Fifty First Times: A New Adult Anthology Page 13

  As if he could read my mind, he nodded slowly. “I’m saving my money for the dominatrix. You’ll see. It will be worth the wait.”

  I faced the stage again, wondering how the hell I let them talk me into this. I’m all for a night out and blowing off some steam, and this last semester my course load sucked, but this wasn’t my thing. I could have invited Holly from my anatomy class over to my place. I could have gone to a party. Made out with some cute freshman. Made out with a of couple cute freshmen. I would have felt like less of a perv than I did now.

  A guy at the table next to us wore a loud paisley shirt unbuttoned to his navel. He stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled. “Show me those titties!”

  I winced. The little red devil blew him a kiss. Somehow, miraculously, she didn’t look like she wanted to puke. I settled back in the chair and watched as she sashayed off the stage. She was soon replaced by a cowgirl wearing spurs that jangled with her every move.

  Cody elbowed me. “Rick, the bouncer, said that the dominatrix comes on after the cowgirl.”

  I nodded absently and glanced at my phone, checking the time, wondering how this night could suck any more.

  Brooke

  I TOOK A shuddering breath as I stared down into the toilet bowl, convinced I was going to be sick. Hands braced on the graffiti-laced stall walls on either side of me, I waited, staring into the bright blue water, wondering inanely what they did to get it to be such an electric blue. It practically made my eyes hurt.

  My stomach fluttered as if a thousand butterflies rioted inside me, but nothing. No puke. Apparently the grilled cheese sandwich I ate this afternoon was going to stay down.

  Rising to my full height, almost but not quite six feet in my four-inch boot heels, I exited the bathroom on shaking legs. It was a miracle I didn’t fall. Maybe then I would break my leg. And not have to do this. I mean, a broken leg would be a good excuse not to get on that stage, right?

  C’mon, girl. Don’t wuss out now.

  I weaved through the dozen dancers, still unconvinced I wasn’t going to hurl. Some were finished for the night and getting ready to circulate out onto the main floor, working for more tips, luring men into a private room for a private dance. Others were still primping, waiting their turn to go on stage.

  Waiting. Like me. Except I was all done primping. My sister had primped me. I was primed and ready to go. Except I was probably the only one contemplating breaking her leg. On purpose.

  The butterflies fired to life again.

  I stopped in front of my sister’s dressing station. Now it was our station. Chelsey and I would share it. Mom shared a station three spots down with Brenda, aka Diamond.

  We all had stage names. Mom was Destiny. Chelsey was Star. Mine was Sparkles. Chelsey picked out my name. I told her Sparkles sounded like something someone would name a kitten. She just gave me a look and said, “Exactly.”

  My reflection stared back at me, heavily lined eyes wide, my face frozen into an expression of astonishment. Like I didn’t know what I was doing here. Like I didn’t know myself. And I guess that much was true. I had always said this would never be me. That somehow I would avoid this fate. And yet here I was.

  I couldn’t make tuition without this. My day job at Burger Land wasn’t cutting it. Even with student loans. If it were just me and Chels, we could probably get by. But there was Mom. Mom with her ever mounting debts. Mom who constantly needed bail money. She needed us. We weren’t prepared to abandon her. She’d end up dead in a ditch in six months. We both knew that. Neither one of us could live with ourselves then.

  Staring at my reflection, I hardly recognized myself. I looked a lot like Chelsey in all this makeup. I usually wore T-shirts and jeans. Not this getup. But Chelsey did. Five nights a week. She’d been doing this for us—for Mom and me—for three years now.

  She’d given me one of her old costumes from when she first started in the business. Mom’s costumes were too big for either of us, but Chels and I were closer in size.

  She had helped me with my hair and make-up. Helped me practice walking in the shoes. Helped me with my routine. With everything. Mostly, she helped me not want to die.

  I wasn’t going to die by doing this. At least that’s what she kept telling me. Tomorrow I would wake up and still be me. This wouldn’t change me.

