Got Mine (Men of Trance Book 1)

by Nicole Loufas

  “She’s from the table that gave me the envelope.”

  “Don’t charge her,” Jim instructs. “I guess I don’t have to tell you to keep it short.”

  I ignore them and head back to the staging area.

  I open the sliding door, and Alee walks in ahead of me. As I close the door, I notice the champagne and glasses. I quickly rub Rachel’s lipstick from the rim and pour two glasses. I hand one to Alee then pull it back.

  “How old are you?” The club is twenty-one and over, but she looks young. Women generally like when I ask this question.

  Alee is not one of them.

  She snatches the flute and downs it then sits the chaise. “Cut the shit, Sway. Are you gonna dance or what?”

  I take her glass and place it on the table. “You can’t wait to see me naked, huh?”

  Alee’s mouth falls open at the thought of me naked. It’s cute. She’s cute.

  I move to the wall with the button. “How come you didn’t sit in the chair during my routine?” I imagine dancing for her in my spandex shorts and get a little wood.

  “Why purple?” she asks, commenting on the color of the chaise and the backlighting. “You’re not gonna dance to ‘Purple Rain,’ are you?”

  I laugh at the thought. “No, we’d be here all night.”

  “Would it be okay if you didn’t dance?”

  I lean on the chaise and look at her with my sexy grin. Honestly, I’m a little disappointed. I was looking forward to dancing for Alee. She’s young and cute and wearing jeans. I can do all my favorite moves on her. All the moves I didn’t get to show Rachel.

  “I’m engaged.”

  I look at her hand and don’t see a ring. She notices and hides it under her thigh.

  “Where is your fiancé tonight?” I sit beside her and brush my bare chest against her arm. I’ve never been a pushy guy when it comes to flirting. This is all new to me.

  Alee looks at my abs, then works her way up. We lock eyes, and she starts to cry.

  Oh shit.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I miss him so much,” she sobs into my shirt.

  I’m a first-class prick. I’m sitting here thinking about rubbing my dick on this girl, and she’s mentally falling apart. The music cuts on, and Alee cries harder.

  “I just want you to hold me. Can you do that? I mean, is it allowed?”

  “Yes.” I run my thumb across her cheek and wipe her tears. Then I take her in my arms and hold her until Jimmy knocks on the door.

  “That’s time, Sway.”

  “Alright,” I yell back.

  She stopped crying a few minutes ago and started rubbing her hand across my chest. There’s a special place in hell for guys that try to fuck an emotionally vulnerable woman. I put all thoughts of her body out of my sick mind and hold her until she feels like letting go. It’s new for me; I always pull away first.

  Alee exhales one long breath then stands and cleans her face in the mirrored wall.

  “Sorry,” she says and points to the makeup smeared on my shirt.

  “Don’t worry about it.” I button my shirt and tuck it into my jeans.

  “Here.” She hands me some folded bills.

  “No.” I wrap my fingers around her hand. “I can’t take your money.”

  “I bought you for a song; I owe you.”

  Her words hurt. Just like earlier, when I tried to stop Rachel from leaving. This is why I refused to do privates. I wanted to maintain what little dignity I had. This is my job. These women don’t see me as a person. I’m just a stripper.

  “It was covered by the tip from your table,” I explain. “We’re good.”

  Alee shrugs and shoves the money in her back pocket. She starts to open the door, then stops. “It’s been a long time since anyone has held me. Thank you, Sway.”

  I step forward and kiss the top of her head.

  “Anytime, Alee.”

  I’m in the dressing room counting my money when Thor walks in with his I-just-came smile.

  “Fucking epic night, bro.” He sits next to me with three envelopes. “How’d you do?”

  I finish counting and look up. “Twelve hundred.”

  “I told you, fucking epic!” He stands and pulls a bottle of shower gel and towel from his locker. “How was the private? Did you get your dick wet?”

  I’m tired of the guys calling me a pussy so I pretend I’m not.

  “Which one?” I brag. As if I even came close. Rachel probably thinks I’m a fucking loser and Alee, well, she just needed a little cuddle therapy.

