I think he’s talking about watching girls dance first until his eyes drift down to his midsection. I gulp, but there’s nothing to swallow, my mouth feeling like it’s filled with cotton.
“If that makes you nervous, then I already know you’re not going to be comfortable shaking your tits in front of a bunch of, drunk, horny, potentially grabby guys during your shifts.”
“An eighteen-year-old like me will bring in big money for the club.”
“Aaaaand you clearly don’t know how this business works. You pay us to dance, young lady. Dancers are independent contractors who are basically renting the time on stage and in the backroom. And speaking of time you’ve wasted enough of mine. Come back when you’re ready to…complete your application,” he adds for good measure, his hips thrusting up in his chair and a devious grin spreading across his face.
I roll my eyes just as there’s a single knock on the door and another girl sticks her head in. “Sorry to interrupt,” she says, holding a hand up before bringing it to her chest in some sort of peace offering, “but Mercedes called in sick, Bentley’s boyfriend just got thrown in jail so she can’t make it, and Caprice skipped town.”
I whistle audibly and pretend to file my fingernails. “You running a used car dealership or a gentleman’s club here?” I cut.
“Bitch, I don’t know who the hell you are or who you think you are but my patience tonight is the only thing that’s used, as in up, and if you press me I will shank you whore.”
Welcome to the big leagues. I keep my mouth shut.
“All right, Cinnamon. I’ll see what I can do,” the manager says and the girl behind me exhales hard and shuts the door, before opening it again. “Cayenne just fell and twisted her ankle. She’s gonna need crutches to get outta here,” she adds before shutting the door a second time.
“Or maybe a spice shop.”
“You think anyone is dumb enough to dance under their own name, Malibu?” he says.
“Malibu?” I groan.
“Yeah, like Malibu barbie,” his eyes lingering on my chest disapprovingly, “without the tits.” He pauses. “Now get the fuck outta my office and onto the side stage before I change my mind.”
I spin on my heel and prepare to high tail it outta there, “Just remember. The first night I keep everything, as a thank you. And you can thank me after your shift’s over too. Remember, you still haven’t completed your application.”
“But you’ve definitely completed yours for Creepy Asshole of the Year,” I say, slamming the door and ducking into the dressing room where I grab a nurse’s outfit and more importantly a mask, so I can hide my identity.
Not ten minutes later I’m tapping another of the dancer’s on the shoulder offering to trade her all the money I make during the next song, which is scheduled to be Ariana Grande, a young tiny thing like me, in exchange for her doing a favor for me.
“Everyone knows those girly pop songs suck to dance to and for tips too. Trade me for two Mötley Crüe songs and Ginuwine’s song ‘Pony’, and you’re on Tiny.”
“Deal,” I say and we walk into the club together as I adjust my mask making sure it’s covering as much of my face as possible. “See that guy over there?”
“He’s hot.”
“Yeah, and he’s mine,” I breathe fire in her direction. “Tell him his free lap dance is waiting and it’s time to cash it in in the champagne room.”
“I might just give it to him myself.”
“You do and I’ll shank you, bitch,” I blurt out.
“Fuck off,” she says, flipping her hair at me but moving in the direction I want. I guess you can learn something from everybody in this world, even if their name was chosen as my favorite spice to insert inside a gooey iced roll.
I hide behind a pillar, knowing damn well I’m not going to shake my stuff on stage. I’m here to give one lap dance and that’s it. Well, that’s not it, but the only other thing that’s going down tonight is me…on Giovanni, who’s currently got his wallet off to the side of him so my dad can’t see. And he’s staring right at it. I grin wolfishly, knowing he must have found the picture I planted there when he took a shower upon first arriving at our house.
My heart pounds and my pulse races as I realize I’ll never be allowed back in my house if my dad finds out about this stunt I’m pulling. Then again, dad’s a pushover, not that I want to test him.
The only man I want to test is the one here, who’s resolve I’m about to break…and as the holder of the hymen, I want him to break. Tonight.
My dad’s piss drunk, waving at strippers and tossing singles, making a complete fool of himself. Gio on the other hand looks stone-cold sober and not even the slightest bit happy to be here. His eyes haven't’ looked up once and it takes my new bff a full three minutes to convince him to leave his seat as she drags him toward the back room, making me wonder how much money in tips those Mötley Crüe songs really bring in…not that I plan on sticking around long enough to find out.
There’s something else that’s sticky that’s on my mind, and hopefully soon to be inside of me. Gio isn’t readily giving in, but he also doesn’t want to make a scene in front of other guys here who might recognize him later in public. I, on the other hand, am ready to give in. Give him everything as he slides inside me.
And I’ll be damned if that’s not happening tonight, or at the latest before I head off to college.
I duck down and race my way toward the champagne room, luckily finding it unused. I lower the lights and check my mask, just before I hear, “He’s all yours,” as Gio stands in front of me.