by Grey, S. R.
“How hard can it be?” I go on. “I’ve danced around my bedroom a million times, listening to music and sometimes even pretending to take off my clothes.”
“There’s no pretending here,” Busty Blonde interjects.
Gulp.
“You’re really going to do it?” Eliza asks.
“Yeah”—I nod—“I think I am.”
Shaking her head, but looking at me like I’m her new hero, she says, “Wow. You’re way braver than I am.”
When I turn to inform Busty Blonde it’s a go, I’m face-to-face with a huge can of hair spray she has in her hand.
“Bend at the waist,” she instructs. “And flip back your hair.”
I comply, and she sprays my resulting sex-bed hair into place. She lifts my Wolves jersey up an inch, and I protest, “Hey! My strip tease doesn’t start back here, does it?”
“No, but I need to see what you have on underneath.”
Sighing, I wave my hand. “Fine, lift away.”
Once my black skirt is revealed, she nods approvingly. “That’s cute. Nice and short. Are you wearing panties underneath?”
“Boy shorts.”
“And up under here?” She taps my chest, right on Nolan’s number.
I list off, “A black corset, a white blouse under that, and a bra. It’s my waitressing uniform.”
“Are you a cocktail waitress?”
“Yes.”
“You should make much better tips here.”
“Yeah, but I don’t have to take off my clothes where I work,” I mutter.
Sighing, she says, “Can I give you a few pointers for when you’re out there?”
“Please.”
“Skimpy as your clothes are, you have a few layers to work with, which is good. I’d suggest drawing out your act.” She winks at me. “If you can make it last two songs, you’ll receive a hell of a lot more cash.”
I can’t believe I’m really going through with this.
“When you’re down to nothing,” she goes on, “just go ahead and place any bills you receive in the glass jar at the back of the stage.”
It finally catches up to me what I just heard.
“Wait, what? What do you mean when I get down to nothing?”
“We do full nude stripping here,” she replies nonchalantly, like it’s no big deal.
Eek, what? “Um, I might be reconsidering here.”
“Sweetie, it’s too late.” She shoves me up a riser that leads to the stage. Behind the thick dark curtain, I hear “Rack City” by Tyga start to play. A man then announces that there’s one more act, a surprise grand finale.
So much for backing out now.
I can do this. What’s a little skin? Plus, maybe I won’t even get that far. I’ll probably be so bad I’ll get booed off the stage.
I start to remove the hockey jersey, suddenly feeling weird about Nolan seeing it, but she yells up to me, “Leave it till you hit the stage. The hockey players out there are going to love it.”
Maybe the others, I think, but not Nolan. Not when it’s his jersey I’m wearing. And definitely not when he realizes it’s me stripping. My backhanded attempt to give him a taste of his own medicine is turning out to be more than I anticipated.
I’m in it now, though, whether I want to be or not.
May as well embrace your inner stripper goddess and give these boys a show.
Glancing back at Eliza, I mouth, “Here goes nothing.”
She gives me an encouraging thumbs-up and calls up to me, “You go, girl. Break a leg.”
Knowing me, that might actually happen.
“No, you’ll be fine,” I whisper to myself.
I then take a deep breath…and step out onto the stage.
You Gotta Be F*cking Kidding Me
The beat of Tyga’s “Rack City” fills the room, but there seems to be a delay in getting the next girl out.
Funny, I thought the show was over. But then there was an announcement about a surprise grand finale.
“Probably a last-minute addition,” Benny says.
“Yeah, probably,” I agree.
When the delay continues, he goes on. “Must be a case of rookie nerves. You remember what it was like the first time you were about to hit the ice with the big boys. This is probably kind of the same.”
I laugh. “Only you, Benny, would think to compare playing in the NHL for the first time to stripping.”
The next girl finally comes out before he has a chance to reply.
