Jag quirked an eyebrow.
Dylan burst out laughing. “Oh my God! You are so full of yourself!”
Kyrone scowled. “Hey, if you’ve got it, flaunt it. I know I’m hot. Why deny it?”
“Why emblazon it on your chest?” Dylan countered.
“Says the guy who has ‘danger zone’ tattooed on his groin.”
Dylan curled his lips into a grin. “Well, my dickisa danger zone. I have to give guys fair warning that they’re going to get fucked senseless.” He looked to Jag. “What about you?”
“I don’t have any tattoos.”
Dylan rolled his eyes. “Iknowthat. You’re as boring as Hunter in that department.”
“Hey!” Hunter objected. “I’m not boring.”
“Yes, you are.” Dylan turned his attention back to Jag. “What would you get if you did get some ink?”
Jag shrugged. “I’ve never thought about it.”
Dylan pursed his lips. “You could get Michael’s name tattooed over your heart. Or a pair of angel wings. That was the boss’s stage name back in the day, wasn’t it? Archangel?”
“You make him sound really old.”
Dylan shrugged. “He kind of is.”
“He’s notthatold,” Jag grumbled.
“Ignore Dylan. You know he’s a wind-up merchant,” Hunter said.
Kyrone nodded in agreement. “Ilike my tattoo, and that’s all that matters. You can take the piss all you like.”
Jag held his hands up. “That was all Dylan.”
“Hey,” Mac, the assistant manager, called from the doorway. He motioned to Jag, Hunter, and Dylan. “You three are up next. Get a move on.” He looked at Kyrone. “And you’re due back behind the bar. Stop slacking in here.”
Kyrone dragged out his break until his friends were ready to go onstage. He walked with them to the door that led into the main room of the club, but while they went up on the stage to a chorus of whoops, wolf whistles, and applause, he sloped off, unnoticed, to the bar. Was it wrong that helikedbeing the centre of attention? Plus, there was the fact that going onstage never got boring. The crowd was always different, and Kyrone had several routines with various combinations of dancers. With Jag and Dylan, it was all about grace and finesse. When he danced with guys like Hunter, the routines showed off their muscle and raw power. For the next week or two, he would have to watch from the side lines.
At closing time, Kyrone headed into the changing rooms again as the dancers showered, got dressed, and then headed to Mac to cash in their chips—the currency that punters used to pay for private dances. The house took a cut from every dance, but the guys still got the lion’s share.
“Good night?” Jag asked as he pulled on his clothes.
“It was okay,” Kyrone replied. “Tending bar is nowhere near as electrifying as dancing. I noticed you got a decent amount of chips tonight.”
Jag smiled. “A fair few, yeah.” He inclined his head. “Are you going to be okay on just the flat wage until you can dance again?”
“Oh, definitely. It’s enough to pay my rent and bills, and buy some textbooks. The tips mean I haven’t had to get as many student loans, and I can afford a few extras.”
“Like new tattoos?”
“Exactly.”
After watching his family struggle for years with money, it had been impressed on Kyrone that he had to do better for himself and his future family. Not that his dad would have approved of pole dancing, but it was allowing him to get through uni relatively debt-free.
“How’s the course going?” Jag asked.
Kyrone stared at the floor for a moment. “It’s… going.”