  “I heard about the one and done.” Thor shakes his head. “Always stack at least three songs for a booked private. You have to give them a little extra to make sure they come back.”

  None of the guys admit to having sex in the private room; it’s a huge no-no. It’s prostitution. But Dain admitted to fingering a chick. I know Gio and Rico have gotten blow jobs.

  Gio was dancing in his G-string, and she pulled his cock out and blew him. It sounds crazy, but it’s true.

  The blowjobs Thor gets in the storage room aren’t about money. It’s like my go with Kari. It was mutual pleasure.

  “I didn’t know about stacking the songs,” I sigh.

  “Well, you should’ve listened to Andre.”

  “My second one went alright.” I won’t tell Thor or even Giovanni about Alee. I doubt any of the other guys would’ve held Alee. I know Giovanni wouldn’t. Dain might’ve held her for a song, but he would’ve come in here and laughed about it afterward. I probably would have laughed too because guys are pricks. Andre must have let that song play six times before Jimmy came knocking. I should thank her for that.

  “Look at you, all grown up and shit.” Thor slaps my back then heads to the shower.

  I place the money in my wallet and slip my shoes on. It’s been a long night, and I’m tired physically and emotionally. I order an Uber and head outside. The back door leads to an alley behind the club. It’s narrow and smells like vomit and trash. My shoes slosh in dirty puddles of water as I walk towards the main street to meet my Uber down the street. I always have them meet me in front of the check cashing place, not that I’m embarrassed to work at Trance. I like to leave that part of my life in the building.

  As soon as I hit the sidewalk on Montgomery Street, it starts raining again. I duck under the awning of a Thai restaurant and slide my backpack on both shoulders. I run to the corner, and a black SUV stops in front of me. The rear passenger window goes down, and Rachel appears.

  “Need a ride?”

  I slide into the back of the black on black Escalade and close the door.

  “Where do you live?” Rachel seems like a sane woman, but you never know. Plus, Rachel sounds like a stalker name.

  “You can drop me off on the corner of Eighteenth and Castro.”

  The driver nods to let me know he received my instructions. There is no phone or GPS on the dash, so this isn’t an Uber. It’s a private car.

  A coy smile plays on Rachel’s lips. The Castro is also known as the Rainbow district. I bet she’s trying to figure me out.

  “I’m meeting a friend.” I swipe my phone screen to cancel my Uber, then pretend I’m checking my texts. “I hope it’s not too far out of your way.”

  “Not at all.” Rachel leans in and looks at my screen. I instinctively turn it away from her.

  Okay, that was a little stalkerish.

  “Who are you meeting? A girlfriend?” Her tone is playful with a sprinkle of psycho. “Boyfriend?”

  Telling her I have a boyfriend would alleviate any prospect of her hitting on me. If she thinks I have a girlfriend, she might not book a private again. Giovanni said we need to give them the illusion that we’re attainable. That’s what keeps them coming back.

  “Neither. I’m just meeting a friend for a drink at Candy.” I tuck my phone into my front pocket and drum my fingers nervously on my knee. “Where are you headed?”

  “To hell most likely.” Ra
chel laughs. It’s borderline maniacal. “I just left a friend at Rose Pistola and now I’m bored.”

  “That’s a late dinner.” She was in the velvet room with me at ten o’clock. Maybe she’s lying, and she’s been sitting outside the club for three hours waiting for me to leave.

  “How was your dinner?” I test her.

  “Too garlicky for my taste.”

  She’s right; they use a shit ton of garlic at that place.

  “What is your taste?”

  Rachel looks intrigued by my question.

  Fuck, that came out wrong.

  “I meant what kind of food do you like.”

  She runs her hand down my arm. “I like Italian.”

  I nod and watch her eyes drift from my face to our now interlocked fingers.

  “I’m Italian,” I mutter like a muttering fucking idiot. “What I meant to say is, I like Italian food too. But I happen to be Italian and Irish actually.”

  Rachel smiles and my balls start to tingle.

  “Do you drink Guinness?”