Wow, there’s a lot of fanfare with this one. All the flashing strobe lights and crisscrossing spotlights are so blinding that I can barely make out that there’s a girl up on stage. But then I see her standing there, seemingly unsure what to do next. I also see she’s wearing something red and black.
Wait! This next “amateur” has on my fucking sweater. “What the hell?”
“See, man,” Benny says, nudging me. “Looks like you were wrong, great sensei. There is a correlation between hockey and stripping.”
I chuckle, since this couldn’t have played out more perfectly for him.
“Touché,” I say.
I’m convinced the stripper wearing the hockey sweater with my number on it must be something the young guys put her up to. But then I’m not so sure, seeing as they’re whooping and hollering like it’s all a surprise to them too.
The girl tentatively steps forward and starts gyrating her slim hips. She’s moving a little awkwardly, but it’s still sexy as hell.
More hollering ensues.
Usually men are a little quieter, not at all like women when they watch guys strip. But I think this girl’s hot outfit, and her even hotter body, have them more wound up than usual.
The lights glaring in my face are still too bright for me to get a good look at the dancer’s face, but damn if there isn’t something familiar about her body.
…And those thigh-high boots.
…And that long hair she’s swinging around like a metal band guitarist. The dark, rich color reminds me of—
“What the fuck? That’s Lainey up there!”
Benny pulls back the twenty-dollar bill he was trying to lure her over with, like it just burned his hand.
“Shit, Nolan.” He stuffs the money back in his pocket, his expression sheepish. “I had no idea. But now that I look a little closer”—he squints into the glare—“I think you might be right.”
“I know it’s her,” I grind out. “I don’t need confirmation. What the hell is she doing here? And more importantly, why in the hell is she up on the fucking stage?”
Benny shrugs, and I’m at a loss. I’m also ready to risk the wrath of the roaming bouncers and security guards by hauling my own ass up on the stage so I can drag her off, especially when the younger guys, who have no idea who the girl is, keep right on whooping it up.
“Take off the jersey!” one of them yells.
“Fuck that,” the other chimes in. “Take it all off, baby.”
I glare over at my oblivious teammates.
“What’s up your ass, Solvenson?” the one who wants her to take it all off asks. “You should be pulling out money to get her over here. It’s your fucking number she has on.”
“Yes, she does, doesn’t she?” I reply tightly.
Meanwhile, Lainey is up there swishing around the hem of the sweater, the one with my number on it, making it ride up just enough to reveal the short skirt underneath.
Oh, I know that skirt well. It’s part of her waitressing uniform, which means she has on a few layers, skimpy though they are, to drag this thing out.
Good, that gives me time to figure out how to get her out of this mess.
But until then, I have to suffer. And help me Lord, suffer I do. It’s pure misery watching the men go crazy when Lainey starts peeling off the sweater to reveal her whole sexy bar wench ensemble.
I know the feeling, boys, that fucking outfit makes me hard every time I see her in it.
I would be in an aroused
state now, except I have other things weighing on my mind. Things like killing the strange guy I just noticed at the far end of the stage. He’s beckoning Lainey over so he can slide a fiver in the waistband of her skirt.
And she lets him!
When she proceeds to smile and toss her sweater into the crowd, I stand up. That’s enough.
Benny grabs my arm. “What do you think you’re doing, Solvenson. You’ll get thrown out of here before you make it two feet up on that stage.”
He’s right, so I sit back down. “For now, I’ll stay put,” I snap. “But if she starts taking any part of that uniform off, besides the corset, I’m getting up there and dragging her ass to the back, repercussions be damned.”
“The other amateurs took everything off,” Benny reminds me. “There’s no reason why she won’t too.”
I glare at him. “She’s not a wannabe stripper, Benny. I don’t know why she’s here, but I can assure you it’s not to try out for a job.”
That was the lure of this amateur night, or so we were told shortly before the performances started. We were highly encouraged to make the most noise for the dancers we liked best. Based on the amount of cheers and catcalls Lainey’s receiving at the moment, I have no doubt this place would hire her in a minute.
