by Harper Sloan
The line.
That was the first thing I saw when I turned into Dirty's parking lot. Thankfully, Shane had told me to park around back, ensuring I had a spot right next to his BMW. Following the rest of his instructions, I send a text to Lewis, the head of security for the club, and wait in my car for him to come out the back door and escort me inside.
I set my phone down and pop the visor down to look at my makeup. I put more effort into my makeup tonight than I ever have in my whole life. Shane doesn't care--I know that--and I probably could have shown up in my favorite Victoria's Secret sweats, and he'd still want me. However, this is a big night for him and for Dirty. I want my man to see me and be proud that his woman is there to cheer him on.
After refreshing my lip gloss, I make sure the dark eyeshadow I used to give my eyes a smoky look isn't all over the place, making me look more like a raccoon than seductress, and then focus on making sure my hair looks perfect. I took a while to curl my hair, giving my long blond hair just the perfect amount of body and volume with the carefully constructed waves. All in all, I look less like a schoolteacher and more like a girl-next-door-turned-Playboy-Bunny.
I look hot.
And I know Shane's going to eat it up and hopefully show me how much he loves it from his office while all those hussies that crave him are stuck with just the fantasy of him.
I smile at my reflection. I'm fully aware that it's not normal for a girlfriend to be excited to see her boyfriend basically stripping, but I've been a nervous ball of energy all day. I can't wait to see him dance tonight. There's just something about it that I find insanely hot. Even with all the other eyes focusing on the same man, he's all mine, and I've been drunk on that knowledge all day.
I catch a glimpse of Lewis stepping out from the back door of Dirty, talking into the little device that keeps all the security dudes in contact with each other. I give him a wave, take one last look at myself, and open the car door.
"Hey, Lewis," I greet, smiling at him while shifting to shut the door before pulling the hemline of my dress down. The indecently short little black dress is just inches away from being more of a tank top than a dress.
"Nikki."
"How is the night going?"
"Good."
"You don't talk much, do you, big guy?" I ask, hoping to crack the new staff member.
He grunts, looks me over from head to toe, and then turns to the side with one muscular arm outstretched pointing to the exit he just popped out of.
"That's okay," I continue. "I'm sure you have to learn to keep quiet and all with that little thingamabob picking up all your chatter and all."
I see him shake his head slightly as I start walking.
"How does that work anyway? You can't really hear much, I'd imagine, when you're inside and the music is blaring." He falls in step behind me, still silent. "They haven't started the dances, right?"
"Do you always talk this much?"
I lift my shoulder and smile over my shoulder at him. "Only when I'm excited or nervous."
"Which one?"
I frown at him. He looks less intimidating now that he seems actively engaged in a conversation. Even if he's just humoring my quirks.
"Which one, what?"
"Are you? Nervous or excited?" His blue eyes look so serious; his tone makes me think there's another question he isn't asking me, but instead of asking what that might be, I contemplate his question.
"Uh, both? Excited to see how Filthy does, but nervous that it might not be what I hope it will be for them."
He stops when we reach the door, holding his big palm out to stop me from opening it and leveling me with an expression so intense I don't even think about doing anything except stopping.
"I figured you would be nervous for another reason."
I puff of air comes out when I laugh. "Why? Because my sexy man is going to shake his moneymaker? Think about it, big guy. It's hot."
He opens his mouth but shuts it before saying anything.
"What? Don't stand there, keeping me from getting inside, if there's something you want to say."
"I don't know you well enough to say what I want to say."
"So?" I say with a shrug. "Just because you and I aren't close enough to go get mani-pedis doesn't mean that you can't share what's on your mind with me. If there's something I need to know, I would rather have it now then be caught off guard later."
I had only met him before in passing before a few times, but each time he had been a brick that basically showed no emotion. Heck, I wasn't even sure the guy had any feelings aside from hulking intensity. A handsome brick, but stoic as it gets. So when a huge toothy grin broke through that expressionless mask, I was shocked.
"I like you," he adds to his odd beam.
"Uh, thanks?"
