Page 4 of Sexy

“You won’t, Fletcher. Not if you keep this shit up.”

“Chandler, I’m the star of the show. Most of those women come here asking about me. We all know that. And I’m not trying to be a dick, but I’m a contributor. I’m part of its success. And for fuck’s sake, if I’ve got the afternoon off, then I’ve got the afternoon off. Leave me alone and let me do my thing.”

“I get it,” he says, slumping down in his seat. “I do, man, but you have to try a little harder.”

Try harder. Jesus Christ, I don’t know how much harder I can try. I don’t say that, of course. But it pisses me off that people think I’m lazy.

“Not that you don’t work hard, man.”

Yeah, buddy. Too little, too late. But again, I let it ride. Because fuck it. Fuck everyone. Fuck the fucking world. “Look, the meeting was rescheduled for tomorrow morning during working hours. So everyone will be happy. OK?”

We fist-bump and I leave with just enough time to make it backstage before Sean finishes his act. The rest of us line up and wait for Chandler to bring us all back out on stage together. This is the fun part. For me at least. Because this is when I look for a possibility. A girl I might like to fuck tonight. I’ve been running a dry spell lately. No one’s caught my eye in more than a month. So I’m horny. I need a slutty, forgettable girl to wipe this fucking day away.

Chapter Two

Chandler cues us with his intro and then the curtain lifts up. The spotlights are going wild on us. Smoke, some flames for good measure, and the smell of chicks in heat get me pumped for the finale. We walk out on stage together. All the guys have ditched their costumes and they’re all dressed like me. If you can call ratty jeans and boots a costume.

I’ve done studies on what the ladies like, and this getup is it.

We break into our dance when the thumping turns to music and the screaming starts. Some of them are practically begging for attention. Chandler whips his shirt off—this is his only act since the new girl put her foot down—and since he’s been here the longest and has the most promo time, he gets an extra enthusiastic cheer he joins in off to the side.

Then the spotlights begin weaving around the crowd. This is my favorite moment. The moment when I get to choose. The moment filled with tonight’s possibilities.

I zone in on that redhead who caught my t-shirt off to the left. She lifts her shirt up, showing her tits. But she’s looking at Mitch like she wants to suck his cock right here, right now. So I move on. There’s a blonde in the back, standing on a table, weaving her hips like she’s way too familiar with this job I’m doing. Stripper. I’m not into strippers.

That makes me grin with the irony.

Another blonde off to the right is waving a fistful of twenties at Chandler. He’s not looking to get laid by anyone here. He’s got his girl and he’s happy with her. But I don’t like being second choice.

I look down the center of the stage and find the girl who said no earlier. She’s sipping a drink that might be gin, or vodka, or hell, water for all I know. Her gay BFF is having way too much fun as she sits there stoically. Steve is gay, and it’s pretty apparent when he does his act since it’s to the YMCA tune. So I’m pretty sure her BFF’s got his eye on him.

But that girl. She is blank. Like no expression.

I feel a little surge of adrenaline just thinking of her refusal. Not many people tell me no. And it’s been a long while since I heard that word from a girl in the crowd after an invite to come on stage.

So she’s my target when Chandler gives the cue for us to go find our last pick of the night. We go in order. First Steve, who can’t pick a dude even if he wanted to because this is a ladies’ night kinda gig. He hits up a cougar, like he always does.

Bill goes for grannies. He likes to make them blush and he gets a kick out of sticking their hands down his pants.

I head right to suit girl. She sees me coming and shakes her head no, but I’m in control. That last girl might’ve got a kiss in, but I am in control. I dance around her table, flirting with all the other girls as they stuff their dollars into my pockets, trying to cop a feel. One girl manages to get her hand inside the waistband of my jeans, but I grab it and rub it up against my lower stomach so she doesn’t get far.

I weave back and forth in the middle of the audience, playing with ten or twelve women before the spotlight finally lands on me. And then I run straight towards suit girl who is too busy checking her watch to notice until I jump up, my boots clanking down on the bottom rung on either side of her bar stool, and grab her hair.

She looks up at me in shock, her mouth open, her eyes wide, and her head tilted up.

I am instantly hard.

“What are you doing?” she squeals.

“Yeah,” the gay BFF screams. “Woohoo! Get him, Tiffy!”

I laugh at her name and then lean down into her ear as my hips gyrate back and forth, brushing against her thighs. “Tiffy,” I growl in a gruff voice. “I’d have pegged you for a Jane or a Ruth. Something serious and boring.”

“Get off me,” she growls back.

“I’m not on you, sweetheart.” And I’m not. I’m still standing on those chair rungs, hovering. But I let go of her head and point to my abs. “You wanna lick me?” I laugh.

“I do!” another girl says, jumping up and down with a fistful of dollars off to her right. “I do!”