Over my dead body.
Lainey eventually works her way over to our side of the stage, and I finally can see her whole face. Hmm, doesn’t she look smug, even going so far as to blow me a take that, Nolan kiss.
Our eyes meet, and there’s a ton of unspoken communication.
What the fuck do you think you’re doing up there? I try to say with my questioning glare.
I imagine her retorting, showing you I can do whatever I want. You like strippers so much? Well, I like being one. Watch me dance, Nolan.
And dance she does.
Lainey grabs the pole at the center of the stage, wraps one leg around it and throws her head back as she spins her way down. The whole audience is given a flash of the boy shorts she wears under her skirt. She learned the first night on the job that panties don’t offer much coverage, as proven when I tore them off her during our little tryst.
Nonetheless, boy shorts are enough to wind the men up even more. Chants of “take it off, take it all off” echo off the walls, louder than the music even, which has moved on to a second song, an oldie but goodie and strip show staple, “Pour Some Sugar on Me” by Def Leppard.
Lainey glances around, and I can tell she’s unsure of what to do next. She bites her lower lip and glances over at me. She knows I’ll rescue her if she wants. But just so there’s no doubt, I give her a reassuring nod.
One of the bouncers, a huge man with a bald head, sees me communicating with her and rightly suspects I’m up to something. He heads over to where the boys and I are seated.
“No funny stuff,” he mutters down to me as he crosses his big beefy arms and glares.
He’s not glaring at me for long, though. No, the prick turns his gaze to Lainey up on the stage, a hungry gleam in his dark eyes.
That infuriates me even further.
Lainey, eyes still on me, pleading by this point, shakily undoes her corset and tosses it out to the crowd. She then starts to lift her flouncy bar wench top up over her head, and then it’s off. She closes her eyes tightly, like she’s wishing she could disappear, and flings the shirt out into the crowd, leaving her breasts, though thankfully covered by a bra, on full display.
The crowd goes nuts.
She does have awesome tits, definitely the best of the night. And though we’re just friends—I’m beginning to despise those words, by the way—I can’t help but feel a strong sting of possessiveness.
“That’s enough gawking at my girl,” I mutter, making Benny look over at me curiously.
“Thought you two were just friends,” he says.
I give him a look, and he knows then that we’re not “just friends.”
That’s why he doesn’t stop me when I jump up on the stage.
And that’s why he holds back the bald bouncer as long as he can, giving me more than enough time to reach Lainey and cover her up with my suit jacket.
But no sooner is that taken care of that I hear someone—her—yell, “Nolan, look out!”
The next thing I know, I’m tackled to the ground by three burly men.
My Knight in Shining Armor
I try to warn Nolan, but three bouncers swoop in from three different angles and tackle him to the ground.
“Stop it,” I scream as I tug on one’s long hair. “Leave him alone.”
“We’re doing this for your protection,” a bald one barks.
“You don’t need to protect me,” I protest. “He’s not a threat. I know him, okay? I freaking know him.”
I can’t tell if they’re listening to me, or just moving forward with their protocol in dealing with an unruly patron, but the next thing I know they’re hoisting Nolan up, and then dragging him off to the little dressing room with the costumes and the makeup and the mirrors.
I follow, leaving the stage. Nobody stops me, but the men in the audience start booing. I guess they’re pissed I left without finishing the show. Too bad. My stripping days are officially over.
In the dressing room, things calm down. I still rush over to see if Nolan is all right, but I end up backing off. The bald bouncer takes Nolan aside, I guess to speak with him, and I figure I shouldn’t interrupt lest things re-escalate.
The other two bouncers give me no more than a passing glance before they walk over to the other side of the room to join their bald compatriot, and Nolan. I’m left standing in the center of the room, so I scan around for Eliza, or even the busty blonde lady, but neither one is here.
