by Aleah Barley
“Don’t worry, Father. If I get down on my knees, it’s not going to be to pray.”
She collected her frayed nerves and clutched them tight to her chest. Time to break a leg. She turned away and started walking toward the vinyl-clad building.
Click-clack, her strappy heels sounded against the pavement. The familiar rhythm was soothing and hypnotic. Click-clack. Click-clack. Her spine straightened as she walked, and her shoulders thrust back. Her hips began to sway in time to the dance beat she could hear throbbing through the open door.
On the road, she could pretend to be another woman entirely, someone with hopes and dreams that extended past the stage, but once she stepped through that door, she’d be just another dancer hoping to make a buck.
She didn’t hesitate once.
“No women,” the giant man inside the door stated evenly. “Club policy. If your husband’s here, that’s his business. We don’t need you starting fights with the dancers.”
“Sugar, I’ve never been married, and I’m not looking for a wayward boyfriend.” Her voice was a smooth purr. “I’m just looking for a little work.”
The mammoth bouncer nodded slowly, taking the time to look her over, from head to toe. His gaze skimmed her long legs, short-shorts, and tight top, taking it all in with a calculating air that would have made a less experienced woman shrink away in discomfort. When he reached out to run a finger down her arm, she slapped him away. “Don’t touch the merchandise.”
The man laughed. “You’ll do.”
“Thanks.” Gina nodded. “Who do I need to talk to in order to get onstage?”
“The manager’s name is Harvey, but our schedule’s full up for tonight. You’ll probably have to come back tomorrow.” The bouncer turned and pointed toward the back of the big room. “That’s the fellow in charge.”
Gina could have guessed.
The manager was the only guy in the place looking at the customers instead of the dancer up onstage. He was older, with thinning gray hair, and wearing a button-down shirt and gray pants. His gaze was cool as it met Gina’s, and he jerked his head, indicating that she should take a seat on the vinyl bench across from him.
Presentation was everything. She took her time crossing the large room, her hips swaying and her hair bouncing. The place was bigger than it looked from the outside, with two stages and a variety of tables big enough for private dances. There was a DJ booth in the back, but because the music was being piped through the speakers on some kind of loop, Gina figured it had to be an off night.
She eyed the woman onstage, assessing the competition. The dancer was curvy and physical, but she spent too much time doing tricks on the pole and not enough time working the audience. Still, her tips were decent, and the men watching her seemed to appreciate the effort. Gina nodded slowly, taking in the information. It was always good to figure out the lay of the land before getting up onstage herself.
Sliding into the booth across from Harvey, Gina arranged herself carefully before opening negotiations. “I hear you’re the man to talk to.”
“Harvey.” He shook her hand, holding on just a few seconds longer than was necessary. “You looking for a job?”
“You must be psychic.”
“Jimbo let you through the door. Jimbo doesn’t let any woman through the door unless they’re looking for work. That’s his job. You…” Harvey looked her up and down. “You’re a cocktail waitress?”
“I’m a dancer.”
“Not here, you’re not,” he snorted. “My crowd likes them young and nubile. You’ve got the body for it, but you’ve got to be pushing thirty.”
“Uh-huh,” Gina said. “We can skip the part where you try to talk down to me, so you can offer me bad pay and worse shifts. We both know you’re going to let me up onstage or else Jimbo wouldn’t have let me in at all. I bet that’s also part of his job.”
Harvey nodded slowly, conceding the point. “Tomorrow, you can work the early shift.”
“Tonight,” she countered. “You let me audition—give me one dance—and if I’m good enough, you put me on with your best girls tomorrow.” He’d be left in the lurch when she didn’t show up, but at the moment, she really didn’t care.
“An audition’s not a bad idea.” Harvey nodded. “Of course, since you don’t work here, we’ll be keeping all the tips.”
“Seventy-thirty split, my favor.”
“Seventy-thirty’s what I give the girls who already have jobs. Sixty-forty—my way—and I’ll loan you some clothes so you don’t embarrass yourself.”
Okay, so maybe her short-shorts weren’t exactly the cutest thing she owned. Gina huffed. She’d chosen the outfit because it was comfortable, not because she wanted to draw attention. She nodded slowly, considering the proposition. “Fifty-fifty and I keep the clothes.”
There was a long pause. “Agreed.” Harvey laughed. “You got a name I should use?”
“Ginger.” She’d been Regina back when she worked at the Beavertail, but that girl had died the night the strip club burned to the ground. Ginger sounded like a whole lot more fun. “Ginger Snap.”
“Like the biscuit?”
“It’s a cookie.” Gina told him the song she wanted to dance to and then waited for Harvey to flag down one of the women giving lap dances.
“Ginger here is going to audition for us tonight,” he said. “She thinks she’s got what it takes to make it in showbiz.”
The woman—a leggy blonde in a pair of dark stockings and a pink onesie—rolled her eyes. “Don’t be a jackass, Harvey.”
He waved a hand dismissively. “Show her backstage and give her one of the extra costumes. I’ll get her music set up.”
