“What a freakin’ waste of time,” I mutter to myself as I look around the club, wishing I wasn’t here. As ordered, I’ve gotten dolled up, paid the rip-off twenty-dollar cover charge to get into the fancy-schmancy Club Noir, supposedly the hottest night club this side of New York. I’ve sat here at a table, nursing two weak girly drinks for the past four hours, tipping the waitress generously as she gives me looks.

I’ve spent since eight o’clock tonight looking like the world’s biggest club loser, hanging onto my seat and turning down the guys who have approached simply because this chair has the best view of the door, the dance floor, and the stairs up to the VIP section.

And did Mr. Basketball Star, Jimmy Keys, make an appearance in said VIP section? Did his twenty points and eleven rebounds a game ass even show up?

Of course not. The closest thing I’ve seen is a guy who’s about six four and looks like he might make a good basketball player.

So now, as people start to pair off and head out to continue the night in private, I’m almost fifty bucks in the hole for the night. I have no story, and based on my last text to Jeanine, my boss is somehow pissed off at me for the whole thing.

Not to mention that by giving up my shift, I’ve lost out on a couple of hundred dollars in tips. Grabbing my purse, I head home and flop into bed, growling the whole time.

* * *

The morning isn’t much better, and I spend most of the day Saturday just stewing and trying to get Jeanine to unclench her sphincter.

Pulling up in front of Petals, I’m just hoping that we’ve got a big crowd. The parking lot looks good, so Hello, Dolly! I’ve got a shot of not ending the week on a bad note . . . if I’m lucky.

I slip through the door without anyone noticing me, a plain-ish girl in oversized sweats and a hoodie that hides my face, helping me be invisible. Except to Logan, who’s on door security and does his job, giving me a quick once-over to make sure I’m allowed entry. I give him a small smile, but he returns his attention to the door, dismissing me without a word.

Backstage, I change, putting the last touches on my makeup and giving my hair and my girls one last poof as I cross my fingers for a good night. “Here’s to hoping we’ve got high-rollers who like fifties over fives.”

Looking over, I see Allie slipping into lingerie for her performance tonight and giving me a cockeyed grin. If you’d told me a few months ago that hanging around a bunch of half-naked, or sometimes fully naked, women wouldn’t make me bat an eye, I’d have laughed my butt off. I’m no prude, but it’s not like my real life has offered many opportunities for in-depth analysis of panty styles, grooming habits, and ways to highlight your best assets.

But these girls, the ones I call friends, are real and open. They’ve given me a lot of insight into men, some good and some bad, and most will be the first to give you a Cosmo-worthy tip when you have an unfortunate pimple or need a hair plucked from a spot you can’t quite reach.

“Hey, Allie, sorry I missed your call last night,” I reply, glad I get to wear real underwear as Allie fiddles with her four ounces of ‘stage costume.’ “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I heard about what happened Thursday night from Dominick,” Allie says, straightening up. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You are, aren’t you?”

She looks at me, her brown eyes warm with concern, and I blush, nodding. “Yeah, totally fine. Just had to take care of something unexpectedly for a friend, so Sarah covered for me. I think it’s almost time for her next school loan payment, so she seemed glad to get the weekend shift.”

I feel guilty for not being completely honest, but I can’t exactly explain that I was working my other job as a reporter, no matter how good of friends we are. Allie’s too close to Dominick, and I’ve got to keep that screen between us. It sucks too, because honestly, I’d count Allie as one of my closest girlfriends. And she doesn’t even know my real name.

“Marco said Shane took you home.”

It’s a statement, not a question, but I treat it as one anyway. “Yeah, I was pretty shook up, so he drove me home. It was nice of him.”

I purposefully leave out that he spent the night and the awkward morning departure. Allie grins, shaking her bouncy curls and boobs at the same time. “Nice? I’m sure Shane would love to hear you describe him as nice. Because trust me, there isn’t a single nice thing about that man. He is bad . . . in the best way.”