One of the bouncers comes back over, the one whose hair I was pulling, and I ask, “Where’s my friend?”
“Who do you mean? The redhead?” I nod, and he informs me, “Oh, her. We sent her away.”
“Why’d you do that?”
“No women are allowed in this club unless they’re dancing.” His eyes move to my chest, which is semi-exposed, despite the fact I have on a bra and Nolan’s suit jacket is still draped over my shoulders.
I slip my arms into the big sleeves and pull the jacket tightly around me, mumbling, “Perv.”
The bouncer dude chuckles, amused. He then jerks his thumb over to where Nolan is still speaking with the other two bouncers. Hell, even though Nolan’s tie is askew and his white dress shirt has a tear in the arm, he’s laughing and joking with the men who just tackled him.
And wait, what’s that going on now? Is that a Wolves ballcap he’s signing for the big, bald one?
“Men.” I shake my head and say to Long Hair, “It’s amazing how you guys can be ready to rip each other’s throats out one minute, and then be all best buddies the next.”
Long Hair lets out a laugh. “It doesn’t always end up like this. Your buddy over there is lucky he’s a star in this town. Otherwise, we’d have thrown him out on his ass. But not before getting in a few good shots.”
“Ha,” I snort, “you could’ve tried. You clearly haven’t seen Nolan on the ice when he gets into a fight. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does he never loses.”
It’s true—Nolan kicks ass in all ways on the ice. He even got a Gordie Howe hat trick one game last season when he scored a goal, an assist, and got into a fight.
“Yeah, but there’s only one of him,” the bouncer retorts, puffing up. “And there’re three of us.”
“I guess you have a point,” I concede.
Long Hair leaves me to return to where Nolan is wrapping up with the other guys. He must want something autographed too. Everyone ends up shaking hands and clapping each other on the back, as men are wont to do. When they finally disperse, Nolan joins me.
I plop down on a metal folding chair, because, well, I am exhausted.
“You look tired,” Nolan remarks, pulling up another metal chair so he can sit across from me.
&nb
sp; “I am,” I reply, yawning. “Exotic dancing is way more grueling than I thought it’d be.”
“Speaking of which…” He raises a brow and nods to my half-clothed body. “What exactly are you doing in this place?”
“Crashing your little night out,” I reply, smug. But when he starts shaking his head, clearly disappointed, I admit, “Okay, okay, maybe crashing a ‘gentlemen’s club’”—I make little air quotes and roll my eyes dramatically—“wasn’t such a great idea.”
“You think?”
“Smartass,” I murmur. “But in my defense,” I go on, “I had no freaking idea it was amateur night.”
“Yeah, well, what I don’t get is why you came here in the first place. You texted you were going out to eat with Eliza. What the hell went wrong?”
“That actually was the plan…at first.” I sigh. “But when you sent back the text nixing that idea, it got us wondering what you were up to. We couldn’t imagine where you and Benny could be going that we couldn’t come along.”
Nolan shakes his head, muttering, “Women. You just can’t leave well-enough alone, can you?”
“We are persistent,” I admit.
“That’s for sure,” he agrees. And then he asks, “How’d you figure out where we were going?”
“Eliza heard her dad bitching about this place the other day. She had a feeling you guys might be coming here. It was the most logical explanation as to why we couldn’t come along.”
He looks around. “Where is Eliza, anyway?”
“That annoying bouncer with the long hair said he sent her away. Apparently, they’re pretty strict in enforcing that no-women-allowed rule. Unless you’re dancing, of course.”
Nolan shoots me an annoyed look, not needing a reminder, I’m sure.
Ignoring him, I continue. “I guess Eliza walked back to the arena to get her car. Which reminds me”—I reach for my purse that I left on the floor before I hit the stage and take out my phone—“I should text her and make sure she’s all right.”
As I start typing a message, Nolan clears his throat, loudly. I glance up to find him looking more displeased with me than he was three minutes ago.