by Erin Zak
The bouncer, who is a large, foreboding man wearing a suit, bends down to look into the limo. His entire body fills the door. He is everything a strip club bouncer should be: big enough to break someone. He extends an enormous hand, giant rings on the three of his four fingers, for Francesca to take. I swallow the lump in my throat and pull my focus to her ass as she exits. If she’s wearing panties, it’s very hard to tell. As the large hand reappears to help me out, I gulp and take it. His skin is so soft, which makes me think maybe he’s not as menacing after all. He pulls me from the limo as if I weigh nothing.
Francesca hugs him, and he picks her easily off the ground. “George, my love, how are you?” she asks, her arms around his thick neck.
He sets her down and smiles a gap-toothed smile. “I’m doin’ real good, Frankie. Real, real good. My girl Tasha is pregnant. Little boy on the way.”
“Oh, George, how wonderful. I am so happy for you.”
“Yeah, and I get to take maternity leave when she has him.”
“You mean paternity leave,” she corrects as she smooths the lapel of his suit jacket. “Well, we both know the owner is awesome about things like that.”
“It’s a great place to work.” He chuckles. “And seeing boobies all the time ain’t half-bad.”
Francesca bows her head and puts her hands to her forehead. “Jesus, George, way to make a first impression.” He’s so big, towering over us, but he’s blushing now, and I find myself smiling despite his crassness. “This is my friend, Cecily. Cecily, this is George, who apparently loves boobies.”
“I think you’re in good company for that kind of talk,” I say as I reach out.
He puts his giant hand in mine, and I’m pulled into a similar hug. “It’s very nice to meet you. Any friend of Frankie’s is a friend of mine.”
He smells like aftershave and too much cologne, but when he sets me down, his smile really does warm my heart. “Well, thank you. I am glad I got to meet you.”
“Okay, ladies, go on in. Di will be up in the next twenty minutes.” He opens the black metal door, and the hinges creak softly before the deep thump, thump, thump of bass is filling the street. As we walk in, Francesca grabs my hand. I squeeze her thin fingers. The hallway is black, with only a light at the end of the tunnel. I’m thrilled it doesn’t smell bad. I don’t know what I was expecting, but whatever scent is in the air reminds me of fresh laundry. I chuckle, which causes Francesca to look over her shoulder.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I was thinking it sort of smells like Bounce.”
She stops in the doorway. “Like the fabric softener?”
I laugh, and she joins. “It’s better than what I assumed it’d smell like.”
“Jizz and sweat?”
I laugh again. “Oh my God, you are too much.”
“Okay, let’s do this.”
I follow her through the opening into the club.
When my eyes adjust to the different colored lights and the dark corners, I quickly take in my surroundings. There are numerous levels, with five or six different small stages. There is one large stage in the middle of the room, complete with a pole and a mirrored floor. That stage is empty, but I assume it’s where Diamond will perform.
We’re approached by a server who is absolutely stunning. She’s tall, with super-long dark hair. Her breasts are uncovered, but she has tasseled pasties on, and she’s covered in glitter. Yep, strip clubs are exactly what I imagined. I’m not disappointed, either. For some reason, I sort of had this idea that I’d hate a strip club. I felt so bad for the women having to get up there and undress in front of all of those men. But as I’m looking around, I realize these women are in control. The men are not allowed to touch them, which Francesca told me as she prepped me in the limo. And the only way they go into a closed room with a man is if two of them go at a time.
“Safety in numbers,” she’d said when she leaned into me in the back seat and stroked the side of my leg through my pants.
The server knows Francesca, not surprising, and tells her the drinks are on the house all night. Not gonna lie, I’m sort of enjoying being a member of the in crowd. Not that I don’t have the money…it’s just really nice being taken care of. Francesca pulls me into the middle of the club. There are people everywhere. Equal numbers of men and women, which is, again, shocking. Everyone is dressed impeccably, and I’m so glad Francesca warned me to dress nice.
