Page 81 of Resisting Mr Black
“Not bloody likely,” Lucy announces before I can ask what it’s got to do with him. “She’s mine for tonight. Now can we come in or what?”
Big Steve rubs a hand across his bald head and looks at me for a long moment. For a second, he hesitates then steps aside to let us through. “I can’t stop you.”
He can’t. And if he did, I’d want to know why.
Twenty-Five
Lucy grabs my hand and squeaks in delight as she jostles us through the black wooden doors and into the club. A corridor with black carpet and dark walls lies ahead and the beat of music filters towards us from the other end. Lucy pushes open the door to the ladies’ toilets off to the right. Black, polished tiles line the floor and walls and three white, pristine ceramic hand basins sit below a large rectangular mirror with a gilded frame. They’re spotless and modern and a floral fragrance fills the air. I’m not exactly sure what I expected the ladies in a strip club to look like, but it wasn’t this.
Lucy sets her black clutch bag down on the shiny black marble counter, pulls her dark pink lip gloss out of her bag, and runs it over her lips.
“Big Steve’s so burly. I bet he could show you a good time.”
I shoot her a disapproving look. I hope it’s just the wine talking. “How are things between you and Mark?”
“I can look,” she says defensively. “And I’m not talking about bloody Mark on my hen-do.”
“You’re getting married in a month,” I remind her, opening my handbag and tugging out my mobile. “You shouldn’t feel like this.”
There’s a text from Art, sent an hour ago.
Are you okay? I miss you xxx
My heart swells and I can’t help but grin as I text him back.
I’m fine. Stop worrying. Miss you too xxx
“Don’t tell me. A text from Mr Italian Stallion,” Lucy teases, catching my reaction. She rubs her lips together and gives me a knowing look. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”
I take a deep breath and examine my reflection in the mirror, tweaking the soft curls over my shoulders. “Totally,” I admit. “He asked me to move in with him.”
“What did you say?” Lucy shrieks.
“Yes, I’m moving in tomorrow. He’s given me a key to his place. You don’t think it’s a bit soon, do you?”
“No. You love him and you can tell he loves you, too.”
He hasn’t said it yet.
“Do you think so?”
Lucy shoves the lip gloss back into her bag and fixes me a no-nonsense look. “When I caught you two dancing together today, I could tell he adores you by the way he looked at you. He’s besotted.”
I fiddle with my skirt. I really want her to be right. I really hope that she is right. Since Theo I’ve kept away from relationships, not wanting to risk getting involved in case history repeats itself and I end up getting hurt again. But that was never going to be possible with him. Art’s swept into my life like a tornado, pulling me into the eye of his storm. I never stood a chance of getting out of his path in time. It was inevitable, he told me. And he was right.
“This is a rather serious conversation to be having in the ladies in a strip club,” I laugh.
“I’ve always wanted to see what it’s like in one of these places,” Lucy says, fixing her hair in the mirror. “Come on, we’ll get drunk, so we won’t care that there’s naked ladies.”
We exit the toilets and venture down the dark corridor which opens up into the rest of the club. My visions of a red-lit, dry ice-filled room with crowds of baying men at the feet of some naked stripper are quickly squashed. At first glance, it could pass for a normal club and a sophisticated one at that. The walls are clad in deep purple, plush velvet drapes and the black carpet carries on throughout. The lighting is soft and low above the tables and booths are dotted about the room, occupied by both men and women. A bar sweeps round to the right, and to the left is a stage that juts out into the middle of the room like a runway. On centre stage is a leggy blonde, wearing nothing but a black sequined thong, winding herself round a pole like a pretzel. Apart from the almost naked pole dancer, the club has a low-key, relaxed vibe. It’s not as bad as I’d imagined… but it’s still a strip club.
We perch ourselves on black-leather stools at the bar. “Two glasses of white wine, please,” Lucy says to the barman, dressed head to toe in black. She casts a glance around the bar. “It’s not that bad in here, apart from the naked woman twirling round the pole.”
“To work somewhere like this, or to visit these clubs,” I wrinkle my nose. “It’s still seedy though, isn’t it?”
The barman places two glasses of wine on the bar. “It’s not that bad,” Lucy says, picking up her glass. “Stop being such a prude.”
“I’m not a prude, but come on, Luce…” I look around at the mainly male-dominated club. “Would you be happy if you found out Mark visited places like this?”