“You pick a good song?” the blonde asked. “I don’t want to be stuck lap dancing to ‘I’m a Little Teapot.’”
“Don’t worry,” Gina laughed. “I’ve done this before.”
“Good to hear.” The dancer turned in her high heels and led Gina backstage. There was a narrow hallway with a series of doors leading off in either direction. “I don’t feel like giving the usual newbie orientation tonight.” She opened a door, revealing a closet full of clothing with the tags still attached.
“The extra costumes are in here. Harvey makes us buy them out of our tips, but if you stick around, you’re better off running over to Springfield to stock up with the rest of the girls. My dressing room is the one with the star on the door. You can use it if you want—help yourself to the makeup, too. The boys here like a full face.” There was a small pause. “I don’t know where you’ve danced before, but this is a nice place—better than most. Just remember to smile and you should do just fine.”
“Thanks.” She forced a thin smile onto her lips. “I’m Gina—”
“Stop.” The blonde cut her off. “You can tell me your name if you come back tomorrow.”
Chapter Twelve
Flicking her way through the piles of costumes, Gina ran her fingers over soft satin and scratchy polyester. It took her a moment to find what she was looking for near the back of the collection.
She took the clothes into the offered dressing room and changed quickly, shucking off her short-shorts and pulling on a pair of black hot pants, her finally dry bra, and a red button-down top that managed to hide the scrape marks on her arms, even while it revealed everything else.
The dressing room was small. It had a futon shoved along one wall and a vanity up against the other. When she’d finished getting dressed, she took a moment to look at herself in the full-length mirror hanging on the back of the door.
She didn’t look like a nubile eighteen-year-old anymore, and she never would again.
Frankly, she couldn’t care less.
She looked good.
She fluffed her hair, pursed her lips, and smiled as the first soft sounds of her favorite dancing song sounded over the in-house speakers.
Time to rock and roll.
Click-clack. Her heels moved across the floor as she stepped out onto t
he stage with the rough rock rhythm of Theory of a Deadman’s “Bad Girlfriend” echoing in her ears.
The moment her body started to move, she knew she’d made a mistake. She’d been overconfident, picking something more modern instead of a song she’d danced to back in the day. “Bad Girlfriend” had a good beat and a thudding bass that made everyone who heard it think of sex, but the only routine she knew to go with it involved twenty-four other girls and a showstopping headliner.
She pivoted toward the audience, grinding her ass in time to the music, trying to clear her head and concentrate on the beat echoing up off the floorboards.
Her footwork was perfect, her moves were carefully thought out, but her heart wasn’t in it.
The last time she’d stripped for money, she’d been an entirely different person. Young—sure—but also hopeful in a way she couldn’t quite remember. She’d honestly believed that the stage was a road to a better life, that one day, one of the men passing through the Beavertail would invite her back to the VIP room, but instead of just thrusting awkwardly against her, he’d be a perfect gentleman.
They’d talk.
They’d laugh.
He’d fly in and rescue her like some goddamn hero.
It had never happened. Strippers didn’t get rescued—not by customers—and the only men who’d talked to her for more than ten minutes had been the handsy bouncers.
Gina blinked hard, struggling to concentrate on the present instead of falling back into the horrors of her past.
Some of the men in the club were nodding along in time to the music, but no one was reaching out to tuck a handful of dollar bills into the band of her shorts.
Damn. She forced her brightest smile onto her face, but nothing happened.
The song was a little under three and a half minutes long. That meant she had almost three minutes to turn things around.
Time to move away from the pole and start working the crowd.
Her hips swiveled. She tossed her hair back and stalked across the stage, heading toward the largest group of men and—
A bright streak of blue combed cotton caught her gaze, and she shifted slightly to stare at Finn. He’d followed her directions and entered the club while she was changing clothes, but he hadn’t picked a seat in the back of the room like she’d expected.
Nope, he’d chosen to sit as close to the stage as possible.
His sapphire eyes were locked on her. His legs splayed out in front of him, making him look as if he’d just flopped down on the couch to watch his favorite television show. For a man who’d never been inside a strip club, he looked surprisingly comfortable.
His gaze met hers, and for a moment, heat roared its way through her body like wildfire.
Gina grinned, remembering the blow job she’d given him a few hours ago. He hadn’t been so high and mighty while he’d been thrusting into her mouth.
Her body started to relax.
Her movements became more fluid.
She stopped worrying about how many years it had been since her last time grinding against the pole and started concentrating on the man in front of her. The only man whose opinion she really cared about.
Finn’s eyes went dark with lust. His cheeks were red. His soft shirt clung to firm biceps and a chest she wanted to lick all the way down. He looked like a knight in shining armor, ready to pull her up behind him on his white horse.
And when he looked at her as if she was the most important person in the world? All sex and steam and primal lust…then he was someone else entirely.
Yeah, that did things to her insides.
The pounding beat of the song’s chorus started to repeat in the background.