“So most of these women know me, know I’m Di’s friend.” She motions toward a thin African American woman who is completely clothed in a very dapper three-piece red suit. She is wearing a black fedora, and when she glances our way, Francesca grips my wrist tighter. “That’s Drea.” She leans closer to me. “She’s the owner.”
“Oh?”
She nods. “Yes. Be cool.”
I gasp softly as I lean into her. “Am I not typically?”
“You’re gorgeous is what you are.” Her volume level, her tone of voice, her eyes, everything about what she said is perfect. She looks away as Drea approaches.
“Frankie, my love.” Drea places her hand on Francesca’s cheek and kisses her on the lips. The zip of jealousy shooting through me is not something I enjoy at all. “It is so good to see you.”
“I know. It’s been too long.” Francesca’s smile isn’t her typical flirtatious smile, so I apply the brakes on my jealousy. Their interaction is more familial than anything else. “I want you to meet my friend, Cecily.”
Drea is pure sex appeal, and I am instantly captivated by her aura. She removes her hat, revealing a short hairdo. I extend my hand to say hello; she takes it, and kisses the top. She is such a gentlewoman, and I am loving every second of it.
“Enchanté,” she says as she looks into my eyes. “I saw you walk in.” Her voice is like smooth jazz. I can’t get over it. “You remind me of a cup of coffee with too much cream, and I want to drink you up.”
My cheeks feel ten shades of red, and my eyebrows are probably at my hairline. Drea’s dark red lips turn upward into a devilish smile.
“Hey, hey, lady.” Francesca laughs. “This one’s mine. You have a thousand women to choose from.” She places a hand on the small of my back. The move is territorial, and even though I’m taken by Drea’s performance, I am thrilled to feel Francesca’s touch.
“Fine. But you better be takin’ care of this lovely lady.” Her eyes are the lightest brown I’ve ever seen, which is throwing me off even more than everything else. “’Cause if not, honey, you come find me, y’hear?”
I nod. I’m incapacitated otherwise. Am I being set up? Punk’d? I’ve never been the piece of meat people fought over.
I kind of enjoy it.
Is that wrong?
When Drea finally walks away, I hear Francesca’s deep intake of air. I glance at her. “Are you okay?”
“Aside from the fact that I haven’t even had a chance to kiss you and I almost lost you to the smoothest, most attractive butch in Vegas? Yeah, everything’s good.”
I laugh. “You better step up your game.”
Her eyes widen. “Girl…”
“Hmm?”
“You have no idea what I’m capable of.” She does a very slow turn so she’s facing me. She’s a half inch taller in her heels. I think she wore those on purpose.
I shake my head slowly. She’s right. I have not a single clue, but if she’s wanting to show me? I’ll one hundred percent let her.
And I’m going to take copious notes.
Francesca
Part of the allure Drea has is she’s mysterious. She’s a gorgeous woman with the most beautiful skin, the sexiest haircut, and the way she dresses? Shit. I’d get lost in that performance, and I don’t let myself get lost often.
But that’s exactly what it is: a performance. And I know that.
Me, on the other hand, you get what you see. I do not perform. I do not sugarcoat anything. I’m hard in some places, soft in others, and I know, without a shadow of a doubt, how to
rev a woman’s engine. Hell, I know how to rev a man’s, but it’s been a while since I’ve even wanted to try. Suffice to say, I don’t really ever need to try with men. They’re entirely too easy.
Now, women? And this woman in particular? This very beautiful woman sitting very close to me at this very tiny table waiting for Diamond to come onstage?
Yeah, Cecily is not easy. She’s interesting. She’s intense. She’s broken. And the idea of breaking her any further causes my stomach to twist. I refuse to be the cause of any heartbreak in her life. So she has received all of me from the instant I laid eyes on her at the bar. My whole stay guarded, stay sane bullshit has faded into the background where Cecily is concerned.
