Page 3 of VIP
But my gran was worth it.
And as the music shifted into "Save a Horse" by Big & Rich, Cass's theme song for the night, I left the safety of the well-lit changeroom. With the door closed behind me, the darkness of the bar wrapped itself around me, the air thicker somehow, almost tangible. As I crossed the room toward the bar, veering around the tables, my eyes were drawn to where the spotlight was angled as my friend emerged onto the stage. Cass strutted out like he owned the place, and the crowd responded, hooting and whistling as they lapped it up. Cass somehow managed to find me in the darkness and gave a wink, then he turned and bent over, shaking his ass just for me. Against my will, I found my lips tipping up into a smile. Cass really loved his job, and his joy was infectious. This was what made him such a high-paid stripper, but it also made him a great friend.
"Are we gonna have a good night?" the bartender, Danny, asked me, slipping me a shot of amber-colored tequila as I joined him behind the bar. The shot had become my tradition before every shift, a little liquid courage to help loosen me up.
I tipped the glass to my lips, the potent alcohol burning all the way down and warming me to my core. I blew out a hiss and set my glass down on the bar. "No, Danny. We're going to have a great night," I told him, and even though I said it every night, for the first time, I actually believed it.
Something was different tonight, and my entire body tingled with anticipation.
2
Max
The Bar Cherry was easy enough to find with the doorman’s directions, but if I hadn’t known this club was here, I certainly wouldn’t have stumbled on it by accident. It was a nondescript gray building, in a tucked-away corner of an unmarked dead-end street in a rough-looking neighborhood. This wasn’t somewhere you went for a casual evening stroll. It seemed an odd thing, for a club to be hidden away like this, without any signage pointing the way. The only indication that I was in the right place was the beefy bouncer stationed at the front door and the pulsing throb of bass coming from within.
Maybe it was going through some renovations. Or maybe they don’t want to be found, I wondered, thinking back to Gerry’s warning about the clientele.
The cab’s tires kicked up gravel as it left me at the curb, seemingly eager to get back to the nice side of town. “Evening,” I said, addressing the bouncer. He had biceps as thick as my thighs, and his muscles flexed, stretching his t-shirt, as he uncrossed his arms.
“ID,” he said simply, extending his hand.
I passed it over, though he couldn’t possibly be checking that I was of legal drinking age. I might’ve had a baby face, but I didn’t look that young. I saw the moment he registered who I was, his eyes flicking up to me briefly, the smallest amount of surprise lighting up his stony expression, but he didn’t say a word about it—no fawning or asking for my autograph. He just handed my card back, and I knew instinctively that he wouldn’t be telling the tabloids I was here. Clubs like this understood discretion.
“First time?” he asked, and I nodded. “The rules are simple. Keep your hands to yourself and don’t start any shit. We have a zero-tolerance policy, and we won’t hesitate to ban you for life. Talk to the bartender to start a tab. And if you’re here for anything extra,” he paused, letting that word sink in, “you can let him know. He’ll hook you up.” The corner of the bouncer’s lips tipped up just slightly, his eyes flashing, and I had to stop myself from asking what he meant by extra. Gerry hadn’t mentioned anything but the stripping. “Welcome to The Bar Cherry,” he said, opening the door for me.
My heartrate sped up to match the music’s beat as it spilled through the doorway. I loved this feeling, like I was standing on the edge of a cliff, about to jump, and I had no idea if I had a parachute strapped to my back. This was what I lived for, the unknown factor. So much of my life was scripted and planned, so this element of surprise was the only thing that seemed to break through my exterior. It made me feel alive.
As I stepped through the door into the club, I came to a new conclusion about their lack of signage. They had no need to advertise. This club was exclusive, and they relied on word of mouth—and by how packed the place was, there was no doubt in my mind that people were talking.
The air felt electric, the hair on the back of my neck rising. The floor was polished concrete, the walls covered in a textured black tile, but that was about the most that I could see in the dim lighting. The main focal point was obviously the stage, which was currently empty, but I suspected it wouldn’t be for long. All of what was called “sniffer’s row,” the line of chairs shoved right up to the edge of the stage, was packed with alphas waiting for the next performer. There were two other smaller stages farther toward the back of the large space, so patrons could choose their preferred entertainment.
I passed three more security guards on my way to the bar in the back corner. They weren’t even trying to be discreet; they wanted to be seen, their intimidating presence part of the deterrent. There would always be that one patron who would have too much to drink, who would forget the rules and need to be reminded—forcefully. Well, it wouldn’t be me.
“I’ll have a scotch,” I told the bartender as I slid my credit card across the counter to him. “And maybe you can tell me what else you have to offer?” I raised an eyebrow, conveying that I wasn’t talking about a side of fries.
The bartender scrutinized me for a moment, not blinking as he made judgments about the kind of man I was. Finally, he said, “We have private room in the back for our guests, depending on your tastes… and price range.” He didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t ask him to. There was nothing wrong with my imagination, and the possibilities were endless. I fully intended to end my evening exploring what they had to offer.
He passed me my drink, along with my credit card. “I’ve started your tab. Have a seat, and your server will top you up as needed.”
I thanked him, then found myself an empty table along the wall. Just in time, too, as the lights dimmed further, and the opening bars of a Nine Inch Nails song sliced through the sudden silence. I swore everyone was holding their breath as the spotlight clicked on, spearing all attention on the woman who appeared on stage wearing leather straps and silver buckles that covered only thin sections of her body.
She was attractive in a dominatrix kind of way, and as she spun around on the pole, showing off her flexibility and acrobatic skills, the crowd was seemingly held in her thrall. I sipped at my drink as I watched the performance, appreciating her talent, but my body remained frustratingly dormant. She wasn’t my type.
It wasn’t until I set my empty glass aside, three performances later, that something stirred inside me. A scent… delicate and floral, out of place in the club. Where was it coming from?
A hand appeared from my left, collecting my empty glass and replacing it with a fresh drink. My gaze locked onto the slender fingers, the narrow wrist, and followed it up to the man it was attached to. He froze when we made eye contact. His hair was on the long side, tied back at the nape of his neck, but a single chestnut lock had escaped and was curling around his ear. The shade of his eyes was impossible to guess, the way they reflected the spotlight like twinkling stars. His kissable lips parted, his throat bobbing like he’d said something, but I couldn’t hear anything over the music.
“Sorry, what was that?” I asked, raising my voice, using it as an excuse to lean closer. There was that scent again, and it made my mouth water.
“I said hi,” he said, his breath fluttering past my cheek, then he moved back and pinched his lips shut, blushing lightly, and he averted his eyes. “Uh, I got you another scotch, but if you’d like something else, I can… get it.”
I was vaguely aware of the wolf whistles coming from the crowd, but my full attention was needed here—to order a drink. Yes, that was what I was doing. “Do you have any drink specials?” I asked, not because I wanted one but because I needed an excuse to keep him talking.
He blushed even harder, his fair skin turning the most delectable shade of pink, and I knew exactly why when he cleared his throat and told me, “Our special tonight is a Dirty Whore’s Bath Water.”
My laugh snuck out before I could stop it, and his smile widened, his eyes flicking down to my mouth. Oh yeah, this attraction I felt was mutual, all right. “I don’t know what it is, but I’ll try anything once.” And I didn’t just mean drinks.
“Okay, I’ll be right back.” The way he said it made it sound like a solemn promise. As he turned to leave, I realized I hadn’t even noticed what he was wearing, and I had a sudden urge to call him back so I could see the front. Gods. My throat constricted, making it hard to breathe. Half his ass was hanging out of his shorts, and I wanted to get down on my knees behind him and take a bite.