  Studying the girl in the mirror, I turned my face left and right. I’d never worn so much make-up in my life. The shimmery purple eye shadow almost matched the purply-black leather cat suit that started at my neck and disappeared all the way into my boots. A myriad of zippers zigzagged all across the leather, and I only hoped I unzipped the suit in the order Chelsey taught me. If I undid the wrong zipper first, my act might be over long before the song ended.

  Suddenly, Chelsey was at my side, her face—that wasn’t covered by her mask—flushed pink from having just finished her routine. I almost wished I could wear a mask, too. Maybe then I could pretend this wasn’t me. Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard.

  “Hurry up, Brookie! You’re next.”

  With a jerky nod, I let her lead me toward the back of the stage where Scotty, the stage guy, waved me to hurry.

  Blinking, I nodded and moved my leather-encased self up the ramp that led to the wall of dark curtains. The shouts and catcalls grew louder and my stomach heaved again as I heard the DJ announce me into the frenzied crowd. Chelsey had really worked them up into a fury with her dominatrix act.

  “Ready?” Scotty asked over the din.

  I nodded and forced a smile. “Catwoman is a ready as she’ll ever be.”

  Yeah. Just think of yourself in third person. Sparkles isn’t me. You’re Catwoman tonight.

  I glanced back at my sister. Only three years older, she had taken care of me for so long. All my life. When Mom went on a bender or didn’t come home for a day or two, it was Chels who made sure we ate. Chels who made sure I brushed my teeth and did my homework and caught the school bus on time. I promised her I would do this. Because then, maybe, I could make it out of here. Eventually. Not just for me, but for Chels, too. If I made it, then she did, too. All her sacrifices would be worth it.

  You can do this. You can do this.

  Turning, I faced forward again. Squinting against the glaring lights, I stepped onto the stage.

  Hunter

  I WAS A city kid for the most part, but I spent plenty of time on my grandparents’ horse farm outside Hartford. I’d witnessed the birth of a lot of colts. Watched as those new lives came into the world. Beautiful creatures with dark, shiny pelts, staggering around on unsteady legs.

  The dancer that emerged from the curtains reminded me of those colts. The DJ announced her as Sparkles. Obviously a fake name. She was no stripper. I knew that at once. Either that or she was drunk.

  I sat up a little straighter in my chair, fascinated. I studied her face, the brightness of her eyes, so very lucid and alert. And petrified.

  She didn’t belong here.

  Her dark hair was pulled back into a sleek, almost painful-looking ponytail. Her make-up was as severe as the hair. She moved like she had never worn heels in her life, staggering awkwardly across the stage.

  Her lack of coordination didn’t stop all the hoots and catcalls though. She made it to the pole and swung around it, extending her arm. Some guy made a grab for her hand and almost caught it. She pulled back and turned so that her spine was aligned with the pole, using it for support as she unzipped sections of her costume. The sleeves came off. Then each pant leg, leaving her standing in what was pretty much a swimsuit.

  She had a nice body. Of course. I assumed that was a job requisite. My eyes drank every line, every inch of her, forgetting for a moment that I was disgusted with this whole situation.

  “She’s new.” Cody leaned forward in his chair, wetting his lips like some kind of salivating wolf. “Pretty hot. Clumsy as hell though.”

  Right then the girl stumbled, only confirming Cody’s comment. She grabbed the pole, barely catchin
g herself from falling. Yeah. Clearly a newbie at this. And I couldn’t help wondering what pushed her into this. I mean, I doubt she grew up wanting to be a stripper. It wasn’t the typical little-girl dream. I had a sister. I knew that much.

  So what happened to her? Even from the distance I could see her eyes were a really pale blue. Her expression was locked in a grimace as she unzipped another panel in her costume, this time baring her midriff. My gaze skimmed all that smooth skin and I swallowed. Okay. More like gulped.

  She wasn’t wearing anything more revealing than a bikini. She still looked a little awkward, untried . . . but I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Sure, she was hot, but so was every girl that worked here. There was just something about her. She wasn’t experienced and well-practiced like the rest of them. Even half naked and swinging on a pole, she was real.

  And I was getting hard sitting there in that chair with a roomful of dudes.