Gina did a slow turn for the crowd, grinding in time to the music. She dropped down low and ran her arms down over her body.
Things had changed.
She wasn’t a teenager anymore. She knew better than to hope for a quick rescue and an easy solution. But now, there was finally a hero sitting in the audience.
Time to dance.
…
Finn didn’t recognize the song playing over the club’s speakers, but that didn’t stop the words from resonating deep within him. They were pure sex, and when Gina started dancing?
Yeah, he’d had to tug at his jeans to make more room around his crotch.
He might have been a priest—once upon a time—but he definitely wasn’t a saint. Not when he could still remember the heat of her lips mingled with the taste of his come.
Gina was pure sex, and when she looked in his direction, it sparked something deep inside him. It was like electricity had replaced the blood in his veins. If he didn’t watch out, she was going to burn him up, and—damn—he wanted that more than he’d ever wanted anything else in the world.
His hand twitched with the need to tug her down off the stage and run his hands all over her delicious curves. She must have gotten new clothes somewhere, because silky black hot pants clung to her peach-shaped ass while a strawberry shirt was tied tight underneath her full, heavy breasts.
When she bent down, he could see the same black lace bra that had been tantalizing him with small glimpses ever since he’d picked Gina up on the road. Acres of for-his-eyes-only skin came into view as she sauntered away from him.
A crowd of men near the far end of the stage started cheering excitedly as she walked up to them. They clapped their hands and shouted, waving hands full of dollar bills.
Of course, Finn was simply reacting to the dancing, just like the other guys in here. He bit his lip, cursing himself for being a fool.
Gina was a professional. She was doing exactly what she had to do in order to elicit the response she wanted from any man who happened to be watching.
That didn’t stop his hands from curling into fists as he watched one man after another reach out to run their hands across her dangerous curves, tucking bills into the waist of her shorts and stuffing them down the front of her shirt.
“Take off the top,” a man shouted loudly, and Gina winked in his direction.
The music was still pounding away in the background, the chorus starting a third time.
Dollar bills fluttered down to hit the stage as the strawberry top popped open and Gina gyrated closer to her fans, displaying a brilliant red cherry tattooed low on her right hip. This time, they weren’t just touching her over the shirt. Their rough, dirty fingers were skimming the soft flesh that Finn had felt moving against him only a few hours ago.
Back when he’d thought there was something noble about pushing her away.
Thank God that hadn’t worked.
He never wanted Gina to go away. Not if he had a choice.
He wanted to strip off his shirt and cover her, ending the show with a sharp snarl to the crowd.
He wanted to pull her warm body tight against his, so he could feel the rhythm of her dance and the beat of her heart.
He wanted to lick her tattoo the same way she’d tasted the cross on his chest.
He needed to claim her in front of the entire nightclub, threading his fingers through her hair and drawing her mouth down to meet his.
Finn had never wanted anything more. It was a physical ache inside him, a direct connection between his heart and his cock.
Forget all the promises he’d made when he was too young to really understand what they meant. Forget what he deserved—a lonely life spent staring at the off-white walls of his one-bedroom apartment. Forget his fantasies about forever. If he could, he’d tug Gina’s shorts down, bend her over the stage, and thrust deep inside her in front of God and everyone.
Just the thought of burying himself in her hot, wet core was enough to make his dick leak.
And then Gina glanced in his direction and winked.
Finn’s breath caught in his throat.
What had she said out in the truck? He was the only man whose opinion she cared about. The only one who could make her feel bad about herself. She might be working the crowd like a pro, but ever
y move she made belonged to him.
His chest pumped up with pride. He straightened in his seat.
The other men could watch her as much as they wanted, but he was the only one who knew how she tasted—like sunshine and spun sugar. He was the only one who could recognize her sweet lilac scent under the stench of sour beer and fried food that permeated the strip club.
Gina’s long legs ate up the distance between them. When she lowered herself down off the stage and onto his lap, Finn was too far gone to care about watching eyes. All he could do was thrust up between her muscular thighs, his denim-covered cock rubbing against her core.
Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see the other men shouting their objections and waving bills in Gina’s direction.
Her body never stopped moving, providing a source of friction he didn’t even know he needed. In another few seconds, he’d be coming in his pants like a high school kid who’d just discovered girls.
And he hadn’t even touched her.
Not this time.
Who cared if he didn’t deserve her? If he couldn’t be trusted to keep his promises? The devil was already warming up Finn’s seat in hell. He might as well make the most of it by taking Gina in his arms and holding on to her tight…for as long as she’d let him.
Finn lifted his hands reverently, skimming his fingers across her full hips and narrow waist. One thumb flicked up to rub against the rough lace.
Gina grinned, her expression so free and lighthearted anyone would think she was at an ice cream social or on a first date with a good man.
If there was a woman worth making promises to—a woman worth trying to keep those promises—it was Gina. It wasn’t just the way she looked or the way she moved, although there was nothing wrong with either of those things. No, it was her resilience, the way she could still smile after going through so much.
She was brave, honest, and true…and he wanted her desperately.