Scott whipped out his cell phone and turned away from me. I heard a few choppy, declarative sentences. A table being reserved at a strip club? He hung up, and turned back to me. “Right this way.”
What had I gotten myself into?
We cut through the masses of people like a targeted missile. The sun disappeared behind the mountains to the west, and the strip became beautiful in the dark. Thousands of voices, mostly laughing, rose to the sky. Color and flashing lights and sounds filled the night. The strip reminded me of our county fairs, but that was a fleeting, temporal thing, where in comparison Las Vegas was eternal. I lagged behind, admiring the Eiffel Tower at Paris and the Roman sculpture of Caesar’s palace. The temperature fell when the sun went down, and a pleasantly cool breeze blew over us. Scott reached for my hand, and I let him take it. I didn’t want to be separated from him in the masses of drunk, happy people. He slowed for me, looking around at the places I looked. I wished I didn’t like the intimacy, how special holding his hand felt. Dammit, he was business.
We cut between two of the casinos, heading back to the part of the city I’d mentioned earlier, where it’s not all pretty, flashy and tourist-ready, away from the façade of Las Vegas. I have to admit, nervousness filled me. Scott walked me to what looked like a warehouse, no sign, no advertising, and opened the door for me like a gentleman.
Muted, thumping music played inside the building. The bass was heavy. I imagined the dancers gyrating and pumping to the music. I hesitated in the cool night. I should probably go back to my room. Call it a night. I was pretty tired. It was one thing to keep this going for a few days to appease my boss, but a strip club? Then again, it had been my idea.
He sensed my hesitation. “You said you’d never been. This is the best club in Las Vegas. Maybe the world.” Scott chewed on the thought for a bit. “Yeah, the world. We’ll go in, have a drink, check it out, then we can hit the road.”
“Okay. Just a drink.”
“Honestly, if you want to bounce before then, let me know. Or if you don’t want to go in, that’s fine, too. Whatever you want, Mackenzie.” He wore such an earnest expression, I couldn’t help but smile at him.
“One drink will be fine.”
Beige carpet and a reception desk flanked by potted plants reminded me more of my local Penske rental office than what I’d imagined a strip club would look like. A modestly dressed but very attractive woman sat at the desk.
“Mr. Creed, good evening.” Jesus, the strippers knew my husband by name here. “And good evening to you, Miss.”
“How are you tonight, Ambrosia?” My husband knew the strippers by name, too. Awesome.
Ambrosia moved to a nondescript green door and opened it for us. Here was the strip club like I’d imagined: loud music, flashing lights, etc. I noticed Ambrosia’s shoes—her heels had to be about five inches high. I couldn’t even imagine. Next to her, so sleek and polished, I felt unbelievably frumpy. I couldn’t go in there and watch those beautiful women dancing.
“Scott…” my voice trailed off as Ambrosia studied me. I girded my loins and followed him into the dark room. He led me to a booth and slid in after me. My eyes felt as big as dinner plates as I looked around the room. Two girls danced on a stage, and I was surprised by the amount of clothing they wore. I mean, they were strippers, for sure, but everything was covered.
A girl in a bikini trotted up to our table and set a drink menu in front of us. I wasn’t super pumped to imbibe, but I needed it. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to be staring at the monstrous globes of her breasts or not. Her bikini was lime green, glowing in the black lights. Straps covered her nipples, but not much else. “Tequila shot?” I asked.
Scott gave me a look. “Again?”
“Just the one. Corona chaser, please?”
“Make it two.”
“Sure thing!” She bounced away, so perky. The lime green G-string left nothing to the imagination.
“She’s not a stripper,” Scott said.
“She’s… not?”
“She’s a waitress. Different pay scale.”
“How can you tell them apart?”
“I know them all.”
“Is that weird?”
“Do you know your barista?”
I did know my barista. He was the best and always knew what I wanted before I ordered. I saw Scott’s point, but… “I don’t see my barista’s cock.”
“Would you like to?”
I blushed and hoped Scott didn’t notice. He reached out and touched my cheek. He totally noticed. Keenan, my barista, was about twenty-one and probably spent every second he wasn’t at Starbucks at the gym. There was a chance he might be gay, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t sometimes think about him when I spent some quality time with my bullet vibrator.
“This is a safe place to have all the sexy thoughts you want,” Scott murmured. “It’s okay if it makes you horny. Or not. Whatever you feel, goes.”
“Does it make you horny?”
“Honestly, at this point, it takes more than some tits in my face to get me fired up. I think the female form is beautiful, and I love to watch it, but I’m not like some of the guys here.” He paused a moment, swiveled his head to take in the scene. A few tables over, a beautiful blonde girl gyrated on a man wearing a cowboy hat. She plucked it from his head and put it on her own before pulling the string on her bikini top and setting her breasts free. “I think what would turn me on most tonight would be knowing you were enjoying yourself.”
On stage, the music changed, and one of the girls unbuttoned her top. The other one slapped her hand away and used her mouth to attack the buttons. It was only 9:30, so the club wasn’t busy. I could imagine the place packed, and there was room on the stage for a lot more women.
The shirt fell away to reveal a see-through, red lace bra, and Miss Green Bikini came back with our drinks.
“Cheers,” I said after she’d set them down and left.
Scott picked up his shot and groaned. “I’m too old for this shit.” He clinked the shot glass against mine, and we downed the liquor. It burned and sloshed in my stomach. Goosebumps popped up on my arms. I bit into my lime to subdue down the taste. The Corona washed it all down. But the tequila hit me harder and faster than I’d expected. Probably because I hadn’t eaten, well, anything today.
“Do you want a lap dance?” Scott asked.
“Um,” I said.
He waved over one of the girls. She was Asian, and her shiny black shoes made her incredibly tall.
“This lovely lady has never been to a strip club before. Can you give her a little something special?”
“Anything for you, Mr. Creed,” she teased. She wore a short denim skirt and a tight white t-shirt over bouncing, augmented breasts. I mean, they had to be fake, right? Her nipples were brown half dollars.
What did something special mean? I wasn’t sure I was ready for something special. Scott gently guided me out of the booth to a chair placed specifically for this purpose. The woman threw a leg over me. She was so close, I could smell her skin under her perfume.
“I’m Mackenzie.” It seemed only polite to introduce myself to the woman who straddled me. What would Lucas think of me being here?