  When she went for the zipper that cut across her right breast, I thought I might come out of my skin. She pulled the zipper slowly, tiny inch by tiny inch, revealing more skin, peaches and cream, plump and well-rounded. And then a single perfect pink nipple sprang free. Leather hit the deck and the crowd went wild.

  It’s like they knew, too. They knew what I knew about her.

  They felt or smelled it on the air. Understood it in her untried movements. Saw it in the tremble of her hands. We were her first audience.

  And I wanted to kill every one of them.

  Brooke

  HE WAS WATCHING me like he wanted to eat me up.

  I get that was the point. I was taking off my clothes. I understood that they all wanted me. That was the whole goal. Get them riled up so they tossed money at me.

  But he was the only one I saw when I looked out at the blur of faces. Of course, he was good-looking, but it wasn’t even that so much. He was quiet and intense, unmoving in his seat. He didn’t shout or clap or wave money like the rest of them. He seemed above them all somehow.

  I inched closer to the edge of the stage like Chels taught me to do and let them slide money into the leather boy-briefs that hugged me. I flinched as strange hands slid over my legs. One man tucked money inside my briefs and his fingers slid inside, too, caressing my skin. I pulled back quickly and lost my balance. He took advantage of my clumsiness. His hand cupped me, right there, squeezed me between the legs, and I screeched. I couldn’t help it. It was just instinct. When a strange man grabs you there, you scream.

  Then he was gone. There was a blur of movement as the creep was shoved against the stage. A loud crunch of bone on bone. At first I thought it was one of the bouncers and then I saw that, no. It wasn’t.

  It was him.

  Mr. Quiet and Intense himself. Grabby Hands managed to get out from under him and land a punch, but then my would-be savior was up again and swinging. The other guy was bigger, but my guy—uh, when did he become my guy?—was younger and no slacker in the muscle department. His arm flexed as he pulled it back and crashed his fist into Grabby Hands’s face.

  The crowd loved it. They pushed close and cheered. It wasn’t that much different from how they behaved when a dancer was on stage.

  Finally bouncers appeared. The pulled my guy off Grabby Hands. His eyes met mine as they hauled him away, a beefy bouncer at each side of him, pulling him toward the door. And I felt like I was suddenly naked standing there on the stage. Yeah, I was close. One boob was bared for the world to see, but it’s like he saw me. All of me. Straight to the core. Awareness crashed through me. He knew me. He knew I was a fake up on this stage. And for some reason that mattered to him. He wanted to protect me. Because I failed. I didn’t conduct myself like a professional. My sister would have. But I didn’t. I’d really screwed up.

  A pro would have handled the whole situation better. Smoother. She wouldn’t have screamed when some asshole grabbed her. I wasn’t a pro. Not even close. I doubt I ever would be.

  “Brooke!” My sister hissed my name from the back of the stage. My song was over. I hadn’t finished my routine, but hey, they got their show.

  I hurried off stage.

  “What happened?” Chels demanded, her eyes bright with worry as she looked me up and down. “You okay?”

  I shrugged. “Some guy got fresh.” And I blew my cool.

  Right then the manager materialized next to my sister. “Well, that was real good. Real good.”

  Chels looked at him hopefully. “Really?”

  “No,” he snapped. “Not really.” He dragged a hand over his balding head. In my heels, I towered almost a foot taller than him. “We don’t have fights at the Cave. We’re not that kind of place. This isn’t supposed to be that kind of place.”

  “Sorry, Andy. It’s her first night.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” His angry expression softened. “Look. Sorry, Chels.” His gaze flicked to me and then back to her. “I don’t think this is going to work out with your sister.”

  I immediately felt relief, followed fast by disappointment because I felt relief.

  “Andy, please.” Chels grabbed his arm. “We need the money.”

  He shook his head. With a wince and a shrug, he patted my shoulder. “Hang in there. Maybe you’ll make manager over at the Burger Land.” He walked away.

  Chels cast me a desperate look. “I’ll talk to him.”

  I hugged myself as I faced her. “He’s right. It’s not my thing, Chels. It’s never going to be.”

