But no, it looks like this is the right place, judging from their reaction at my disbelief. Ella is using her phone to snap pictures of me and keeps saying, “Your face is priceless.” Jasmine and London are laughing and telling her she needs to send the photos to Xavier.
“Not a joke,” she says, trying to catch her breath from laughing.
“This is where we are having your bachelorette party and this is where you are going to get good and drunk and have the absolute best night of your life.”
Jasmine and London clap and cheer.
“Now let’s go see some man candy!”
Ella links her arm in mine and we do a model strut up to the velvet rope, which is manned by a hulking guy in a tux.
“Ladies. Welcome to Mantropolis," he manages to say with a straight face.
Ella on her tiptoes, pulls the doorman down a good ten inches to whisper into his ear. I watch as she slips something into his palm. It must have been a good tip or her phone number because the velvet rope opens for us. The next thing I know, we are whisked inside and sitting at a table right next to the stage. I have a glass of champagne in my hand and Jasmine is already waving over a waiter to order more drinks. At least, I think that’s what she’s doing. I can’t hear what she's saying over the noise of the club, and the waiter is wearing nothing except for a pair of tiny red spandex shorts. I am suddenly afraid that he is a dancer and she is ordering me a lap dance instead of more champagne.
This is my first time in a male strip club, or any strip club for that matter. I don’t know the protocol or if this is standard attire for servers. I try not to look at his bare chest and bulging shorts and instead focus on emptying my glass of champagne. I breathe a sigh of relief when he leaves. When he returns moments later, it is with a round of tequila shots and a bottle of champagne on ice. Looking around, I can now confirm that tiny shorts are the uniform of waiters at Mantropolis.
My friends lift their shot glasses and wait expectantly for me to do the same. I haven’t done shots since attending a party at Xavier’s fraternity when I was a senior in high school. The night ended with me throwing up all over Xavier in front of his friends. I felt so sick and embarrassed the morning after that I promised myself I would never do shots again. I have kept that promise until now. I look at my friends’ excited faces and I know I can’t disappoint them. When in Rome, I tell myself, as I raise my glass.
“To Aria,” they shout.
“To all of you,” I say back.
I don’t allow any time for second thoughts and swallow the shot in one gulp. The tequila burns all the way down to my stomach. I forget about the lime and salt and instead grab a new glass of champagne and drink it down to chase away the taste of the tequila. The alcohol hits me instantly. My body warms up and I feel tingly all over. When our waiter returns with more champagne, I no longer find it so difficult to look at him. He lets us know that his name is Mark and that he will be taking care of us this evening. Now that I have a little liquid courage, I can see that Mark fills out his red shorts quite nicely.
A new round of shots arrives and everyone lets loose a cheer. This night out with the girls is exactly what I need. And the fact it happens to be in a strip club just makes it more entertaining. So far, it’s not much different from a regular club. I’m about to get married, so I convince myself I can handle some shirtless men and spandex. I pick up the new shot; it smells like lime and has whipped cream on the top. This should be much better than the tequila. Ella, Jasmine, and London follow my lead and raise their glasses.
“To the best night ever,” we call out and throw back our glasses.
As if on cue, the music comes on and the women in the club go absolutely wild. Every eye in the place is fixed on the stage. That is, except mine. I am sitting with my back to the performers and I have to take a deep breath for courage before I turn around. I don’t know what I expect to see, but it must be something good to have transformed all these women into a bunch of screaming tweens at a Justin Bieber concert.
The dancers on the stage are dressed like construction workers. I look them over and even though they're fully dressed, I can feel the heat rising up to my neck and face. They are dancing in synchronization and I can’t look away. I am mesmerized by how they move their bodies and how excited I am. All together, the dancers drop to the floor and start to grind on invisible women and the audience goes crazy. It is dazzling and I keep looking from dancer to dancer, anticipating what they are going to do next.
The women simultaneously erupt into even louder cheers. A new dancer is on the stage and he has the women going wild. Two minutes ago, I would have said that it was impossible for the crowd to get more excited, but this new dancer is tall and tan and unbelievably sexy. He has the crowd whipped into a frenzy before he’s even started stripping.
He has on a white tank and tight, ripped jeans. He is the perfect union of blue-collar bad boy and sex. He starts to dance and it’s like he’s making love to every woman in the club. I am glued to his every move as he brings the music to life with his performance. The song switches to a slow and rhythmic classic that I can’t quite place but know I’ve heard. His dancing becomes more sensual with the new song. He is scanning the crowd, looking for something, or someone. He stops searching when his gaze fixes on me. My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears. I wonder if he can see me blushing all the way from the stage? He still has his emerald green eyes locked on mine, all while hundreds of women surround him, clamoring for his attention.