"I've worked in a lot of places like this," he continues, ignoring my confusion. "One thing I've always seen is girlfriends who never last. You might be one of the few who do, though."
"Your confidence in my relationship is really something else," I drone.
"Nothing personal, blondie."
"What brought this up?"
One meaty shoulder goes up. "You know what's going on tonight. Shane's been in a mood all day, and I assumed it was because you were giving him a hard time about tonight."
I narrow my eyes. "Actually, this whole thing was my idea."
Clearly, he hadn't expected that because his whole face was full of some comedic level shock.
"No shit?"
I shake my head then look over at the hand still holding the door shut. "It's a good idea; don't be so shocked."
"Oh, I'm not shocked that the idea is good--it's gold. I'm shocked that you would willingly offer up your man dancing even more than he already does."
I wait for him to open the door then walk past him into the dim lit back hallway. Before walking any further, though, I turn to look over and up at the large man. "It took Shane a little while to catch on, but you should just accept now that I never do what is expected of me."
I start strutting off, the big guy laughing without reservation behind me.
When will the men around me finally realize I'm my own woman and not some stupid cookie-cutter mold of the generic model?
THE CHANGES TO THE CLUB were only glaringly obvious to those who'd been here often enough to know how things worked at Dirty. I knew, of course, about the stages they added. The new ones were a little lower than the bars they had been doing their hourly spotlight dances on for the past couple of years to ensure they could spice things up and get realllllly up close and personal. I had seen enough hotness in my past visits to know that before they could get closer to the ladies they were hot enough, so I was almost giddy to see how things would change.
A few men I didn't recognize walked around, all dressed in something similar to the dress shirt, slacks, and suspenders that Shane favors. It was another reason I was about to come alive with excitement--knowing that when I told Shane how hot it made me when he danced with suspenders, it became the unofficial uniform for Filthy night. A shiver races down my spine when I think about the sound those suspenders make when they're cracking against someone's skin.
I was so lost in my thoughts that when two hands grabbed my hips and pulled me back against a hard body, I screamed, making a few heads turn in my direction. Then the familiar scent of cologne and hard work hit my nose.
Shane.
Home.
"Scare you?"
I nod, my head moving against his shoulder. When his stubbled cheek rubs against mine, I shiver at the same time his lips press against my jaw. His hands move, arms wrapping around my belly, and I'm pressed even tighter. Something about his embrace makes a chill slice through me. And nothing's pleasant about that chill either.
"I thought you changed your mind about coming," he says, lips pressed against the sensitive skin under my ear. I press my hands against his forearms and rub, hoping to soothe whatever has him acting weird.
&nb
sp; "I'm not late, honey," I say, glad that we're not within the main club and I don't have to scream over people.
"You're not on time either. I go on in fifteen minutes."
It takes a little effort, but I get him to release me enough to turn around. My hands curl around his neck, and my head tips back to look up at him.
Damn, he's so good looking.
"What's on your mind?" He doesn't answer, not with words. However, the worry that I see flash in his eyes is enough for me to know something is really wrong. "Shane?"
His eyes dart back and forth, studying my own intently.
It feels like time stands still. The pounding tunes coming through the doorway at the end of the hallway fade away. The chatter of people walking around the club, nothing but a buzz. It's just Shane and me, nothing and no one else. I'm sure we're only really standing there--both silent, but both saying a whole heck of a lot with that silence.
Mine, I'm sure, is troubled but still hopeful.
His, though ... his look is resigned to something close to dread.
"What is it, mon beau?" I ask, using the words for my handsome that Liberty had taught me. His eyes flash, but just as quickly as that adoration had flickered, it was gone. "Shane? You're scaring me even more now."
"Fuck." He drops his gaze, and his forehead presses against mine. I wait, my heart pounding, and hope that it's just his nerves. When he looks back up, the intense pull of his features is smoothed out, and he's the same Shane that I fell asleep looking at last night. "Just a little stressed, cherie. I'm sorry."
My relieved exhale is obvious, and he winces. "You've danced on the bar a million times, Shane. What is there to be stressed about? They're going to eat this up, honey."
