At the Stroke of Midnight (Naughty Princess Club 1)

Tick, tick, tick . . .

“These girls work their asses off. They deal with shitty customers and shitty tips and they do it because they have nothing else. It’s not something new and exciting they thought would be a ton of fun to try out because they’re going through a little bit of a hard time! If you think—”

Tick, tick, tick . . . BOOM!

“Oh, shut the fuck up!” I scream at the top of my lungs, cutting off his tirade.

“Oh, shit . . .” Ariel mutters from behind me.

“I am so sick and fucking tired of people thinking they can tell me what to do!” I shout. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about me, so SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY!”

PJ’s eyes widen and he smartly keeps his mouth closed, but the beast that has been hiding inside of me has been unleashed and there’s no pulling her back in right now.

“A little bit of a hard time? Are you fucking kidding me with that shit?” I yell, advancing on him and poking my finger into the rock-hard wall of his chest, not even caring that I’m screaming in my front yard loud enough for all the neighbors to hear. “You want to know what’s NOT a little bit of a hard time? Finding out your husband has been fucking the babysitter right under your nose, when you tried for THREE GODDAMN YEARS to get him to fuck you, but he didn’t want you, and the closest you’ve come to an orgasm that you didn’t give yourself in thirteen years was from a lap dance you gave the most annoying, egotistical asshole you’ve ever laid eyes on!”

“Oh, she’s going to regret that in the morning when she’s sober,” I hear Belle whisper from her spot next to Ariel.

I ignore everything that’s happening around me and keep right on going. It feels too good to stop now. Like a weight is being lifted from my shoulders, like a ton of bricks is being removed from my back, like a whole swarm of nervous, prude, stuck-up butterflies are finally escaping from my stomach and flying free.

“You want to know what else is NOT a little bit of a hard time? Coming home from grocery shopping one day to find divorce papers and his fucking closet emptied. Oh, and let’s not forget the little motherfucking tidbit of him stealing over five million dollars from his own parents’ company, emptying out our bank accounts, cancelling all of my credit cards, leaving me with NOTHING. And getting hounded and yelled at and threatened by my piece-of-shit in-laws because they seem to think I know where the money is and can just hand that shit over!”

I take a breath and continue gathering steam, not giving one flying fuck that everyone is still standing around in my front yard watching me lose it. Maybe it’s the wine talking, maybe it’s the fact that someone finally pushed me past my breaking point. Whatever it is, I don’t care.

“It’s just soooooo fucking easy and breezy to try and convince your baby girl that her father didn’t leave because he didn’t love her enough. To convince yourself that he didn’t leave because you weren’t fucking good enough!” I shout, blinking back the tears that have started to blur my vision as I continue poking my finger into PJ’s chest, punctuating each word that comes flying out of my mouth. “I didn’t just decide to open a stripping business because I thought it was the easiest option. I’m not a goddamn bored housewife with nothing better to do with my time!”

“I know you’re not. Just let me—”

“I KNOW IT’S HARD WORK, AND I RESPECT EVERY SINGLE WOMAN WHO HAS EVER TAKEN HER CLOTHES OFF FOR MONEY!” I scream, cutting him off again. “I’m not doing this because I think it sounds superfun and exciting. I’m doing this because I don’t know who the hell I am anymore! I’m doing this because I’m so sick and fucking tired of no one seeing me!”

Without even thinking about what I’m doing, I grab the hem of my tank top and rip it off of my body, chucking it as hard as I can at PJ’s face before throwing my arms out wide on either side of me, my chest heaving as I stand here in the middle of my front yard in a red, lacy push-up bra.

“Oh, sweet Jesus. I think we broke Princess Barbie,” Ariel whispers.

“I’m tired of fucking beige! I’m tired of fucking blending in with the goddamn background! I’m tired of no one fucking listening to me and thinking they know me! I’m tired of not having any fucking balls to stand up for myself! I JUST WANT SOMEONE TO FINALLY FUCKING SEE ME AND HEAR ME AND REALIZE—”

PJ’s hands are suddenly cupping my cheeks and before I know it, he’s yanking my face toward him and his lips are on mine. My palms immediately smack against his chest to push him away, but his tongue pushes between my lips and grazes against my own in the most mind-numbing way. I fist the material of his shirt in my hands when he tilts his head to the side and deepens the kiss, his tongue swirling around mine as I let out a small, involuntary moan into his mouth. He tastes like peppermint, smells like heaven, and the way his mouth moves against mine and his tongue works against mine sends tingles down my spine and an explosion of heat between my legs.