“I’m still waiting for you to show me what you’re capable of,” Cecily says, her voice barely audible over Kelly Rowland singing about “Motivation.” She drinks her dirty martini. She licks the salty olive juice from her dark pink lips, then turns to make eye contact. She is almost too much for me to handle.
Almost.
“You’re not ready.” I press my lips together, push them out as I size her up, then roll them back in. She’s been enamored with my lips since ten o’clock the previous night. I know she’s looking.
“No?”
“Absolutely not.”
“How can you be so sure?”
I move her hair from over her shoulder. I can smell the product she uses as I lean closer. “Have you ever been around someone who causes your hands to ache?” I whisper against her ear. “Like, they physically ache when you think about the person, when you see them, because you so badly want to touch them.” She pulls a very deep breath in through her nose. I am so close that I can see the tiny hair follicles along her jawline. “My hands haven’t stopped aching since I met you.” I breathe in, my lips mere centimeters from her earlobe, and the soft moan it elicits from her is exactly what I want. “They ache to touch you. They ache to hold you.” I pull away slightly. I can see her chest, and she’s breathing deep, slow breaths. “They ache to fuck you…to bring you to orgasm.”
“Jesus,” she whispers. “You know I hate that word.” She’s breathless when she says it.
“So do you not want me to fuck you?”
“No, I want you to…do that.”
I lean closer again, pull a breath in through my mouth, and say, “Do what?”
She groans softly. “Fuck me.”
I pull away and lean back in my chair. “See? You’re not ready.”
Cecily’s mouth falls open. “Are you kidding me?”
“Nope.” I chuckle, pleased with myself. “You’re perspiring. Look at you.”
She dabs at her forehead with her finger. “Well, crap.”
I shrug. “I’m just saying…you’re not ready for all this.”
“You might be right.” As she says those words, the lights dim, and Diamond’s signature song, “Touch Myself,” starts. “Come here,” Cecily says, her voice a whisper. I lean toward her again. “I may not like saying ‘fuck,’ but just remember, it doesn’t mean I don’t know how to fuck.”
She turns her attention to the stage when Diamond appears and begins her routine on the pole. Normally, I watch her dance and help her critique her routine later when she’s off work. She’s really good, so I never mind helping her out. And Diamond is a hottie with a body she works hard to maintain. But this time, all I can do is watch Cecily take in the entire scene. Aside from the probability of us being wonderful together once we do fall into bed, this is one of the hottest moments of my entire life.
Chapter Ten
Francesca
Diamond did not disappoint. At all. Her set was amazing, as always, but this time, she pulled in so much money, even I was floored. Cecily leaned over at one point, eyes wide, and said, “Does she get to keep all of all that?”
I nodded. “Most of it. Drea gets a cut, but they’ve been friends for so long, Drea lets her keep more than the other women.”
When Diamond was done, she came and sat with us. She laid a cloth napkin on my lap and sat, her arm around me. My face was in her covered breasts—she’s one of the few who gets away with not completely showing her assets—and I couldn’t help but chuckle every time I caught Cecily looking jealous. The rest of the women came and said their hellos as well, all wanting to know who the “hot blonde” I brought with me was.
Cecily seemed to enjoy herself.
When we finally left, I asked if she was ready to go back to her room, and she answered with a firm no. So I took her to my favorite bar. A speakeasy called Commonwealth I found one evening when I was flying solo. I texted one of my bartender hookups, and he quickly responded with the password, which just happened to be “old-fashioned.”
So, here we are. In my favorite bar in my favorite city, drinking my favorite drink with a woman who has somehow become, well, my favorite. She sits across from me, her index finger slowly circling the rim of her old-fashioned. She’s still wearing her wedding ring, which I find to be interesting, but I fear asking about it. While rocking the boat is something I excel at, I do not want to with her. I want her to know I’m not out to get her. The funny part is, the more I get to know her, the more I really want to see where this goes.
Is that crazy? I’ve known her for less than two days. But she’s so…I’m searching for a word when I glance up to her eyes, which are locked on mine. She arches her left eyebrow. I feel the sensation it causes, falling or flying or maybe both, deep in my center.