Her voice goes all breathy at the end, and I’m struck with a twinge of jealousy. I cover that with a smirk and zing her back. “Hmm, sounds like someone has a crush. Better not let Dominick hear you talking like that.”

Allie flushes instantly, stammering and shaking her head. “No, no, no. Listen, Shane’s got the whole bad boy persona going on. Hard body, tattoos, you know.”

“He’s got tats?” I ask, surprised. I mean, I’m not that surprised, but I’ve never seen Shane in anything but his normal long-sleeved shirt. It makes me wonder when Allie saw him.

“Yeah, and before you ask, there was a night right before you started where Shane had to deal with three drunken frat boys. One of them got a handful of Shane’s shirt, and we all got an eyeful of some pretty impressive eye candy. Actually, that was the only damage Shane took.”

My pulse is hammering in my chest and I can’t help it. “Wish I could have seen that.”

Allie grins. “But you also know Shane. He’s a badass, to be sure, but he’s got that golden core to him. There’s a deep-seated decent streak about him. Dominick’s a different creature altogether. It’s not a façade with him. He actually is a bad guy.”

She says ‘bad guy’ like most folks say yummy cake, and I wonder exactly what is going on between the two of them. Part of me hopes it’s not what I think. Allie’s the kind to let her heart get broken in a futile quest to redeem the bad guy.

Before I can question her further, she gives her boobs a little shake and blows me an air kiss. “Anyway, off for my first set. Make sure you clap for my back walk-over move.”

I smile. “You know I will. It’s really a brilliant hook for your routine. I’ve seen guys’ eyes just about bug out of their heads when you do it. Well done!”

She gives me a high-five and sashays out to wait backstage for her music cue. I quickly join her out on the floor while she’s just getting her hips rolling for the crowd, immediately realizing that my section is already nearing capacity. Tossing a quick wave to Marco, I hustle over, jumping into the routine of getting orders and drinks.

As I work, I scan the room, sensing a vibe of tension for some reason. Usually by now, there’s an ambiance of wicked abandon, wild chaos barely restrained. Too many guys are looking around the room too, ignoring Allie even as she hits her sexiest moves.

But instead, everyone is on edge, sitting up and looking over to the right, even as Allie comes off stage and the new girl takes over. Her approach is a different style from Allie’s elegant grace, but the confidence and sex appeal are all there and should be garnering the crowd’s attention.

Hmm, something’s got to be up. I wonder what’s over there? I try to look surreptitiously, especially since it’s not my section and I don’t want to be seen as a table poacher, but I just have to know.

Holy Mama Llama! That’s Jimmy Keys, all six-foot-eight inches of millionaire himself, here at Petals, not at Club Noir like he was rumored to be last night. He’s sitting back, two girls already hanging out with him, a bottle of very expensive bubbly sitting on the table.

The devil on my shoulder wants to tell Jeanine to suck it because this waitressing cover just might pan out after all. Mr. Basketball getting his drink and dance on at a regular club without his wife is one thing. Getting his jollies off at a strip club with a table full of what totally looks like his boys is another.

I can definitely use this for a story in The Daily Spot, but I need pictures as proof. I move to the far end of the bar, calling out an order to Marco and staying back to wait while he makes my drinks.

I pull out my phone, which is against the rules, but I need to take the risk. Acting like I’m checking my messages on my phone—yep, nothing to see here, folks—I quickly pull up my camera and fire off a burst of pics rapid-fire style. Score! Knowing when to cut and run, I don’t even check the pics before shoving my phone back in my apron pocket. If they’re fuzzy, well, it’s not the first time we’ve run with unfocused photos, and these aren’t even of UFOs or Bigfoot.

I’m just in time as Marco sets my drinks down. “One JB on the rocks and one draft beer for table nine,” he says, grinning. “Good times tonight, huh?”

“I’m guessing you mean the bar tab?” I ask, and Marco nods. “Yeah. Good times.”

