“Yes, of course. It’s one thousand dollars a month. Unless you sign on for a full year.”
Oh. I didn’t have a year to wait.
She continued, “Along with the forms, I’ll send over a credit card authorization form.”
Of course. A thousand dollars for a few dates? I wasn’t sure that even meeting the man of my dreams was worth a thousand dollars.
“Thank you, Miss Strong. I’ll be on the lookout for your forms.”
If she mentioned the forms one more time, I would have exploded.
“Spark, I don’t know why you couldn’t have worn something a bit more modest?” Our Uber driver tore across the city toward Chelsea, where we’d be catching Brade’s show, blasting through almost every red light. I should have taken the bus. I’d rather get mugged than die in a Honda Accord.
Yes, I’d caved and texted Brade. How often was it one was offered VIP tickets to see a major rock star?
If you were me, never.
“Uh, Maiz, there is nothing wrong with how I’m dressed. I just like to show off a little.” She sniffed and looked out the car window, the streetlamps flashing light, then dark, then light again on her annoyed face.
I don’t know why I cared. Her halter-top was open nearly to her navel, but it wasn’t my problem. If she bent forward, the girls would be out for the world to see.
Like I said, it wasn’t my problem.
There was a line out in front of the club, but the driver dropped us where the velvet rope started. A huge bouncer—were there any bouncers who weren’t huge?—was evaluating the breast sizes of the women waiting to get in.
We walked right up to him like we had the biggest tits in the city. Which, of course, we did not.
The moment of truth. Had Brade really left our names at the door? Or would we be humiliated and told to get at the end of the line like the average Joes we really were?
I’d be heading back home if that happened. No way was I waiting in line if we didn’t get right in. In fact, I had my finger on the Uber app, ready to cut my losses and go home to a nice bubble bath.
But magically, the velvet ropes parted. We were in. I think it might have had something to do with Sparkle leaning forward and letting her boobs hang out, because bouncer guy didn’t even look up our names on the list. In fact, I wasn’t sure there even was a list. But who was I to look a gift horse in the mouth?
The club was dark and sexy, just like I knew it would be, with small groups of people in clusters of clubby-looking sofas and chairs. They were all amazingly good-looking and wearing the coolest clothes—the women wearing not much at all, and the guys in dark-wash jeans and T-shirts that looked like they’d been starched to within an inch of their lives.
Sparkle and I elbowed our way up to the bar, and she ordered us a couple fancy cocktails, because I guess that’s what you did at a place like that. A beer or glass of wine would clearly have been way too common for people like us who’d been invited to party with celebs.
“Well, if it isn’t my lawyer,” a voice said from behind me.
Sparkle and I whipped around and there stood Brade in all his rocker glory—those sexy as hell low-slung jeans and a leather vest with no shirt underneath. His arms were covered in a crazy assortment of tattoos that I couldn’t make out in the dim light, but his gray eyes and smile were front and center.
For me.
Okay, play it cool, girl. Heads were turning to stare at him, but the looky-loos were too cool to approach him. Which worked just perfect, for me.
“Brade!” I said, like I hung out with rock stars every day. I even leaned forward and did the air-kiss thing.
I got this shit.
My sister stuck her hand out, almost hitting me with it. I could swear she arched her back a little so her tits were more prominent.
More power to ya, girl.
“I’m Sparkle, Maizy’s sister.”
Holy shit, did her nipples just get hard? How did she do that?
When Brade extended his hand back, Sparkle pulled him into an air kiss just like I’d done. He air kissed her right back. Stars probably did that all the time.