He shakes his head, not answering, and kisses me deep--desperately. I eat it up, his strange mood making me feel the same urgency. When he pulls away, he doesn't have that tight look again, but I can see he's still holding something back. The same thing I've felt dragging us down over the past couple of weeks. Not wanting to add to his stress, I make myself a promise to ask him about it when things slow down and we can head home.
One thing's for sure ... I don't plan on leaving here without knowing what's got him acting like he's seeing me for the last time.
We walk into the club hand in hand. Her eyes scan the expanse of the room, a smile curving her lips, and her hand tightens when she does a little jump of excitement at seeing how insane it is in here tonight.
As expected, we hit max capacity in the club thirty minutes after opening the door almost two hours ago. No one knew quite what to expect, but with the buzz and marketing focusing on things getting Filthy at Dirty Dog, one could guess. That excitement had only grown to insurmountable levels since then. Everyone was eager to know what would be coming. Drinks flowing quicker than before, draining a few of our bars to the point that we've had to keep an extra bartender just to run into the stockroom to grab more bottles. We hadn't even had a single spotlight dance, let alone used one of the new stages yet, and people were still foaming at the mouth for more.
When the lights go out and our spotlights take on a whole new level, I imagine that it's going to go from excited to insane in a blink of an eye. Don't get me wrong; I was over the fucking moon thrilled for the success, and I knew that would only grow when they saw what we had planned. But, on the flip side, I had been dreading this night since the day we started rolling out the steps to make it come to fruition.
All I could think about was if I was trading the club's success for my relationship.
With everything in my life, I had a firm grasp on ... except what would happen when Nikki got to see just what it was like to have to really share her man with hundreds of horny women. To see what I looked like when I was in character for them and not the me that's all hers. To put it mildly, I had lost control and I was frantic to find a way to take the reins back.
"This is amazing!" Nikki screams, looking up at me with a twinkle in her eye.
Fuck, she's beautiful.
"I need to go get ready," I tell her, my words tasting like the same shit I feel churning in my gut.
That beautiful face just continues to beam. Looking at me like I spun the fucking moon just for her.
"Which stage?" she asks, blue eyes bright.
I point at the two in the middle of the large dance area. The two purposely placed front and center. "There."
"And the best place for me? Do you still want me to stay at the bar?"
I nod, wishing like hell I could just force her to leave. Oh, how I had hoped she would want to watch it from my office. I should have known better.
"Knock 'em dead, tiger," she singsongs, smacking my ass on her way to the bar. Her ass swaying as she goes.
Instead of running after her like I wish I could, I turn and walk toward my office to take off my pants and go from commando club co-owner to black underwear that barely contains my cock stripper. I can only pray that, by the end of the night, I'm able to find a way to take control back of my life ... and my future with Nikki.
My fingers had just closed around my glass when the lights went from dim to black. Instead of everyone screaming in panic, which would only be a normal reaction to such a sudden shift, they go insane--hyped up on the unknown promise that had been billed high and low.
Then, the beat.
The subtle change of the all too familiar song that got a new breath of life when Magic Mike came out. How cliche but how perfect. I turn on my stool, the move much easier now that no one is crowding in behind me trying to order a drink. The pressure of them pushing in had stopped when the lights went out as excited girls looked around for what was coming.
That's when the spotlights start popping on. One after the other, highlighting one stage after the next, all holding one very good-looking man. Until finally, the last two are lit up.
Shane and Nate, both of them in the center of the room.
That's when things go from insane to ridiculous.
The men who happen to be here tonight don't move from their spots near the various bars around the club. All the women rush forward, trying to get the best spot at any mini-stage they can reach, but it's obvious by their numbers that they want the two owners the most.
Nate's cocky self is eating it up, his smirk looking mad with hyper activity.
Shane's eyes aren't eating up the crowd at his feet, though. Not even when Nate starts moving in sync with the other bodies. It takes him a second, but I can see the exact moment he puts himself aside and becomes the man who dances for others. Someone who moves for seduction, looking every bit the man who loves this but with eyes dead.
