fishnets tucked under booty shorts. The brunette’s head pops up and she raises her hands as though to apologize.
That’s when I catch a glimpse of her face.
No. Fucking. Way.
“Shit, she’s hot as fuck. I’m taking her home tonight.” Brandon’s voice isn’t slurred by the five beers he already put down, which is mildly surprising. I’m the DD tonight, since it’s his celebration, but there’s no way I’m going to let him make a move on Justine.
“Sorry, bro. I called dibs on her ages ago.”
Brandon’s eyes widen comically. “Seriously? You know her? Thought you said you hadn’t been here since undergrad?”
“She doesn’t belong here either, and she sure as shit doesn’t work here.”
Brandon’s smile turns into a lopsided grin. “Maybe she’s stripping her way through school. God, that’s so fucking hot. I’d throw down enough cash for private dances to pay for at least one class. She’s smokin’.”
The urge to plant my fist through his face is strong and instinctive, but the echo of his words through my head pulls me back from actually acting on it.
Stripping her way through school.
Shit. She lost her scholarship. Could she be here looking for a job?
Again—No. Fucking. Way.
I follow Justine’s path until she slips through a doorway and disappears from sight.
Brandon’s attention hasn’t returned to the stage. It’s still on me.
“I’m right, aren’t I? The chick you called dibs on is going to start stripping for her tuition.”
“Shut the fuck up, and if you ever mention you saw her here to anyone, I’ll tell everyone about the transvestite you got head from sophomore year.”
Brandon jerks back against his seat. “I didn’t know she was a tranny! Those tits looked so fucking real. She barely had an Adam’s apple.”
“A chick with a dick sucked your cock, and if you want that to stay between us—”
Brandon grabs his beer and knocks back a swig. “Fuck. Fine. But that’s the last time you get to pull that card on me. And you’re buying me some goddamn Scotch. Get me drunk enough tonight, and I won’t even remember if I saw Hillary Clinton working that pole.”
“Nasty, dude.” But still, I raise my hand to catch the attention of the cocktail waitress. “Get him a double Scotch. Whatever top shelf you’ve got.”
She smiles flirtatiously at me as she slides one leg between my knees and leans forward. “And what can I get for you, big man?”
“Water.”
Her smile falters as she steps back, clearly reading the fact that I’m not down with playing her game. But she’s not giving up yet because she lowers her ass to her heels just in front of me, knees spreading wide.
“Are you sure there’s nothing? Because I’d be happy to give you a rundown of all the off menu items I’m happy to provide.”
Just the insinuation that she’s willing to fuck me for money is enough to make me want to run down that hallway, grab Justine, and carry her out of here before she has a chance to make whatever bad choices she’s considering. She doesn’t belong here.
“Water,” I repeat, and the cocktail waitress finally stands and returns to the bar.
“Damn, bro. She would’ve sucked your cock right here if you would’ve given her a sign.”
I flick my gaze toward Brandon. “And that’s a challenge how?”
His eyes flash with mischief. “Is that the appeal of little Miss Wannabe Stripper? She’s a challenge? Because if she comes to work here, she’s not going to be one anymore. If you’ve been striking out, which must be the case if you’re still interested, then maybe it’s your key to getting a piece of that sweet ass.”
“You’re going to drink your Scotch and never fucking mention this again. Understand me?”
Brandon jerks back at the vehemence in my tone. “Got it, man. Sorry, I was just giving you shit.”
Not wanting to taint the night of his celebration, I reach for my wallet and toss a fifty on the table between us. “No harm, no foul. Now, why don’t you get that private dance you were wanting? On me. Congrats on the promotion.”
The waitress returns with the Scotch, and I pay her before Brandon rises and walks toward the skinny redhead with enormous tits he’s been drooling over since we walked in the door. Which frees me up to find out just what the hell Justine was doing.
Tucking my wallet back in my pocket, I head for the hallway.