“Tell me about this woman who hurt you.” Her voice is low, sultry, and I wish she had used it to say something else. I don’t want to talk about Willow. Not now. Not ever. But Cecily’s eyes are seductive, and her index finger dancing on the rim of her glass is suggestive, and my poorly guarded heart is way too cooperative.
“Why ruin a great night?” It’s a poor attempt at dodging the subject.
“Can I say one thing?”
I smile. “Of course. You can say a million things.”
“I know you may not want to talk about her, the very stupid woman who broke you. I get it. I do. But…” She seems to be gathering her words, as if she stumbled and dropped them out of a pail, and now they’re jumbled, and if she doesn’t put the sentence back together perfectly, she may ruin everything. Which is not the case at all. She is damn near perfect and whatever she is planning on saying will be, as well. “I can’t handle knowing someone broke you, your spirit, your soul. I would never…” Her voice fades, and she finishes with, “Break you. I could never live with myself.”
I’m not entirely sure how those words make me feel. All I can say is I have never felt my heartbeat stutter before. And after she says the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard, my heart does, in fact, stutter. “How did I find you?”
She shrugs. “I wonder the same thing.”
I want to drink every last drop of her voice. I am starting to fear how my life will feel when she leaves. “The woman who broke me? Aside from being an idiot?” I smile when she does. “I wish I could say one of us did something wrong. The story seems so…pathetic now.”
She props her elbow on the table, her chin cradled in the palm of her hand. She is so lovely. Her eyes and cheekbones and the gentle slope of her nose. And that damn hair… Everything in my body is screaming at me to stop. All of these emotions and feelings swirling inside mean one thing and one thing only: I am falling for her. I can feel it happening. And it’s way too fucking fast. Will talking about Willow now be a hinderance? Or will it help?
“She came into my life when I wasn’t expecting it. I was lonely and sad. And she swooped in, and she looked at me. She connected with me.” I pause and recall Willow’s intense eye contact. How she had me go for a drink. How she kissed me in the middle of a crowd on Las Vegas Boulevard in front of God and everyone. “She said all the right things.”
“Like what?”
I laugh softly, trying to hide the emotion bubbling inside. “Told me I was worth so much in life.” I shrugged. “Told me I co
uld do anything, that she saw me, that she had never been around someone who made her feel so alive, so desired.” I focus on my drink, on the ice, on my stupidity. “She told me I was beautiful.” I hear Cecily sigh, but I do not look up. Her focusing on me right now is too much for my heart to handle.
“Francesca,” she whispers, but I still do not look up. “You are beautiful, in more ways than one.”
“Cecily…”
“Well, she wasn’t lying.”
I glance up. “She clearly has good taste.” I look away, down to my drink, to the way the cherry has sunk to the bottom. The irony is not lost on me that up until Cecily walked into my life, I felt a lot like that fucking cherry: drowning and sure of my fate. “She made me feel so good about myself. I don’t think I’ve ever been with someone who made me feel good about my life choices. She was everything I didn’t know I wanted.” I pause, swirl the drink. I stab the cherry with a toothpick and pull it out of the bourbon. “She chewed me up and spit me out. I was just another conquest. She had someone else the entire time, which she was only honest about when she decided she was done with me. She told me she left someone recently, someone who killed her soul, and kept saying she was done and needed to leave her. She needed to for her own sanity.”
“So did she go back to this someone?”
“I’m assuming so. In the end, she told me she’d lied, and I really wasn’t anything compared to this other woman. So…I don’t know? I tried to survive the heartbreak, I guess. I hear from her every now and then. I assume she’s lonely. Her texts always feel a little like a booty call. I used to respond, but lately? It’s harder and harder on me.”
“Wow.”
“I’m okay,” I say as I look back up. Her eyes are so blue in that moment, even in the dim lighting. “I mean, I wasn’t for a while, but I’m better now.”
“Any idea what changed?”
