Pretty Little Thing (Central Valley U)

Even if that person is currently trying to ice me out.

I feel like an idiot. What kind of guy books the VIP room at a strip club just to tell the stripper he won’t be coming back anymore?

Seriously, how is this my life?

“Fuck!” I groan, pressing my head into the seatback.

Maybe I should have made a move on Birdie. I’ve had months to do it. Why didn’t I?

Better yet, what’s stopping me?

No sooner than I think it does a crystal-fucking-clear image of Frankie and Maverick replace it.

They’re why I won’t make a move on Birdie. She’s hot as hell—a literal fantasy come to life—but Frankie, she’s…I don’t even have the words to describe the way she makes me feel.

Birdie gets my dick hard, but Frankie lights every single nerve ending in my body on fire just by smiling at me.

Finally, I force myself to cut the engine and head inside. I don’t actually have the time, but I swing by the bar first and order myself a double pour of whiskey.

I sling it back as I walk toward the hall that leads to my Birdie. The bouncer tips his head at me as I approach. “Cutting it close tonight.”

“Yup.”

He narrows his eyes. “You haven’t been by in a while.”

“Been busy.”

We stare each other down for a brief moment, and then he nods and shows me to my room. “You know the rules.”

“That I do.”

He closes the door, and I take a seat on the couch, dread settling in my gut like a lead weight.

She probably won’t even care, you jackass, my brain taunts. You’re a client with a fat wallet, nothing more.

That’s not true—I’m not crazy and I didn’t imagine our connection. Birdie’s not just a stripper, and I’m not just a client. We…we had sparks.

But what are sparks when Frankie’s a goddamn inferno?

Usually, I’d wait for Birdie’s arrival, sprawled out, anticipation thrumming through me like a live wire.

Tonight, however, I’m uncomfortably stiff, with my back as straight as a steel rod. My heart thunders, and I can’t seem to stop tap-tap-tapping my fingers against the plush velvet of the couch.

My nerves are shot, and I swear to God, if teleportation was a thing, I’d be out of here.

The sound of the door opening jerks me to attention. It’s go time.

Birdie walks in, looking like the physical embodiment of sin in a red dress that looks painted on. Her sky-high heels, glossy lips, and lace mask are all the same shade, giving her an almost devilish look.

However, there’s a small frown pinching her lips, and the way she’s fidgeting with the hem of her dress has me second-guessing myself. Her usual sexy-as-hell confidence is nowhere to be found.

Fuck. Am I going to make her night worse?

“Hey there,” she murmurs, moving to the center of the room.

“Bluebird.” Get it together, man! “I mean Birdie.”

A ghost of a smile crosses her features. “Long time, no see.”

The music starts, a deep, heady rhythm pulsing through the speakers. She begins to sway her hips, and for a moment, I watch, unable to tear my gaze away.

She twists her body and then drops her ass to the floor, her confidence growing with every move.

“Yeah.” I swallow roughly. “Been busy.”

As she crawls toward me, a vision of Frankie flashes through my mind, and I know what I have to do.

Because, no matter how badly I wish it, I can’t have them both. I can’t keep my Bluebird in a cage and my little mama on the back burner. They’re both incredible women who deserve someone’s full attention.

Which is why when she slithers herself between my spread legs and uses my thighs as leverage to pull herself up, I promptly pick her up and set her on the cushion beside me.

“We need to talk.”

Instantly, her entire body goes rigid. “We do?” She wraps her arms around her middle and scooches toward the arm of the couch, putting a few more inches between us. “A-about what?”

You know what to say. You have a plan—stick to the plan. But I don’t. Not even a little.

“I met someone.”

“Oh.” Birdie’s shoulders hunch, and I feel like even more of an asshole than I anticipated. “Is…is it serious?”

“I want it to be,” I answer honestly.

She winces, and then carefully schools her expression before nodding. “Gotcha.”

It might be a trick of the low lighting, but I swear, her eyes are brimming with tears.

“I probably won’t be back.” I tip my head back and laugh at my own stupidity. “Not that you care. God, how much of an ego do I have?”

“I do.” Birdie reaches for me and then yanks her hands back at the last second, twisting her fingers together in her lap. “Care, I mean.” She bites her lip and then sucks in a deep breath, holding it for a beat and then blowing it out. “You’re not like most of the other guys who come here. They look at me and just see some nameless, faceless fantasy. I’m not even a real person to them. I’m a doll for them to throw singles at and jerk off to once they go home.”