I deliver my drinks and check in with my tables, my eyes flashing back to Jimmy every few minutes. I hear some guys cheering and laughing and look over to see his boys all riled up as Jimmy stands from his seat. He’s grinning but not seeing a damn thing as his eyes read one thing and one thing only. Lust.

I can easily see why as Sasha, a stunning blonde from Russia, takes his hand and leads him straight into the back hallway where the private rooms are.

Not just a score, this could be a jackpot! Family man basketball star getting a private lap dance. I can see the headline now.

Once upon a time, I’d have been ashamed of peddling gossip like this. I would have been even more ashamed that a public person like this is acting so . . . dishonorably, but after a few years of tabloid work, you get numb. It feels like there’s a sense of justice to it sometimes, at least. Jimmy trades and exploits his image as a family man, banking millions on his mantra of ‘being a real man who treats his woman like a queen,’ with endorsements, speaking fees . . . heck, the man spoke in front of a ten-thousand-seat church once. But something tells me his wife won’t be too happy with her husband getting a private, one-on-one show from another woman.

Before I can even question more deeply, I follow them down the hallway, staying back and acting casual so no one suspects anything. They go to the big room that is used for private lap dances, and Jimmy sprawls out while Sasha saunters over to pick out whatever music she’s going to use, temporarily leaving the door open.

I pause, leaning against the hallway wall, and take out my phone, clicking on the screen as though I’m texting but silently taking shot after shot. You can only see a bit of Jimmy from the side, but with the shots I got earlier being of his face, the clothing and his height instantly identify the faceless image as Jimmy.

I slip my phone back into my apron again before Sasha turns to close the door, knowing this will be a job well done and a hit story. I’m about to turn back onto the floor when I hear an angry voice behind me. “What the fuck are you doing, Meghan?”

I jump, startled and fearful as I look around. Shane steps forward from the end of the hallway, where he was standing in a dark corner. Considering he’s wearing black pants and a smoke gray silk shirt, he’s damn near a ninja.

His face is hard, his jaw clenched as he grabs my hand and drags me over to his hideaway corner, standing in front of me to block me in. “Shane, I—”

He shakes his head, looking down at me with iron-hard eyes. “Spill it.”

Thinking fast, I pull out my airhead act, letting my voice rise girlishly. “Oh my gosh, Shane. You scared the poop outta me. Are you just skulking over here in the dark?”

Put the attention back on him. Good job, Maggie. I can play young, dumb, and broke all night long. But he’s not having it at all. “One more time, Meg. What the fuck are you doing back here?”

I look into his dark eyes, which are boring into mine, and I can’t help it, my gaze drops to the floor submissively. I try to work my way back up, letting my eyes trace the multitude of tattoos visible on his forearms where his sleeves are rolled up. I’ve never seen them before, and they’re fascinating.

As I get higher, I follow where the tanned skin peeks out, and I can’t help but wonder how much of his shirt I’d need to unbutton in order to see the tats on his chest.

But my gaze stops at his mouth, not able to meet his eyes again.

Deciding that a speck of truth will work better than my airhead act, especially since he’s seen it with patrons before, I swallow my fear and let out a whisper. “Look, I’m a huge fan, okay? I just wanted to get a better look at him.”

Shane grins, cocky and obviously holding back his laughter. “You’re a basketball fan?”

I manage to look him in the eye, seeing his disbelief. “Well, maybe more of a Jimmy Keys fan than the whole sport. I always liked his wholesome family guy image. Seems that’s not real, though, considering he’s got Sasha grinding in his lap right this second. I just . . . I wanted to know for sure.”

Shane tilts his head. “I’ve been around here longer than you. Even good guys are bad sometimes, and bad guys are good sometimes. No one is a simple character all the time. People are more complex than that.”

I swallow, more of a gulp, honestly, and my eyes dip down again, intent on studying the buttons of his shirt and wondering about what’s underneath the thin, dark fabric in front of my eyes. “So, which one are you, a good guy or a bad guy?”

