Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 129460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
After jerking up my chin, I breathe out the stupid nerves I should have before heading her way.
My steady steps slow when I spot something different about Jess’s expression. She looks a little wound up.
“What is it?”
“Huh?” She is a terrible liar even without speaking. “Nothing’s wrong.” She holds out for a whole three seconds. “They just presented an offer that, as your manager, I’m technically meant to present to you. It is part of my job. I just—”
“You just…” I ask when she stops talking midsentence.
“I just—” She stops again, breathes out heavily, then spits out her words as if they scorch her throat on the way out. “It’s nothing.” She straightens her spine, flattens out the crinkles in her microskirt, then states matter-of-factly, “The maid of honor has agreed to an additional two hundred for extra perks.”
“Extra perks?”
My brows shoot up into my hairline when Jess thrusts her hand at my crotch.
“Oh…”
“Yeah, ohhh. They want the bride to have a last peek of a sausage that isn’t her husband’s.”
Her eyes zoom to mine when I seek clarification, “Just the bride?” I hold my hands out in front of myself in a non-defensive manner when she looks set to gut me where I stand. “I’m joking, Jess. I’m not interested in extra perks from anyone out there.”
Her spine straightens for a completely different reason this time around. She looks like a peacock about to stretch out his feathers.
Since I’d rather her do that in private, I nudge my head to the stage. “Come on, let’s get this wrapped up so we can get home.”
I don’t mention it is so I can finally use the restroom.
Her self-confidence is too high for me to batter.
Jess has been right more times today than I care to admit. She was right about all black underwear being more attractive than a sparkling G-string, how the bride would charge my way the instant I’m on stage, and that the more risqué the dance moves at the start of my performance, the bigger the tips.
There was only one thing she failed to mention.
That none of my moves come naturally when the person arched over the chair is blonde and almost as tall as me. She doesn’t have Belize curves or a tiny stature, and her smell is off. She reeks of alcohol and cigarettes instead of honey and flowers.
“Come on, Caleb,” Jess murmurs over the music when my lack of interest nosedives my performance.
As I grip the bride-to-be’s slim hip, I stray my eyes in the direction Jess’s voice came from. She’s at the side of the stage, wedged between a dismantled drum kit and a bass guitar case.
When our eyes lock and hold, I put more oomph into the next grind. The bride’s friends holler as the low hang of Jess’s lips inch higher.
Although I can’t keep my eyes on Jess for all of my performance, my imagination is wondrous. I picture her smile when I did the worm against her body on the living room floor earlier today while doing the same to the unnamed blonde, then I conjure up her scent when I drag my nose past the stranger’s ample breasts and the fastener of her skirt.
When I fake burrowing my head between the bride-to-be’s legs, the crowd breaks into a chant. They scream and shout like they did when Jess introduced me before they surge toward the stage to get an up-close visual of the performance.
I don’t pay them any attention.
My focus is on one person.
It isn’t the bride-to-be.
“Oh em gee! Look at all these bills.” Jess tosses dollar bills into the air like their domination is far higher before bobbing down to gather them back up like she did after my performance. “There has to be at least another two hundred here in tips alone.”
Once she has them stacked together, she hands the thick wad to me. I finish wiping the sweat from my head with the towel Jess packed in my ‘stripper bag’ before splitting the bundle in half and handing one share to Jess.
“What?” Her eyes drop to the money then bounce back to me. “We agreed to ten percent.”
“Of my retainer. This is tips.” I don’t mention the fact I wouldn’t have made a dime if she hadn’t inspired me. I simply snatch up my bag, curl my hand around Jess’s not gripping her bundle of notes with enough strength to crumple them more than the women hoping to stuff them into my underwear, dip my chin in farewell to the bartender, then head for the back exit. “Tips should be treated differently. Even Maui agrees with me.”
Maui is the owner of the club. He agreed to charge no cover fee if I made the bride-to-be’s guests thirsty enough to cover the loss with drinks.
They almost drank the bar dry.