by Claire Kent
It took real effort to keep her eyes away from him. And every time her gaze drifted back, the man was looking at her too.
Her heartbeat accelerated at the idea that she’d caught his attention.
Not that she would ever date a man she met in a club like this. She had fairly high standards for romantic relationships. She was looking for an educated, attractive professional who would fit into her social circle, wouldn’t be intimidated by her family’s affluence, and was basically moral and upstanding. The guy she had in mind wouldn’t spend any time in a place like this.
But it was still nice. That he’d noticed her.
Of course, he might have just noticed her because she kept looking over at him.
When the lights briefly dimmed, signaling the beginning of a new act, she shook her head at the squeals from the women around her. She couldn’t help but wonder yet again what they found so appealing.
The brief shared glances with the guy in the back were a lot sexier and more exciting than any of the vulgar moves from these dancers or their unnaturally shiny, beefed-up bodies, with everything on display.
When three men dressed as soldiers came out onstage amid ecstatic shouts from the women, Elizabeth let out a resigned sigh and discreetly glanced back toward the bar.
The man was no longer there.
She told herself not to be disappointed. Meeting a guy’s eyes a few times wasn’t any sort of a sign or a promise. It didn’t mean he wanted to talk to her or get to know her. It didn’t mean she would ever see him again.
She tried to keep smiling so Melissa wouldn’t call her uptight, but as the evening progressed, she found it harder and harder to fake interest—especially since the good-looking mystery man never made a reappearance.
During a fireman routine, as the performers spread out into the audience, one of the guys came over to her and wanted to give her a lap dance.
She tried to decline—the attention she’d had from a dancer earlier had been more than enough for her—but her friends all demanded she participate so she felt trapped into doing so.
The guy was attractive and very young, and he was playful rather than genuinely sexy, but still….She found the whole act of him grinding against her with his hips—all of his “assets” fully visible beneath the tight briefs—so uncomfortable it was almost repellant.
She kept the plastered smile on her face and hurriedly offered him a tip afterward, but she pulled away as soon as she could without offending him or Melissa.
She should never have come here tonight.
She sat stiffly for a few minutes afterward, blindly watching the tight butt of the guy as he made his way back onstage.
“It’s really not that bad,” Katie said, leaning over close enough to be heard over the music. “You don’t need to act like you’re being tortured.”
“I know. I just hate this.”
Katie was Elizabeth’s best friend, and she was the only one of the women at this table with whom she could be fully open and share what she felt. “Just laugh at it,” Katie said. “A lot of the women here are having fun because they think it’s funny. You could try to enjoy it that way.”
“You don’t think it’s sexy, do you?” Elizabeth asked.
Katie was eying a gorgeous black man who was built like a rock. “Not all the moves, no. But I don’t mind looking at the guys.”
Elizabeth frowned, vaguely disappointed in her friend and genuinely confused about the look in her eyes. Katie was married to exactly the kind of man Elizabeth was looking for. Her husband Steve was a nice-looking lawyer with good manners and a good sense of humor. He loved their two kids, and he made a very good income.
Occasionally Elizabeth would feel jealous when she looked at Katie’s life. She didn’t want Steve herself, but she wanted a family and lifestyle like that. It had all worked out so smoothly and perfectly for Katie, but Elizabeth couldn’t even find a guy that she was remotely interested in dating.
Steve wasn’t any sort of movie star, but Elizabeth thought he was more attractive than the overinflated physicality of the strippers in this club.
“Nothing wrong with looking,” Katie said with a little smile. “You know guys do it too.”
“I know. But just looking doesn’t do it for me.” When Katie laughed, Elizabeth hurriedly explained, “I mean, I don’t get excited by a body in a vacuum. I need something more.”
Katie didn’t even seem to hear her, since she was ogling another one of the strippers.
Elizabeth sighed and tried to consciously loosen up and find something to enjoy about this experience.
She tried and tried and tried and tried—until she was absolutely exhausted from working on loosening up.
Finally, she couldn’t stand the noise, the gyrations, the crude physicality any longer. Maybe it meant she was uptight. Maybe it meant she was repressed. Maybe it meant she was boring and vanilla. But she didn’t like this, and she didn’t want to be in this room anymore.
She told the others that she needed to go to the bathroom, and she maneuvered her way through the crowd until she could shut the restroom door on the screaming and pulsing music.
She didn’t like to sit on public toilets and she didn’t really need to go, so she just stood in a stall and tried to breathe, gradually relaxing her body, which she hadn’t realized had been so tense.
Maybe she could pretend to be sick, so she could go home. It would probably be another hour before her friends were ready to leave.
She stayed as long as she could in the bathroom, until there was another break between acts and several women entered at the same time. Since she felt bad about occupying a stall she didn’t really need, she flushed the toilet with her foot and went to wash her hands, giving a polite smile to the middle-aged woman wearing a sash that said I’M 50 YEARS YOUNG, who was waiting for an available stall.
