Dirty Deeds (Get Dirty 3)

Ironically, this undercover gig is pretty sweet and is paying more than half my bills now anyway. It was an odd realization that the writing and research I love to do and went to school for are actually less financially rewarding than playing airhead and slinging drinks.

Not sure what that says about our society, but it’s not anything complimentary.

I hear the DJ talking loudly over the mic, adding some hype to our last performer of the night and telling everyone in the club to get their last drink and get the fudge out. He doesn’t use those words, of course, but I censor them in my head like I sometimes do.

I drop one last pitcher and the check at Finger-Sucking-Guy’s table and he clears his throat. “Uhm, hey, so I don’t wanna piss off the bouncer or nothing, but what are you doing tonight? Wanna party?”

I forcefully contain my eye roll, choosing to twirl my hair around my finger and kicking my voice up an octave. I deal with this at least once a week. Can’t get the dancer, go for the waitress. “Oh, no. Sorry, honey, I can’t. I’ve got school in the morning, so I’d better be a good girl and get home.”

The reality is, I’ve been out of school for over three years, but they always believe this excuse because I look a lot younger than my twenty-five years. I still get carded when I buy wine.

Luckily, he takes the refusal gracefully, or maybe he’s worried about Shane showing up again. “Mmm. Yes, you should be a good girl. Get right to bed.”

It’s still flirty and slightly sleazy, but at least he’s not arguing with me. I give a wink and turn, flouncing off to close out my other tables.

Once everyone’s gone and the club is cleaned up, I head backstage to change. Pulling on sweats and a long-sleeve T-shirt, I’m thinking of only a few things. Mainly getting home, taking a good long shower to get the leftover smell of the club off me, and then collapsing into bed. After all, I’ve got to be ready for work at ten . . . and my boss hates it if I’m late.

Chapter 2

Shane

Reaching down, I wrap my hand around the handles of each keg, lifting one with each arm. Marco needs the help restocking or else he’s going to be here until sunrise, so I normally help him out by carrying the kegs up from downstairs while he brings up the bottles he needs and sends in our orders for the suppliers.

My arms are a little tired by the time I get the two kegs up the stairs, and it’s with a grunt of relief that I set them down. Marco’s working the register, checking his money against the Point of Sale system. “You have a good night tonight?”

Marco nods, smirking a little. “Yeah, pretty solid. Decent tips, and with the eye candy from Allie’s new routine, I can’t really complain.”

He waggles his eyes at me, like he expects to chatter on about Allie’s tits or something. It feels like a test. I’m just not sure if it’s a bro one or seeing if I’m aware that Dominick has marked her as off-limits.

Doesn’t really matter either way. I’m a fucking professional and I know that I do not get involved with any of the girls here, whether they’ve been tabbed by Dominick or not. So Marco’s going to be disappointed in my answer. “Yeah, she’s good. She’s been working hard and it’s paying off.”

A couple of the girls come into the club from backstage, and I’m thankful for the break from Marco’s slick vibe. Time to do my actual job and not just help out. “Ladies, let me walk you out.”

They murmur their thanks but basically ignore me, especially Tina, who’s already gabbing away on her phone, telling her babysitter that she’s on the way home. I get it. They’ve got men talking to them all fucking night, and ninety-nine percent of it more or less leads to ‘I wanna fuck.’ They just tune it all out. It’s a survival instinct.

I don’t mind. Walking the girls out is one of my usual duties and the one I take the most seriously. There’s always a chance that some ‘fan’ might not be able to check their fantasy at the heavy door, and I’m here to ensure that doesn’t become a problem. I make sure they get in their cars safely and then watch from the doorway to make sure they pull out alone.

It’s a little sad, really. I can’t imagine any of them as little girls thinking, ‘Hey, when I grow up, I wanna be a stripper.’ But life sometimes doesn’t go according to plan, and we do what we need to so we can get by. So when these girls are under my supervision, they deserve respect and safety, and I’m gonna give that to them, even if no one else in their lives does.