He looks me up and down. “Pour a beer down those tits and I’ll suck every last drop.”
My blood freezes but my smile doesn’t budge. “That’s not on the menu.”
“Then what is, honey?”
Kiara laughs, a sharp sound that’s nothing like my giggle. “January’s got four boyfriends and every one of them would kick the shit out of you for less than what you’re doing now.”
The guy turns away from me to smile at her. “Well then, what about you, princess? A friend of mine said you only fuck girls. That true?”
Kiara opens her mouth to reveal a gleaming silver tongue stud. “What do you think?”
I hide my laughter behind my hand. I expect the man to back away, but he reaches across the bar as though to touch Kiara’s lips.
“That little thing would feel just as good on my cock.”
I stop smiling. We both glare at him.
“Don’t be like that,” the guy says. “Why’d you girls wear outfits like that if you don’t wanna get my dick hard?”
I look down at my sparkly pink bikini top and miniskirt. It took me a long time to feel confident in my Dreams clothes. To ‘own it’ as the other girls say. But I liked the outfits and it’s been long enough that I understand dressing like this means giving the customers something nice to look at and that’s enough. It’s not teasing or asking for more.
“Go pay for a dance,” Kiara says, in a dangerously sweet voice. “Or management might wonder if you’re spending enough to stay in this club.”
The guy smirks, raising a hundred-dollar bill he already had curled between his fingers. Whatever this is, he came prepared for it.
“Okay ladies, how about this? You give each other a kiss and then you get—”
The double doors to the left of us explode outward and a man strides in. He’s dressed in all black, contrasting his golden hair and bright blue eyes. There’s a toothpick jammed between his teeth and as he scans the club, the air in the room charges. Becomes hot. The guests sit up straighter, the dancers arch their backs.
The man’s electric gaze finds mine and he gives me a wide grin. “January Joy Whitehall, you sexy little bitch.”
“Hi Doc,” I squeak.
“You ready for the night of your life, my luscious whore?”
Before I can answer—or ask for the millionth time for him to tone down his aggressively loving sexual harassment—Doc’s gaze lands on the guy in front of me and Kiara, leaning across the bar, money still balled in his fist.
“Well, well, well,” Doc says. “What do we have here?”
The guy seems to shrink three feet, drawing into himself until he’s practically a teenager.
“You,” Doc says in a low crackling voice. “The fuck are you doing that close to my girl, buddy boy?”
“I, uh, ahhh…”
Doc strides toward him. “The only logical reason for you to be approaching the bar with a hundred bucks in your hand is because you want to buy these ladies a drink. Am I right?”
“I… Yeah. You’re right.”
Doc snatches the money out of his fist “Well thanks, bud. Now get the fuck out of here.”
The guy turns and takes a step back toward the stage.
“Not there,” Doc says. “Through that door I just walked in.”
“But my jacket…?”
“Your jacket or your nutsack. Your choice.”