When Elizabeth left the bathroom, she wasn’t yet ready to face the main room again, so she lingered in the foyer, near the door, pulling out her phone so she could pretend to be texting, which would give her an excuse if anyone was wondering why she wasn’t going back in.
She was so absorbed in tapping out nonsense fake text messages that she didn’t notice anyone approaching her until a low, male voice said, “You’re going to miss the next act.”
Elizabeth jerked in surprise, looking up from her phone to see the handsome mystery man she’d noticed earlier by the bar.
Up close, she saw that he had smoky gray eyes, a hint of stubble on his strong chin, and an elaborate scene was inked down both of his arms.
“Oh,” she said, feeling rattled, since he’d surprised her and she was still ridiculously attracted to him. “That’s okay.”
“You aren’t enjoying it.” The words were a statement rather than a question.
She made a face. “I’m sure the guys are doing a great job, but it’s not really my thing.”
“Why did you come then?” He didn’t look offended or annoyed—just curious.
“It was my friend’s idea. This is her bachelorette party.”
His eyes lingered on her face with an intentionality that confused and excited her. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
She had to pause a moment to think through what he meant, and she could feel her heartbeat accelerate even more. Her skin flushed slightly. “I came because I didn’t want to offend my friend. Why else would I have come?”
“I don’t know.” His lips lifted very slightly in a small smile that was sexy and strangely entitled. “So why aren’t you enjoying it?”
She gave a small half-shrug. It was odd to have such a personal conversation with a stranger, but it felt inevitable somehow, as if she’d been waiting all her life to be talking to him. “It’s not my thing.”
“You said that before. I was wondering why.” He moved a little closer, his eyes never leaving her face, except to glance down her body.
She wore black capris and a blue top with a scoop neck that made her breasts look b
igger than they were. She thought she looked pretty good tonight, and it seemed like maybe this guy thought so too. “I just don’t see the appeal,” she admitted. “It’s really not sexy to me.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No. I’m surprised so many women do. The guys have good bodies—sure—but it’s all so blatant, right there in your face, and the moves seem kind of silly and over-the-top. That’s not sexy to me.”
Again, he had that little smile on his face, as if he knew her, understood her, in a way that he couldn’t possibly. “So what is sexy to you?”
“I don’t know. Different things. But I need…I don’t know…some kind of context to find someone or something sexy. I need a story behind it. You can’t just thrust a buff body in my face and expect me to get excited about it. That might work with guys, but it doesn’t work with a lot of women.”
“There’s a theory that men are turned on with their eyes and women are turned on with their hearts.”
“Yeah,” she said with a smile, feeling strangely validated. “It’s something like that, I guess. This is all about the eyes.”
“Maybe. But I don’t think that theory is universally true. Why shouldn’t women get turned on with their eyes as much as men?”
Elizabeth frowned, her relief from the moment before fading. “I don’t know. Maybe some of them do. I’m just saying that I don’t.”
“I think it’s because you’ve never allowed yourself.” He had a low, mesmerizing note in his voice that made everything he said seem like a seduction, even when it obviously wasn’t.
“Why would you think that?”
“I can get a sense of a person quickly, and I’ve already gotten a good sense of you.”
He was smiling again, but Elizabeth stiffened her shoulders since she suddenly wasn’t sure she wanted to hear his assessment of her. “That’s kind of presumptuous.”
“It’s very presumptuous, but that doesn’t mean I’m not right.”
“Okay, fine. If you’re so good at reading people, what have you read about me?”
“You come from money—maybe not huge wealth, but you always had enough growing up, and your parents indulged you. Your purse and shoes are really expensive, so you must still have plenty in the bank. Maybe you’ve got some sort of cushy job, thanks to your parents’ connections.”
This was partly true, but not entirely true, and she sucked in an indignant gasp at the implications. “I worked hard for the job I have.”
“I believe it,” he said, his eyes still resting on her face. “You’ve probably been an overachiever all your life, never wanting to disappoint anyone.”
“What makes you say that?” She didn’t bother denying this. Everyone who knew her would testify that it was true.
“I watched you with your friends—all those fake smiles you put on. You didn’t want to offend or disappoint them by admitting how much you wanted to get out of here.”
“Oh.” She swallowed hard, feeling a buzzing now in her chest, her head, her fingertips—like something important was about to happen. “I don’t like to disappoint people, but that’s true about a lot of women.”
“It’s particularly true about you. And I think it might explain why you’re having such a hard time here.”
She was starting to get annoyed. “It does not. It has nothing to do with not enjoying that whole silly scene in there.”
“I think it does. A lot of the women here find it sexy. They find it a turn-on to be able to live out in that room what they can’t at home—a fantasy man who is completely focused on them and their pleasure. But some of them don’t find it sexy. They come here for other reasons—to let down their inhibitions, to enjoy themselves with their friends without worrying about the impression they’re making on others, to take off the armor they habitually wear around all the men in their lives. It’s not about sex for them. It’s about shedding what normally restrains them. Even if you don’t find those guys sexy, why can’t you at least enjoy it for a different kind of release?”
