And on top of that, I just got another twenty-dollar tip. I bite my lip, giddy, and stuff it away with the others. At this rate, I’ll be able to pay my rent in no time. What was I even sweating about?
Brett is going to be thrilled I’m his roommate.
Hell, have I even broken the news to him about my new job yet? Hmm, I wonder how things are going with him and that new guy at Pogo’s he finally got the nerve to introduce himself to. I’ll bet it’s going perfectly, just as perfectly as things are with my guy. When will Alan and I start calling each other boyfriend? Should I ask?
Brett wasn’t kidding. The pace in this city is fast and relentless. I’m certain if I’m not careful, Alan and I might be married with four children in a few more hours, give or take.
I never thought I could feel so fucking happy.
I’m elated. I’m the king. I’m invincible.
Just then, I catch sight of a trio of guys coming into Aubergines. I straighten my sparkling bowtie, give a moment’s fuss to my hair and the adorable thing it decided to do tonight, then start toward the new customers like I would everyone who enters through the doors.
Until I recognize one of their faces.
It’s Jay.
I throw myself behind a pillar at once, aghast.
What the fuck is he doing here??
I sneak a peek, horrified. Jay is with two guys I don’t know. Friends from the other side of town, I’ll presume. The way he struts in with a twisted scowl on his face, it’s clear he thinks little of what he sees. With his eyes on the stage of three dancers in (half of their remaining) football uniforms, he comes near enough to the pillar I’m hiding behind for me to hear: “This place is even dumpier and worse than the last time I saw it.”
“Ugh, I know,” agrees one of his friends. “Why did we come here, remind me?”
“The dancers are hotter,” says the other friend, picking at his nails. “Aubergines’ dancers have the best aubergines in their pants.”
The three of them laugh at that. “Don’t touch anything,” Jay instructs them. “I’m sure everything here is covered in Herpes.” With that, he continues to lead his friends to a table near the stage.
I’m hyperventilating.
I can’t let Jay see me working here.
Not like this, and not after today.
There is another shot boy working, since it’s busy. With any luck, I can get him to handle that table—and maybe the surrounding ones, too.
“How’re my horny boys doing tonight??” calls out the DJ from the loudspeaker at the conclusion of the big football striptease. The room erupts into shouts and cheers. “Well get your asses and your dollar bills ready, because you’re gonna need them. Gentlemen and not-so-gentle men … give a salute to your military man of the hour. It’s Zak Attack!”
With that, Zak slowly emerges from backstage. He’s in full military gear, head to toe, including combat boots, camouflage pants, modular tactical vest, patrol cap, gloves, and ID tags, which catch a glint off the bright stage lights as they bounce on his muscular chest with his every sharp, calculated dance move. I’m pulled from my own panic for half a second as he starts his routine, being as slow and sexy as a scorpion preparing to strike, and like a scorpion, his dance moves are fast and piercing. He’s being very Magic Mike up there, and despite the sexual nature of his work, I can’t help but marvel at his actual dance talent. It’s no wonder he draws a crowd.
“Con!” snaps the bartender.
I jump in place, then hurry to the bar. “Sorry, I was just—”
“Yeah, yeah. Everyone is mesmerized by Zak.”
“No. It’s something else. There’s—”
“Give me your sob story on your break, okay? For now, hawk all of these shots to the front row. The drunker we get them, more tips we get for our dancers—and you. Oh, focus especially on those new guys who came in,” he adds with a nod their way. “They look like they’ve got fat wallets.”
“That’s exactly it. I … I can’t. Not to them. Can’t you get the other—?”
“For fuck’s sake. You’ve barely been here for … how long? And already you’re making demands?” After a huff, he suddenly changes his tone. “Wait a sec. Sorry, hold up. Is this some kind of abusive ex-boyfriend or bashing sort of thing? Did those guys do you wrong? Do we need to kick them out?”
I avert my eyes. Lying would certainly make this a lot easier, but … “No,” I finally concede.
“So what’s the problem?”
“I just …” I clench my eyes shut. “It’s just that I work with one of them. Kinda. And if he saw me here, I’d …” Can I even get the words out?