  “Yeah, Guinness is alright, but I like…” My voice trails off as she sucks my finger into her mouth. Her wet slide up and down my finger, coating it with her saliva. My heart is jackhammering, my dick throbbing. I yank my finger from her teeth and shove my mouth onto hers.

  Rachel falls against the window. “So, I guess you’re not gay,” she laughs as my hard-on presses against her thigh.

  I retract my tongue and sit up. “What?”

  Rachel corrects herself and stifles her amusement. “You’re not gay.” It’s more of a statement than a question.

  “This was a test.” I point in her face. Streaks of red lipstick coat the side of my finger. She laughs and pushes it away. All the sexy mysteriousness of this encounter is gone.

  I move to the other side of the SUV and check our location. “You can let me out here,” I tell the driver.

  “Sway.” Rachel stops me. “Please don’t go. I was just having a little fun.”

  This chick is crazy.

  “I tend to let loose when I have too much to drink,” she explains. I realize she’s slurring a little. “Sometimes I come on strong. I forget how young some of you are.”

  Some of us? How many men has she bought for a dance?

  We catch the red light, and the door locks click open.

  “Let me drive you to the bar. I promise I’m not a stalker.”

  It’s my turn to laugh. “Of course you’re not,” I lie. “I really should go. Thanks for the ride.”

  I open the door and step out, making sure I didn’t leave anything behind. I don’t want to give her any excuse to come looking for me.

  “Maybe I’ll see you at the club next week.” The sophisticated expression she wore in the velvet room is back. She crosses her legs and nods as if she’s dismissing me.

  Rachel is so hot and cold I wouldn’t be surprised to find a thermometer stuck up her ass, and I pity the man that has to check her temperature.

  ***

  I meet Giovanni at the gym the next day and tell him about Rachel.

  “What the fuck, bro?” Giovanni grunts as he pushes two hundred and twenty-five pounds off his chest. He lifts the last rep, and I help him ease it onto the rack. “What are you scared of?”

  “I’m not scared.”

  I’m scared.

  Giovanni stands and removes weights from the bar for me.

  “If you’re worried about Jimmy, don’t. He likes to pretend he gives a shit about what we do outside the club. It’s mostly to cover his ass.”

  I lie on the bench and grab the bar, thinking about Thor. He gets a blowjob at least once a night. I’ve revisited the storage room a few times since I banged Kari with a K. Jimmy’s never said a word about it.

  “Be honest, do things ever happen in the private rooms?”

  Giovanni shrugs and leans on the bar over my head.

  “Depends. Like I told you before, everyone is different. Some want me to dance, others want to dance with me, and a few just want to talk.”

  I think about Alee. “How do you determine who wants what?”

  “The first few minutes I just talk. Ask her name, where she lives, what brought her to the club. Then I let her ask me questions. This prevents the Chatty Cathies from talking while I’m trying to dance later. I’ll have her legs up, pumping her ass, and she wants to know where I went to high school.” He shakes his head then points at me. “If that happens to you, just let her talk. A private dance is whatever they want it to be.”

  “Yeah, but how do you know what they want it to be?” That’s my problem. I don’t know where to start. I’m afraid to do too much, or too little. What if I try to bend her over and she freaks out? I don’t want a woman to leave the club feeling violated.

  “I feel them out. Is she friendly, flirty, frigid, or wasted? From there I know how to approach the dance.”

  I think about how I could’ve handled Rachel differently. I didn’t show any kind of authority or confidence. She took full advantage of my inexperience.

  “You’ll be lucky if this Rachel person comes back. You threw her out of the velvet room after one song, drank her champagne with another woman, then gave her face a tongue bath.”

  “When you say it like that, it sounds…”

  “Fucked up?”

  “Yeah.”

  Gio places his hand in the center of the bar and lifts it off the rack with one hand. “You doing ten?”

  “Yeah,” I grunt and take the bar. I pound the first five then start blowing air.

  “You got this, Theo.” Giovanni counts the next four then grabs the bar before it falls on my face. “You need to start building up your weight. That’s the only way you’re gonna look like me.” He flexes in the mirror. “The dad bod isn’t sexy.

