Vince.
Vince is why.
Vince has me all kinds of worked up and I’m really looking forward to seeing him again later.
I will see him tonight, won’t I?
God, what if he doesn’t even work on Saturday nights? Wait, that’s stupid, he owns a strip club, surely he works on Saturday nights. Except he was there this morning, too. I bet he’s a hard worker. Fuck, that’s hot. Even if he’s working hard peddling tits and ass, it’s important to take pride in what you do.
I find the idea of him very exciting. He’s the ultimate bad boy and that turns me all kinds of on. I know I should be focusing on finding a good guy, but the bad ones are just so delicious.
I think we’re meant to be.
By meant to be, I mean in bed. Meant to be in bed.
Having sex.
Or on the couch. His desk. I don’t really care where as long as that beautiful man’s lips are pressed somewhere against my body.
And then maybe we’ll date and I’ll live out my bad boy fantasies. I’ll take pole-dancing lessons and give him a private show. We’ll have sex at the club in his office. He’ll take me for a ride on his motorcycle. Or maybe I’ll never see him again, who knows. I can’t even picture him on a motorcycle so it’s a bit of a rough draft fantasy.
Good thing I’m flexible. I should remember to mention that.
I tap my fingertips against the steering wheel while I think. I hope he’s agreeable to my sex plan, by which I mean my plan to have crazy hot, no-strings-attached sex with him this weekend. I can’t imagine why he wouldn’t be agreeable because it’s a good offer, but I don’t know him well enough to know, do I? I know almost nothing about him, other than he was much nicer than he had to be today, to both Lydia and myself. And that he’s attractive. Really, really attractive. Also, I’m fairly certain I caught his eyes on my ass when I glanced back to get one last look at him on the way out of his office earlier, so that’s something. Clearly he’s an ass man as it’s the only logical explanation for his lack of interest in my tits.
But he is interested.
Maybe.
I turn off the car and head inside because I’m not going to resolve anything sitting in the parking lot. Besides, my options for the day are clear. I can go shopping, find a gift for my mother’s upcoming wedding and knock that off my to-do list. Or I can focus on Vince.
The choice is pretty clear.
Chapter Seven
The locker room at Double Diamonds reminds me of a spa. Changing rooms, showers and a long vanity for applying makeup. There are a few rows of lockers tucked around a corner, but no jarring slap of metal when they open and close because they’re made of wood and must have soft-close hinges because I’ve yet to hear one of them snap shut.
Just inside the door is a seating area. Club chairs surround a round coffee table. A couple of high-backed wing chairs sit against the far wall with a shared ottoman between them. There’s a coffee station in here too, one similar to the setup in Vince’s office. Mini glass-fronted refrigerators line the countertop beneath, filled with an array of bottled water, energy drinks and soda. There’s even a fruit basket on the coffee table. The only things missing are fluffy white robes with an embroidered Double Diamonds patch.
I’ve never been in a strip club before, but this cannot be normal. The front looked and felt exactly like anyone would expect a strip club to look and feel. Loud and dark. Strobe lights flashing and beautiful women dancing. Glasses clinking and music thumping. The back room doesn’t match my expectations at all. It’s serene, peaceful. Quiet. There was some money put into soundproofing between the front-of-house and back-of-house areas here, that’s for sure.
Nothing behind the scenes at Double Diamonds has been what I expected.
I drop my handbag onto one of the chairs and walk over to where Lydia is sitting in front of a makeup mirror at the vanity. The locker room is surprisingly empty too. Or maybe it’s not surprising, it just wasn’t what I was picturing. I can hear a shower running and I passed a girl exiting the locker room as I entered, but I’d imagined a room filled with half-naked girls rushing around and maybe some bickering about who got the good pole tonight.
I really need to get my imagination in check.
“You look gorgeous, babe,” I tell Lydia as I approach. She does too. Rhys is done for.
“You look nice too,” Lydia comments, eyeing me in the mirror.
“Do I?” I glance down at myself in fake surprise, as if it’s some kind of fluke that I look good tonight. It’s not. I took a shower and washed my hair for the second time today just so I could properly blow it out until it was silky straight. I’ve got really thick blonde hair, so the whole blow-dry-to-perfection thing doesn’t happen every day. Nor does moisturizing from head to toe and painting my lips the perfect shade of fuck-me pink. Or pairing a body-hugging low-cut top with low-rise jeans that fit my ass perfectly. And fine. Fine. I might have added a a bit of body shimmer to highlight my cleavage.
“Are you going to Hennigan’s later?” Lydia questions, referring to a bar near our apartment, clearly still trying to figure out why I’ve taken so much effort to get ready tonight when she’s the one going up for auction.
“Um, I don’t know, maybe?” I hope not. “So, what’s the plan? Is Rhys here yet? Are you positive you want to do this, Lydia?”
“Yeah, I’m doing this. Assuming Rhys shows up, I’m doing this. He just does it for me, Payton. I think he might be my swan.” I swear to God little hearts float over her head as she tells me about how swans mate for life because they choose carefully.
I think I might be a porcupine. I read something once about how the female porcupine lures the male porcupines to her, selects one but then makes him wait until she’s good and ready before presenting herself for sex. Once she’s had enough she tells the male porcupine to fuck off because she’d rather be alone. I’m paraphrasing obviously, but you get the gist.
Lydia’s a monogamous swan.
I’m a persnickety porcupine.
“In case we don’t get to talk later, I’m really proud of you, Lydia.” I pull her to me for a hug, careful not to mess with her hair and makeup. “It’s total insanity, but I’m proud of you for going after what you want.”
“Don’t be proud yet. We don’t even know if this worked. This might end with Vince selling me to a seedy businessman from Iowa. We don’t really know yet, do we?”
“Speaking of, have you seen Vince yet tonight? He will be here, won’t he?”
Please be here, please be here, please be here. It’d be just my luck that he has a business partner who handles the club in the evenings so he can spend his Saturday nights with some ho who isn’t me.
A cough alerts us that we’re not alone. It’s Vince. Hands in pockets and a smirk on his face. I don’t know what he’s amused about because I kept all those thoughts inside my head. My heart is another story. It’s about to jump out of my chest at the sight of him. My pulse has most definitely increased with his arrival. Crushes are weird.
He’s in a different shirt than before. The one earlier had barely discernible stripes while this one is a crisp, solid white. He’s wearing a suit coat now too, black. It makes him look sexier than any man has a right to look. Sophisticated. Powerful. Sensual. I should get a hobby that is not cataloging every detail about Vince, but not right now. Maybe next week. Something like calligraphy or adult coloring books.