I can’t help it. I pity the man a bit. I shouldn’t, not after what he did, but I think he might be the only person who could bring Bailey back into herself, all things considered. The boy who loves my sister is still inside the man that sits in front of me. I saw it in his smile when he beamed with pride at hearing she was going back to school.
“You rooting for me, Whittaker?” Chase asks with a put-on grin.
“Nah,” I say, heading to the door. “Rooting for her.”
Chase sobers. “Get her home safe,” he tells me, and his audacity sends fire through my veins for a second, but I nod anyway and head out the door.
Bailey’s clearly angry with me, Colt’s grinning a little too wide for someone who almost spent the night in jail, and I’ve got about two and a half hours to sleep before I gotta be up for chores in the morning. Might as well just stay up instead.
FOUR
AUSTIN
One thing about men:they ruin everything. Some busybody called the cops over the dick-measuring contest between the Whittakers and Chase. No one likes it when the cops show up, so the bar cleared out and my tips ended up being short.
I counted the bills a third time, hoping some were stuck together, but no such luck. Shoving them into the coffee can with the rest of my money, I pried up the loose floorboard in the back of my closet with my nail and stashed it away. At this rate, I’d never get out of this fucking town.
It was two in the morning and it had already been a long fucking day, made longer by the extra cleaning up I had to do after the boys destroyed my bar. Now I had to log in to my second job so I could make up for the tips I lost tonight. The only silver lining to this shitty day was that Dad had already passed out on the couch by the time I got home.
I keep my hair piled on top of my head in a messy bun, too lazy to wash it, but too prideful to appear on camera with dirty hair. A quick switch of my bellybutton ring and change of my clothes and I’ve transformed into RedRanger.
Ten minutes later, I have the camera set up, I’ve sent the system notification to my regulars about the impromptu show,and I’m already stripping out of my shorts with an Oscar-worthy show of seduction.
The computer chimes with my favorite sound. “Thank you, Danny baby,” I purr when the regular tips me fifty bucks, hiding the natural twang in my voice. RedRanger is a role I play. She isn’t from Montana and she doesn’t have a drawl. She doesn’t dress like a small-town bartender, and isn’t bisexual. Most importantly, she’s in control.
“Danny’s showing you guys up tonight. I guess I should just go into a private room with him instead of wasting my time on the rest of you, huh?”
Several more tips come through and I laugh. Men are so simple.
DamnDan:Goddammit guys.
“Sorry, Danny,” I say, turning my back to the camera and bending over to push my shorts down, the chimes all piling on top of one another as my ass takes up the computer screen. I reach behind me and slip my finger under the string of my thong, teasing like I’m gonna pull it to the side and show them my pussy. Instead, I stand up straight again.
Turning toward the camera again, I flick my eyes over to the monitor I use to make sure my face isn’t showing. When I’m sure it isn’t, I read the chats that came through while my back was to them, fiddling with my belly button ring and slipping the very tips of my red acrylics under the waistband of my panties to keep them engaged.
“Thank you, Dicky,” I tease with a grin, waiting for the response I know is coming. When it does, I force my grin wider. They may not be able to see my face, but they can hear the smile in my voice.
“Aw, come on, Dicky, don’t be like that. You know you like it when I’m mean to you. You don’t tip me as much when I call you Richard.”
BigDickRich doesn’t respond to that, but he also doesn’t log off, so I can’t help but chuckle. A few no-name guests file in,which usually means I’m being featured on theNow Livesection of the site’s home page.
Thank god. Maybe I can get this over with sooner than I thought.
“Alright, boys. I’m gonna get this top off while I give you sixty seconds to get your tips in. You know the drill: highest tipper gets to pick tonight’s toy,” I tell them, crossing my arms over my front to pull my shirt over my head. The tips start rolling in.
So simple.
My tits fall from my shirt with a little bounce and the chimes come through so quickly they’re overlapping one another again. I play with the barbells that run through my nipples, pushing out a moan they’re all too horny to realize is fake.
“Oh, someone’s check just hit the bank, huh, Ronnie? Does your wife know you’re blowing all your money on a cam girl?” I ask with a chiding tone as his $100 tip comes through, tossing my shirt to the side.
I probably should care, but this money is a means of survival for me right now, so being a girls’ girl isn’t my priority. If I checked the marital status of every one of my subscribers before accepting their money, it would take years to save up enough to leave Cedar Creek.
A $250 tip hits and my brows rise. It’s laughably higher than anyone else’s and the chat fills with angry messages from my regulars.
$250 as a tip is unheard of.
$250 as a tip from a guest—not even a subscriber or regular watcher—is ridiculous.