By the time he had shed everything but his tight black underwear, the kind that looks a whole lot like a Speedo, I'm about to come out of my skin with need for him. My body warring with my mind--my body needing what only he can do to it, and my mind terrified at what I see when those dead eyes search the room at the same time his knees hit the ground and he grinds that magical cloth-covered cock of his in the face of some stranger.
He's just looking in my direction, and I know, had he been able to see me, he would be looking for the sole purpose of testing me for my reaction to what's happening. It's then at that moment that I realize the man I was hopelessly in love with, trusting with every fiber of my being, didn't trust me at all.
It doesn't matter anymore that I love seeing him do this. It doesn't matter that I love every single part of him--good, bad, and ugly. It doesn't matter what we had built up until now. The only thing that mattered was that I had finally gotten the answers I had been searching for. Without a conscious thought, I place my vodka tonic down on the smooth bar top, and I walk through the darkness to Shane's office. The whole time, I know that this moment will break my heart no matter how it ends.
HE'S HERE.
I heard the door open, but even before that, I knew he was coming. I had watched him end his dance and fight through the women to get free. Had he waited like the others, he would have
had no trouble getting to his office's doorway without the hands of strangers pulling him back--craving what they had wanted them to want. I watched from the windows above the crowd, the scent of him surrounding me. For once, since I met him, it doesn't bring me comfort, though.
"Why?" My voice is just a hint of a whisper. I keep my eyes on his reflection in the glass I'm facing, my heart dropping a little more when he winces. "Why, Shane!"
I spin around, not even feeling a hint of satisfaction when he flinches.
"All this time, I thought we had been moving toward something solid. The feelings I have for you, everything we've shared, the time together ... all of that was for nothing, wasn't it? Because if we had what I thought we did, you would have talked to me before tonight and seen for yourself the truth in my words. Tell me, what did you think would happen? Some giant rage of jealousy because you basically were naked and flaunting your body?"
"Nikki, it's not like that," he excuses weakly.
"Oh, really? Did you not just get up there and look in my direction with fear in your eyes? Because that wasn't the face of a man who trusts what his girlfriend's promised him over and over that she loves. Not one bit."
"You've got to under--"
I cut him off with a shake of my head and the hardest of glares. "No, it's you who doesn't understand. I gave you everything. Not just my trust. For whatever reason, you just couldn't give me the same."
He takes a step toward me, but again, I shake my head, taking a step back until the glass presses against my back.
"I thought we stopped playing games weeks ago, Shane. But that's what tonight was, wasn't it? A test to see if I would be able to handle it? You made me think I was welcome here, but it was all just a big stupid test. If that's where we are in our relationship, then you don't even know me at all. If that's how you feel, then this was never real to begin with."
"Nikki," he breathes, moving again. "1Mon coeur, please."
"Don't use your French charm, Shane Kingston." I step away from the glass and walk toward him. Stopping in front of him. His heaving chest just a foot away, tan skin still damp with sweat from his dancing. I don't touch him, just look at him from top to toe, every inch that I love so much, and feel like he's a hundred miles away instead of right in front of me. "Do you want to know what I see when you're working out there?" I ask, pointing my hand at the glass. "I see the man behind the mask you wear when you're doing something you love. I see the drive that put you in that strip club years ago. The young man doing everything he could just to keep what was left of his family together. I see the man he is now, strong and sure, never losing that part of himself. Not because he has to do it to survive, but because he did survive and, in turn, learned how to find happiness in his struggles. I see your strength. Your passion for a better life. I see the man who owned me long before he became mine and I surrendered myself completely. I see someone who others could only dream of knowing like I do, but I'm the one who gets that honor. Not once had it even crossed my mind to be jealous that you're entertaining others with your body because I've always known it--you--belonged to me. Just like I belonged to you. But even with all of that being said, I deserve better than to have you doubt me in return, and until you understand that ... until you can see that when you give someone your heart, you don't have space for something as disgusting as jealousy because the trust you share doesn't even allow it, then maybe it's best that we take some space."