From my peripheral vision, I see Shane’s hand move, but I still freeze when he cups my chin, tilting my head back and forcing me to look up at him. There’s heat in his eyes, a tension in his body as he leans forward, basically looming over me due to our height differences.

“Weren’t you listening, Angel? I’m both good and bad. I suspect you are too.”

The throaty, deep challenging purr of his voice drives the breath from my lungs as my pussy clenches, moisture almost immediately wetting the cotton of the good girl undies I’m wearing. Yeah, I am a good girl . . . but I so want to be naughty with him.

I suddenly realize my jaw is hanging open in his hand, and I force my mouth shut, my teeth clacking together. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Shane’s thumb traces along my jawline, sending another thrill down my spine to stoke the heat inside me. “Pity,” Shane softly growls, looking both amused and disappointed. “You looked so pretty with your mouth wide-open and waiting. Waiting for something . . . to suck on.”

A shudder racks through my body, unbidden and uncontrollable at the image that brings to mind, and it takes every ounce of willpower I have to stay standing and not drop to my knees to immerse myself in obedience just to feel the intensity of what he’s promising.

There’s a moment of tense quiet where I think he’s waiting to see what I’ll do, and I wonder if he actually thinks I’ll give him a blowjob right here in the hallway.

While the thought might be hot, it’s definitely not something I’d actually do, even though my body’s saying something very, very different.

Finally, he stands to his full imposing height, no longer angling over me, and he crosses his arms, his feet splayed wide. The mood has changed, seemingly at his whim, going from heated sexiness to all-business in a flash.

His chin dips as he lowers his gaze to look me in the eyes again, and his voice loses the growl, becoming softer but at the same time less intimate. “I was worried about you last night when you gave your shift away. Everything okay?”

I get the sense he was disappointed, and maybe a bit worried I wasn’t here, either because now he thinks I’m some wilted flower who can’t handle a jerk customer or maybe because he just wanted to see me.

Maybe both, to some degree? my mind asks, the hope mixed with the arousal that is pulsing its way through my body. I try not to let that hope plant too deeply and tell my hormones to calm the fudge down.

“Everything’s fine,” I finally reply. “Something just came up with a friend and she needed my help.”

That’s true, or as close as I can get to it. Jeanine isn’t exactly a friend, but she did require my help.

Shane doesn’t look convinced, his eyebrows lifting as he studies me closely. “A friend needed help? That’s . . . vague.”

Dang it, every time I try to play him, even a little bit, he calls me on it. He’s giving me a little wiggle room here, maybe because he wants to find out more or maybe because he’s just being nice, but he knows something’s up.

Stuck, I shrug, hoping to play the one trump card most women have. “She thought her guy was stepping out on her, so she wanted me to do a little recon, see if he was being honest about where he was. He actually no-showed, so I gave up my shift to slowly drink in another bar for no good reason. I’m a bit bitter about the loss of tips, honestly. I’m out fifty bucks for the night.”

It’s just enough of the truth that it rings honest, and Shane’s eyes soften as he accepts the expanded version of my story. Giving me a slight nod, he smiles, his white teeth flashing in the dim light. “Okay, just wanted to make sure you didn’t have a freakout after I left. And next time, before you go drinking alone at some random club, call me and I’ll be your cover story so you don’t get caught spying on some friend’s dude.”

I nod, too stunned at his casual offer to say anything. Is he serious? If he were drinking at a club with me, watching my surroundings would be the last thing on my mind as I got lost in his brown eyes and powerful presence. Although last night would have been a lot more fun if I could have taken Shane out on the dance floor and shown him that I might not be on Allie’s level, but I can work it myself a little . . . with the right guy.

“I’d better get back to my tables, see if they need anything,” I say, clearing my throat and my mind. “Gotta make up for yesterday to pay the bills.”

Shane chuckles. “Sure. And stay out of the private room area, Meghan. It’s no place for a good girl like you.”

I almost tease him about being a bit bad too, throwing his own words back at him, but something about his calling me a good girl feels nice, and instead, I just bask in the compliment as I hit the floor again.