Sophia
With all of us in line according to his orders, Nash walks past each of us, making adjustments he deems necessary before we hit the floor. He pushes all of my hair behind my shoulders and runs his finger under the strap of my bodysuit. “Sophia, sweetheart, I want you in blue,” he tells me, hooking a finger under my chin.
Great, that means I’m up in VIP.
He continues down the line, assigning more of us to our designated tables, and as soon as he leaves the lounge, I head for my locker, digging out the only blue outfit I still have here; a navy bustier with two rhinestone chains that hang under the bra cups, a matching set of panties, and a garter belt to tie it together and hide my pantyhose.
I stop in the mirror once I’m dressed, fixing my hair back into its usual sleek style, then I grab my tray and a few menus, heading up to my assigned table while I try to swallow the sense of dread crawling up my throat.
Throwing a wide grin onto my face, I walk to the table just a few feet ahead of the girl working with me and set the menu down. “Good evening, boys!” I greet them, “Can we get you started on some drinks?”
“Hey,” a familiar voice says from behind me, almost sounding surprised. I turn to find a red-haired guy seated at one of the couches. “I didn’t know you worked here.”
“Oh hey,” I say, trying not to dissolve into nothingness over the embarrassment of my first high school boyfriend sitting at a table in my club.
Anytime that I see a man I know in any of the clubs owned by Nash Montgomery, it sets off an alarm bell in my head, but I brush it away and give him the benefit of the doubt, because I’ve never seen him here before; maybe he just doesn’t know how things work here.
My coworker and I give the six of them some time to decide on their drink choices before we head down to fill up our trays and grab the massive, pricey bottles that they order; they clearly have some money and want to show it off.
Setting the tray down onto the large table at the center of the couches, I reach for one of the champagne bottles and make a show of popping the cork for them, pasting surprise on my face as it flies across the booth and foam spills out of the mouth of the bottle, earning chuckles from the group, like I thought it would.
After a while, you can tell which guys are the ones who want you to seem helpless and stupid, and you learn how to play to that to boost your tip – hopefully entertaining them enough that they don’t want anything else from you.
An hour of pouring drinks, flirting, and being touched in places I really don’t care to be touched by strangers passes before my ex drunkenly slips his hand around my waist and pulls me to his lap. “Where’s the special menu?” He shouts into my ear.
So hedoesknow.
My mouth goes dry as I reach for the large printout on the table and pull it close so that he can read it along with me, pointing to the section of the menu printed with HOUSE SPECIALTIES. “You can order the house vodka,” I say, pointing tomyself, “or the house red,” this time I gesture toward my coworker.
His eyes flit to her, watching for a second while she dances with one of his friends, then turns back to me. “I’m more of a vodka guy,” he tells me.
“Should I get that for you now, or do you want it later?”
“I’m pretty parched,” he answers.
Standing, I take his hand in mine and pull him with me, leading him out of the booth and behind a curtain toward the back, through a door tucked into the wall, until we reach a private room. Thankfully, it smells like disinfectant and soap in here, so I can breathe a little easier.
“You get a half hour for a shot of vodka,” I tell him.
“Can I make it a double shot? I’ve never had this brand before, I want to enjoy it for a while.”
I give him a tight smile, shaking my head. “Sorry, the owner doesn’t like the space hogged back here.” I get to work, removing my outfit piece by piece while he watches, my skin crawling just a little bit. He was fine when we were together, he never pressured me into anything or acted like he was annoyed that I didn’t put out for him. That was a long time ago, though, and this gives me the willies.
People change; not always for the better.
“Do you order house specials often?”
He shakes his head. “I didn’t know they existed until my buddy told me about them.”
He steps toward me, his hands wrapping around my waist, and he presses his lips to mine. I’m honestly not used to being kissed at work, it’s...different, but I let him do it. He paid for it, didn’t he?
Locked in a kiss, we move toward the small bed against the wall until he falls onto it, and I climb on top of him, working the button of his slacks and slipping them down to his ankles.
I climb over to the table at the side of the bed and reach for a condom from the bowl sitting on top of it, bringing it back to him and tearing it open.
“Yeah, I guess we’re gonna need those, huh,” he muses. “I don’t want to catch something. Good call.”
Forcing my grimace into a smile, I tell him, “We get tested regularly. These are foroursafety, becauseyoudon’t.”
