She gives me a high-five and sashays out to wait backstage for her music cue. I quickly join her out on the floor while she’s just getting her hips rolling for the crowd, immediately realizing that my section is already nearing capacity. Tossing a quick wave to Marco, I hustle over, jumping into the routine of getting orders and drinks.
As I work, I scan the room, sensing a vibe of tension for some reason. Usually by now, there’s an ambiance of wicked abandon, wild chaos barely restrained. Too many guys are looking around the room too, ignoring Allie even as she hits her sexiest moves.
But instead, everyone is on edge, sitting up and looking over to the right, even as Allie comes off stage and the new girl takes over. Her approach is a different style from Allie’s elegant grace, but the confidence and sex appeal are all there and should be garnering the crowd’s attention.
Hmm, something’s got to be up. I wonder what’s over there? I try to look surreptitiously, especially since it’s not my section and I don’t want to be seen as a table poacher, but I just have to know.
Holy Mama Llama! That’s Jimmy Keys, all six-foot-eight inches of millionaire himself, here at Petals, not at Club Noir like he was rumored to be last night. He’s sitting back, two girls already hanging out with him, a bottle of very expensive bubbly sitting on the table.
The devil on my shoulder wants to tell Jeanine to suck it because this waitressing cover just might pan out after all. Mr. Basketball getting his drink and dance on at a regular club without his wife is one thing. Getting his jollies off at a strip club with a table full of what totally looks like his boys is another.
I can definitely use this for a story in The Daily Spot, but I need pictures as proof. I move to the far end of the bar, calling out an order to Marco and staying back to wait while he makes my drinks.
I pull out my phone, which is against the rules, but I need to take the risk. Acting like I’m checking my messages on my phone—yep, nothing to see here, folks—I quickly pull up my camera and fire off a burst of pics rapid-fire style. Score! Knowing when to cut and run, I don’t even check the pics before shoving my phone back in my apron pocket. If they’re fuzzy, well, it’s not the first time we’ve run with unfocused photos, and these aren’t even of UFOs or Bigfoot.
I’m just in time as Marco sets my drinks down. “One JB on the rocks and one draft beer for table nine,” he says, grinning. “Good times tonight, huh?”
“I’m guessing you mean the bar tab?” I ask, and Marco nods. “Yeah. Good times.”
I deliver my drinks and check in with my tables, my eyes flashing back to Jimmy every few minutes. I hear some guys cheering and laughing and look over to see his boys all riled up as Jimmy stands from his seat. He’s grinning but not seeing a damn thing as his eyes read one thing and one thing only. Lust.
I can easily see why as Sasha, a stunning blonde from Russia, takes his hand and leads him straight into the back hallway where the private rooms are.
Not just a score, this could be a jackpot! Family man basketball star getting a private lap dance. I can see the headline now.
Once upon a time, I’d have been ashamed of peddling gossip like this. I would have been even more ashamed that a public person like this is acting so . . . dishonorably, but after a few years of tabloid work, you get numb. It feels like there’s a sense of justice to it sometimes, at least. Jimmy trades and exploits his image as a family man, banking millions on his mantra of ‘being a real man who treats his woman like a queen,’ with endorsements, speaking fees . . . heck, the man spoke in front of a ten-thousand-seat church once. But something tells me his wife won’t be too happy with her husband getting a private, one-on-one show from another woman.
Before I can even question more deeply, I follow them down the hallway, staying back and acting casual so no one suspects anything. They go to the big room that is used for private lap dances, and Jimmy sprawls out while Sasha saunters over to pick out whatever music she’s going to use, temporarily leaving the door open.
I pause, leaning against the hallway wall, and take out my phone, clicking on the screen as though I’m texting but silently taking shot after shot. You can only see a bit of Jimmy from the side, but with the shots I got earlier being of his face, the clothing and his height instantly identify the faceless image as Jimmy.
I slip my phone back into my apron again before Sasha turns to close the door, knowing this will be a job well done and a hit story. I’m about to turn back onto the floor when I hear an angry voice behind me. “What the fuck are you doing, Meghan?”
I jump, startled and fearful as I look around. Shane steps forward from the end of the hallway, where he was standing in a dark corner. Considering he’s wearing black pants and a smoke gray silk shirt, he’s damn near a ninja.
His face is hard, his jaw clenched as he grabs my hand and drags me over to his hideaway corner, standing in front of me to block me in. “Shane, I—”
He shakes his head, looking down at me with iron-hard eyes. “Spill it.”
Thinking fast, I pull out my airhead act, letting my voice rise girlishly. “Oh my gosh, Shane. You scared the poop outta me. Are you just skulking over here in the dark?”
Put the attention back on him. Good job, Maggie. I can play young, dumb, and broke all night long. But he’s not having it at all. “One more time, Meg. What the fuck are you doing back here?”
I look into his dark eyes, which are boring into mine, and I can’t help it, my gaze drops to the floor submissively. I try to work my way back up, letting my eyes trace the multitude of tattoos visible on his forearms where his sleeves are rolled up. I’ve never seen them before, and they’re fascinating.
As I get higher, I follow where the tanned skin peeks out, and I can’t help but wonder how much of his shirt I’d need to unbutton in order to see the tats on his chest.
But my gaze stops at his mouth, not able to meet his eyes again.
Deciding that a speck of truth will work better than my airhead act, especially since he’s seen it with patrons before, I swallow my fear and let out a whisper. “Look, I’m a huge fan, okay? I just wanted to get a better look at him.”
Shane grins, cocky and obviously holding back his laughter. “You’re a basketball fan?”
I manage to look him in the eye, seeing his disbelief. “Well, maybe more of a Jimmy Keys fan than the whole sport. I always liked his wholesome family guy image. Seems that’s not real, though, considering he’s got Sasha grinding in his lap right this second. I just . . . I wanted to know for sure.”
Shane tilts his head. “I’ve been around here longer than you. Even good guys are bad sometimes, and bad guys are good sometimes. No one is a simple character all the time. People are more complex than that.”
I swallow, more of a gulp, honestly, and my eyes dip down again, intent on studying the buttons of his shirt and wondering about what’s underneath the thin, dark fabric in front of my eyes. “So, which one are you, a good guy or a bad guy?”
From my peripheral vision, I see Shane’s hand move, but I still freeze when he cups my chin, tilting my head back and forcing me to look up at him. There’s heat in his eyes, a tension in his body as he leans forward, basically looming over me due to our height differences.
“Weren’t you listening, Angel? I’m both good and bad. I suspect you are too.”
The throaty, deep challenging purr of his voice drives the breath from my lungs as my pussy clenches, moisture almost immediately wetting the cotton of the good girl undies I’m wearing. Yeah, I am a good girl . . . but I so want to be naughty with him.
I suddenly realize my jaw is hanging open in his hand, and I force my mouth shut, my teeth clacking together. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”