  “Maybe I don’t want to look like you,” I inform him as I stand and move to the back of the bench to place two forty-five-pound plates on either side of the bar.

  “If you had this body you wouldn’t have to worry about rent or tuition for Lulu. I have side gigs set up from now until Christmas. If I was smart, I’d dump Rico and rep myself. But who needs that administrative nightmare. Rico does all the leg work, I just show up and get paid.”

  Rico acts as Giovanni’s booking manager, that’s what they call it. His website offers a variety of services from hunky house cleaners to models in high-end fashion shows. Most of his business consists of bachelorette parties and birthdays. It’s been weeks since I gave my headshots to Rico and I haven’t booked squat. None of my pictures were shirtless. Gio’s right about my dad bod. I’ve always been pretty slim, building muscle has been a challenge for me.

  A guy walks by and ogles Giovanni in the mirror. Gio looks away; he’s used to men hitting on him. Me not so much.

  “What’s up, man.” My tone isn’t overly hostile, but I wouldn’t call it friendly either.

  The dude smiles like I just asked to lick his balls.

  Great.

  “Nothing much, just getting my reps in before work.” He holds his hand out to me. “I’m Josh.”

  “Theo.” I shake his hand. “That’s Giovanni.”

  Josh turns to Gio. “I’ve seen you around.”

  “Yeah.” Giovanni sits on the bench and adjusts his gloves. “I’m here almost every day.”

  Josh watches Giovanni do his reps with a small smile on his face. The same grin the women at the club have when we’re on stage.

  “Are you guys military?”

  “Nope,” Gio says as he slams the bar back in the rack in record time.

  “Damn, you beasted that set.” I start to spin off the extra plates while Giovanni charges toward the water fountain. He isn’t homophobic; hell, he’s done gay night. He hates being hit on while we’re working out.

  “Your friend seems really focused,” Josh remarks. “Does he juice?”

  It takes me a second to understand his question. My first thought is yes, he fucking juices everything. This prick
isn’t asking about Gio’s diet. He wants to know if Gio uses steroids.

  “Nah, he’s not into that shit.”

  “If you know anyone.” Josh drops his card on the bench and walks away. Sleazy fucking dealer.

  I leave the card and walk away. I find Giovanni flirting with the receptionist. He’s telling her to check out the club when I walk up.

  “Have you met, Sway?” Gio places his sweaty arm around my shoulders.

  “Theo,” I correct. I try not to use my stage name outside the club. I have to keep the two separate.

  Her blue eyes sparkle when she looks my way. “Nice to meet you.” I shake her hand.

  “It’s Sarah, right?” I give Giovanni his towel. “Yeah, you watched my daughter once at the daycare.” I point to the room behind her. Sarah’s smile drops faster than United Airlines stock.

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Damn.” She shrugs and walks away.

  Some women jump at the chance to apply as Lulu’s stepmom, and others run. I don’t blame them. Why go through all that baby-mama drama?

  “You’re a fucking moron,” Giovanni claims as he walks to the locker room. “She was so down she was practically on her knees.”

  For some reason, ever since Lulu was born, I always picture some fuckwad talking to my daughter whenever Gio or any guy makes a misogynistic remark about women.

  “No loss. Lulu was obviously a deal breaker for her.”

  “What does Lulu have to do with you getting a blow job?” Giovanni pushes open the locker room door and pulls his shirt off.

  “Please don’t say my daughter’s name in the same sentence as blowjob ever again.” I walk to my locker and pull out my bag. I’m not showering here. I have to pick up Lulu from preschool.

  “Look, I’m just saying you have to keep that shit separate. You can be a daddy and a dog.” He holds his fist out, and I ignore him. “Come on, bruh. You know you wanted to fuck that Rachel chick last night. If she comes back to the club, you better make a move, or else I will.”

  The thought of Giovanni grinding Rachel in the velvet room makes me flinch. It shouldn’t. She isn’t mine. I can’t even claim her as a regular. I’ve only seen her once. If I have these issues after dancing for someone one time; I’m fucked. This is why I didn’t want to do privates. I can’t keep my emotions out of it.