Dirty Laundry (Get Dirty 2)

Maggie sounds happy, and she probably is. “Nothing flashy. You’re better off if you don’t take attention from the working girls. They’re . . . touchy. Just jeans, something casual and comfortable. Tell them you’re looking for Megan.”

I nod, then remember she can’t see me. “Okay, I’ll be there in a few.”

After I hang up, I take her advice and keep it simple, just jeans and a t-shirt, not dumpy but not flashy. My hair and face are a lost cause, though. Five minutes of scrubbing only makes my cheeks and eyes look like I’m tweaking out or something. I pull my hair into a poufy messy bun that takes advantage of a freshly fucked look and slick on little bit of lip gloss. Looking in the mirror, I know it’s barely passable, but fuck it. It’s all I’ve got in me right now, and I head down to catch a ride over to the club.

The Uber driver gives me an odd look when he pulls up, verifying the address. I smile. Guess he doesn’t drop off many single women to a female strip club at one in the morning.

The bouncer at the door looks like a monster, muscled and tattooed and looking more like an MMA fighter than a late-night doorman. His biceps are bulging against the crisp white button-down shirt he has on, his black jeans are slung low on narrow hips, and his boots look heavy enough to crack a skull with a solid kick. He’s intimidating. Every pore of his body exudes a dangerous coolness that lets you know up front that he could fuck you up and walk away without a scratch. Oddly, it reassures me. There’s no way shit goes down in this club without Mr. Chill here taking care of it. Maggie couldn’t be safer, and in re-evaluating him, I guess you could call him handsome in his own way. Kinda the way a lion is pretty . . . from afar, and when it’s not looking at you like dinner. I’m not sure how this guy is looking at me though. His eyes are hidden behind mirrored shades, probably for the intimidation factor.

He obviously notices me though, raising an eyebrow just enough that I can see it over the rim of his glasses as I approach. “You here hunting your man?” he rumbles in a voice that promises violence if someone pushes him too far. “We don’t want any old ladies causing problems.”

I shake my head, giving him the most reassuring smile I can muster right now. “No, just meeting a friend. She works here . . . Megan? Short, pretty, and sweet as pie?”

The smile he gives is so fleeting that if I wasn’t watching his face intently, I’d never know his mouth had even twitched a quarter-inch at the edges or that his chin dipped maybe a half-inch. “Meg’s here, all right. I’ll waive the cover for you since you’re her friend.”

I nod my thanks and step inside, uncertain about this but desperate for help. Inside, it’s dark and smells like a mixture of stale beer and floral perfume with an undercurrent of cigarette smoke that immediately scratches at the back of my throat. When Maggie told me she was working at a strip club, the first thought that came to my mind was sleazy, but the tasteful decorations and the women I can see are way too high-quality for that label. Maybe . . . erotic? I’d need my thesaurus at home to really get it right.

The music is thumping, the heavy bass pulsing through my chest as a stunning woman wearing black heels, lingerie that basically consists of a few skinny strings, and a seductive smile is twirling and working up and down a pole on stage. It’s an amazing display of strength and grace, and the acrobatics momentarily stun me, but when someone bumps me from behind, I remember to move and work my way toward an empty table off to the side.

There’s no way I’d want to be close to the action here, looking at the leering faces of the jackals surrounding the stage. It’s a shame too, because for all of the sexual arousal hanging in the air, the dancer’s routine is as beautiful and elegant as it is sexy.

Randomly, a thought pops in my head to check out a pole fitness class, but before it can solidify, Maggie struts up. She’s glittery still, but at least she’s wearing a top and clothes, although I don’t think I’ve ever imagined Mags in a black bustier top and miniskirt before. “Hey, honey! You made it, you must really need some help. Want me to grab you a beer, or do you need something a little stronger?”

I consider asking for a shot, but I know I need to keep my head straight to figure a way out of this. “Just a beer. Gotta keep my head straight. Anything good on tap?”