He breaks the kiss and steps back, my fingers reluctantly falling from his jacket. I’m slumped against a wall I hadn’t even realized I’d been pressed against, and I’m grateful for the support. We’re both breathing heavily and eyeing the other as our chests heave slightly. Somewhere a door swings shut, and a phone rings, and then it’s silent.
“I told you so,” I blurt out because I can’t help myself. He wasted a solid five minutes playing hard to get when we could have been making out. Plus anyone who says saying I told you so isn’t satisfying is lying. Plus plus, that kiss was even better than I imagined it, and believe me, when I imagined it it was phenomenal.
“That you did,” he agrees because he’s a smart man. Then he wipes his bottom lip with his thumb and I about lose my mind.
“So, your place? My place?” His place would be preferable because I already know what my place looks like and I’m nosey. “Your office?” I suggest when he doesn’t say anything. “Is there a utility closet around here? I feel like you’re too tall for us to have sex standing up but I’m willing to try it if you are. Unless you have a sex room with a swing or maybe a footstool.”
“A sex room,” he repeats slowly, head tilted slightly to the side, “with a swing.”
“Okay, wow. Based on your tone I’m guessing that’s a no. No need to be judgey about it.” He’s the one running a strip club and he’s judging me for asking about a sex swing? This guy. “No worries. It’s more of a bucket list item than a deal breaker.”
He stares at me for a long second, blinks a couple of times, then does that head shake thing again, the one where it seems like he’s trying to clear his thoughts. “It’s time for you to go home,” he announces, before turning on his heel and walking away. Away from me. Again.
Unbelievable. It’s unbelievable because that kiss was stellar and I know he felt it too. A nun watching us through a peep hole would have felt it, for Christ’s sake. Hmm, I wonder how bad it is to think about nuns while forsaking the Lord’s name in the same thought? It’s probably not good. A nun watching through a peep hole would have felt it too, for goodness’ sake. Is that better? I don’t know, the point is he’s obviously got some kind of self-restraint fetish. Or he might be Catholic, same difference. Either way I need to re-evaluate my night.
Vince is headed in the opposite direction of the locker room but I follow him because I don’t have any other plans and I don’t want to be alone. Lydia and I have only lived together for a few weeks but I’m used to her company and the idea of going back to the apartment without her sucks. It’s not that I’m incapable of being alone, but I don’t prefer it. I could go to Hennigan’s like Lydia assumed I was going to, but going to a bar by myself seems kinda sad. I could go back to the apartment and sit in the hot tub, but I didn’t blow my hair out this afternoon just to go home and sit in a frizz bath, thank you very much. Besides, the pool closes at eleven and I had an energy drink before I left the house, so it’s gonna be a long night.
Vince reaches a door and half turns, his shoulder pressed against the door as he leans in to open it. “You’re still here,” he points out unnecessarily, because where else would I be?
“Relax. I respect your celibate life choices. You do you.” Then I breeze past him into the room because I’m not going to let his bad attitude ruin my night. I may be a girl who knows what she wants, but I also know when to quit. If he’s not interested, his loss. The night is still young, there’s still fun to be had.
I’m in a private room of sorts, based on the small stage and the singular pole; fewer than a dozen chairs surround the stage, which is empty. The chairs, however, are not. Two of them are occupied by a couple of executives from my workplace. Rhys’ buddies. Lydia mentioned they were here and here they are. Lounging in a set of armchairs, drinks in hand, talking to a cocktail waitress. She’s got her ass perched on the edge of the stage and an empty drink tray under her arm and she’s laughing at something that’s been said before I entered the room with Vince.
Canon Reeves and Lawson McCall. I’ve not actually met them but I know who they are, of course. I’ve seen them in passing at work but I’ve never had any need to interact with them, as neither works in my department. Even if they did, they’re many levels farther up the food chain than me so it’s not like we’d be hanging in the same meetings.
I pause mid-step, a bit unsure if meeting them for the first time in the private room of a strip club is awkward.
Definitely awkward.
For them, not me. I’m not the one paying to see tits.
“Hi, I’m Payton.” I stride over and introduce myself as Vince drops into a chair beside them with a grunt.
“Lydia’s friend,” Canon responds, standing. “You work in event marketing.”
Of course he’d know that. He’s the head of security at the Windsor. Once introductions are made I sit on the edge of the small coffee table so I can face everyone. I cross my legs and lean in and not for nothing, Canon notices my tits. Too bad I’m not interested in him. The whole boss thing is really not my jam.
“The first rule of Fight Club,” I start, clasping my hands together and ensuring I have everyone’s attention, “is what happens at Fight Club stays at Fight Club.”
“That’s not the first rule of Fight Club, Payton.” Vince replies dryly, two fingers resting on his forehead, his arm bent resting on the arm of the chair. “You don’t talk about Fight Club. You’re mixing it up with ‘what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.’”
“Why can’t I talk about Fight Club?” I’m indignant. “Don’t start your sexist bullshit with me, Vince. I can talk about Fight Club if I want to talk about Fight Club. You are not the boss of me.” Hmm, maybe the boss thing could be my jam.
“The saying, Payton. The line from the movie is ‘the first rule of Fight Club is you do not talk about Fight Club.’ It’s not ‘what happens at Fight Club stays at Fight Club.’”
“Oh. Well, I’ve never seen the movie.” I wave a hand because the details are of little importance to me. “Besides, it’s practically the same thing.”
Vince stares at me. I’m pretty sure I’m less than a minute away from him kicking me out again.
“Hey, is that bourbon?” Canon is holding a glass of amber-colored liquid with one single square ice cube. “I’ve always wanted to try that.” I pluck it out of his hand and knock it back before setting the empty glass onto the table beside me with a grimace. “Whoa, that was supposed to be sipped, wasn’t it?”
“It was,” Canon agrees with a grin. “But I like your style.” He likes my tits too. I really should give him another thought.
“Thank you.” I nod in acknowledgment of the compliment. “It’s nice to be appreciated.” I slide a frown over to Vince before turning my attention back to Canon again. “Do you come here often?” I bat my eyelashes at Canon in a dramatic over-the-top faux flirt.
“Why are we talking about Fight Clubs?” Vince interrupts as Canon laughs.
“Oh, right!” I drumroll my hands against my thighs for buildup. “Let’s have one of those nights where we wake up tomorrow with a tiger!”