It was a serious question—not an insult or reproach—but she still felt strangely defensive. “I don’t have any impulse to shed restraints or inhibitions, and I don’t think there’s something wrong with me for not wanting that.”
“I didn’t say anything was wrong with you. Just that maybe there’s a side of yourself that you haven’t gotten to know yet.”
For some reason, the way he said the words sent a little shiver down her spine.
“Who are you, anyway?” she demanded, even more rattled than before but now having to struggle not to laugh at his bold nonchalance.
“Matt Stokes.” He reached out for her hand, and she automatically returned the handshake, his fingers strong and warm as they wrapped around hers.
He didn’t release her hand immediately, and she didn’t pull hers back.
“Elizabeth,” she said.
“I bet everyone calls you Elizabeth, don’t they? No one calls you Liz or Lizzie or Beth.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing’s wrong with that. Why do you think I’m judging you? It was just an observation. I wasn’t insulting you.”
“Weren’t you?”
“No. I wasn’t.” He was still holding her hand in his grip, and his eyes never left hers.
Elizabeth suddenly felt a tremor of anxiety. This man was a stranger. She didn’t know anything about him. She shouldn’t be responding to him like this.
She pulled her hand away.
He didn’t make an effort to hold onto it. “If you’d occasionally indulge another side of yourself, you’d learn to enjoy what happens in there.” He gestured with his head toward the main room of the club, where the music and squeals had started up again.
“I doubt it. There’s no part of me that would ever find all that humping and gyrating sexy.”
“That’s because you’re only looking at this from one perspective. If you’d let go of some of your assumptions, you might surprise yourself.”
“It’s ridiculous to think that all women are the same or that there’s something wrong with me for not liking all that stupid grinding. It’s not about letting go or loosening up. It’s about what actually does it for me. And that—” she waved a hand to indicate the whole performance—“doesn’t do it for me at all.”
“Maybe.” He arched his eyebrows. “But I bet that if you came to this club twice a week for, say, a month, you’d find yourself really enjoying it. You’d want to keep coming back.”
“I definitely would not.”
“I think you would.”
The man’s presumption was astonishing. She really shouldn’t be humoring him by having this argument at all.
But she was undeniably enjoying the banter, as much as she was enjoying his sexiness and the mystery around him.
“I promise I wouldn’t. If I could even make it through a month of this, I’d be thrilled not to ever have to set foot in this building again.”
“I think that’s a challenge then.”
“What’s a challenge?”
“You visit this club twice a week for the next month, and we’ll see who’s right at the end of it.” There was a gleam of amusement in his eyes, but his face was otherwise perfectly sober.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I’m not kidding. I’m issuing a real challenge.”
“What’s the bet then?”
“It’s not a bet. It’s a challenge. Whoever wins will get the satisfaction of being right. You claim to not be holding anything back. Here’s a way to prove it.”
“I don’t want to come here again. I can barely make it through one evening.”
“I should have known you wouldn’t want to accept a real challenge. You always play it safe, don’t you?”
“You don’t know me at all.”
“Then prove it.”
“Maybe I will.”
“We’re open to the public on Thursdays and Saturdays.”
“How
will you even know if I keep coming back?”
“I’ll be here. I’m here every night.”
“Are you security or something?” For the first time since she’d initially seen him, she wondered what he was actually doing here, standing around in the back of a male strip club.
“Something,” he replied. “So I’ll see you on Thursday, and we’ll see if you really can accept a challenge.”
She started to reply, but he was walking away, summoned by one of the shirtless waiters.
She watched him go, and she suddenly asked herself what the hell had gotten into her. Had she actually agreed to some sort of ridiculous game that would force her into coming back to this vulgar club twice a week for an entire month?
She couldn’t imagine anything less appealing.
Anything except admitting to this strange, sexy, arrogant man that he was right about her after all.
—
Matt Stokes tried—unsuccessfully—to keep from watching Elizabeth as she made her way back to her table.
Everything was going smoothly tonight, and nothing needed his attention, so he didn’t actually try very hard to fight the instinct.
She was gorgeous with that auburn hair, fair skin, and those startlingly blue eyes. She wasn’t particularly small, but there was something about her that felt fragile, delicate, as if she were made of porcelain or crystal.
She looked like she could break if treated too roughly, so it was ironic that he wanted to fuck her hard.
“Who is that?” Robbie asked, evidently noticing his preoccupation.
Robbie was the bartender and had been with the club since Matt’s father opened it thirty years ago—a grizzled man with a perpetually laid-back manner and a keen eye for human behavior.
Matt raised his eyebrows as he turned away from where Elizabeth was laughing, a little self-consciously, with her friends. “A customer. I was talking to her out front.”
“Why?”
“Bored.”
Robbie gave a mild snort.
Matt didn’t bother to ask the source of his amusement. “She’s interesting.”
“I thought customers were off-limits.”