  “And you think it’s my thing?” She slapped a hand to her chest. “No! But I do it. I do what needs to be done.”

  “I can make it without this!” I waved a hand, encompassing me, the stage, everything. The world of suck we both inhabited.

  “Fine. But I’m not gonna carry your forever. I can’t.” Her voice broke a little here, and she turned like she didn’t want me to see her face.

  I touched her shoulder. “I’ll work more hours at Burger Land.” More than the forty I already worked. “Take another student loan. I can make it work.”

  She nodded and cut me a glance. “Okay. Because I can’t keep up this pace.”

  I nodded, feeling bad. “I know.” The last several years had all been on Chelsey. Ever since she started here when she turned eighteen.

  “I promise, Chels. It’ll work out. I’ll finish college and get a good job. It will be all right.”

  It had to. Because I couldn’t do this again.

  Hunter

  I MOVED AWAY from the front of the building and the crush of people all waiting to get inside. Too much testosterone, and I’d definitely gotten a big enough dose of that tonight.

  My face ached like a motherfucker where I took the hit. I walked alongside the building, waiting for Cody and Barrett, wondering how long it would take Cody to find Barrett in whatever back room he’d disappeared into for a lap dance.

  I turned the edge of the building and leaned against the wall, letting my head drop back against the brick a little too hard. Like I needed more pain. My cheek throbbed. I touched it lightly, testing the tender flesh. I’d probably have a nice bruise there tomorrow if I didn’t already.

  A car approached from the back parking lot. I vaguely registered the crunch of tires and the purr of the engine.

  It was the voice that grabbed me. Low and smoky, it crashed through me and had my head popping up. I hadn’t heard her voice before but I knew it belonged to her.

  “You okay?”

  It was her. Only with less make-up. And with her hair falling loose over her shoulders. And not in the cat suit.

  “Yeah,” I replied. “Fine.”

  She nodded, looking at me through the passenger’s open window. She turned and stared straight ahead for a moment. Her slim fingers stretched and flexed over the steering wheel. I studied her profile in the shadows. She looked a lot younger with her face scrubbed clean.

  She looked back at me. “My name’s Brooke.” Her voice quavered a little bit, giving her away. She was nervous. Which would be an odd thing for s
omeone to be who took her clothes off for a living, but I already knew that she was no ordinary stripper.

  “Hunter.”

  She nodded. “I’m sorry you got kicked out. You were just trying to help. I’ll talk with the manager. Maybe get you some VIP seats next time, waive the door—”

  I shook my head. “I’m not coming back here. I didn’t want to come to begin with.”

  “Why did you then?” she shot back, and I thought I heard censure in her voice. She obviously doubted me. Not that I blamed her. A girl as pretty as she was probably heard lines all the time. In and out of the club.

  I shrugged and decided to go for the truth. “Because I was stupid.”

  I thought she blinked. I wasn’t sure in the shadows, but she shifted behind the steering wheel . . . seeming less guarded. Maybe she believed me.

  “Yeah. Well, you’re not the first stupid guy to walk through those doors. We get a few.”

  “Just a few?” She was funny. I grinned, and then winced. The action hurt my face.

  “Yeah, well I’m just guessing about that. It was my first night.”

  As I suspected. “Then I guess we have something in common. It was my first time, too.”

  She stared across the distance at me. “You’ve never been to a strip club?”

  I shook my head. She probably thought I was bullshitting her.

  “How old are you?” As if my age somehow could prove or disprove my allegation.

  “Twenty-two.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Nineteen. Last week.”

  “Happy birthday,” I returned, automatic.

  She looked ahead, staring at something in the distance—like she was processing that I was a red-blooded twenty-two year-old guy who didn’t hang out at strip clubs. And that the first time I did, I got kicked out. Because I tried to defend her.

  She looked back at me, squaring her shoulders like she had reached some sort of decision. “I’m sorry about your face.”

  “It’ll heal.” It’s not the first time I took a hit. With a roommate like Cody—and his penchant for trying to pick up girls that happened to be unavailable—I’d gotten into a few throw-downs.