He smiles at me from the stage and time stands still. He is still holding my gaze and I imagine he is dancing only for me. Keeping our connection, he rips his shirt off and reveals a waxed and chiseled torso. His abs must be at least a 10-pack and they taper into a V that draws my, and every woman’s, attention to the promise of what is under his low-slung jeans.
Ella and London are among the women who left the tables to crowd at the end of the stage. Jasmine is sitting across from me with her mouth agape.
He comes down the stage steps and women are cheering and raining money on him. The dancer is coming toward me, and I want to look away but can’t. He grinds his hips as he approaches my table and stops directly in front of me. He is so close that I can reach out and touch him if I want to. And oh boy, I really want to. He grips the back of my chair with his hands on either side of my head. We stare at each other; he is looking down and I am looking up. A sexy smile slowly spreads across his face.
From a million miles away, I can hear Jasmine yell, “Go Aria!”
In one swift move, he is sitting over me. His chest is a fraction of an inch away from my face. I have to fight the urge to kiss, lick, and taste him. He runs his strong hands down my body and under my rear end. Before I know what’s happening, I am in the air and then straddling his shoulders. I am not behind his head, but in front, and his face is buried between my legs with nothing but my panties as a barrier between us.
I arch my back and press myself into his face. I have lost all composure and it feels wonderful. I know the other women and my friends are still in the club but I can’t hear them anymore. It is only myself, writhing in pleasure on the shoulders of an unknown man. He lowers me down, and the full length of my body drags across his. I can feel the entirety of his strength pressed against me. He is taut rippling muscle and when he grinds against me, I can feel the hard length of his manhood against my stomach.
The music ends too soon and he disappears with the other dancers. I am breathless and collapse into the chair. Ella and London run over to rejoin the table.
“I can’t believe that just happened. You are so lucky,” Ella cries.
“He is so incredibly hot,” Jasmine adds.
Then all three stop talking at once and are staring at something behind me. A chair drops down next to mine and I turn to see what is going on. It’s the dancer.
He smiles easily and holds out his hand. “I’m Ryan,” he says.
I take his hand and am caught in his
green eyes like a wasp in amber.
“Um … Aria,” I manage to stammer. I am still holding onto his hand.
“May I join you? I’d like to buy you a drink,” he says, as he waits for me to answer.
I sit there, mute, until Jasmine mercifully pokes me in the side and brings me back to the present.
“Yes,” I blurt enthusiastically. I don’t even care that I sound like a little kid being offered candy. I really want him to sit with me.
He sits and pushes his dark hair back from his forehead.
“Thank you for being such an amazing dance partner,” he tells me.
I am blushing again and curse my mother’s side of the family and the fair Irish complexion I inherited from them.
“That was … you were … I’ve never seen anything like it,” I finally manage to say.
He let out a friendly contagious laugh.
“Thank you. I had beautiful inspiration tonight. I saw you sitting here when I was still backstage.”
I break into a wide smile before I can stop myself. I knew I wasn’t imagining things and that he had been looking right at me from the start. Not at all the other women here.
The music starts again and everyone excuses themselves to get a better view of the next dance but not before they all manage to give Ryan the once over and me the thumbs up.
“Maybe I’ll be the one to find a handsome dancer during this song,” Ella says as she leaves.
I can’t help but notice that Ryan is the only dancer who is at a table. Many of the women in the place are shooting me envious looks and desperately trying to catch Ryan’s eye.
He scoots his chair closer and his long muscled legs take up almost all of the space under the table. He leans in so we can talk over the music.
“When I first saw you I thought your eyes would be brown because of your dark hair, then when I got close to you,” he reaches up and strokes my hair away from my face. “I saw they are blue. A crystal blue.”
My stomach flips and my whole body heats up like it did after I downed the tequila shot. I can’t remember the last time, if ever, that Xavier made me feel this way. Here is a gorgeous stranger imagining what color my eyes are after seeing me in a crowded room full of women.
“Can I bring you more champagne or would you like something else?”
“I would love a cosmopolitan,” I say instantly.
Ryan laughs again. “A Cosmo, for the lady who knows what she wants. I will be back with your drink; don’t you dare disappear on me.”
I watch him head to the bar and so does every other woman in the place. I straighten my dress, smooth down my hair, and try to stop fidgeting. Is this really happening to me?
He comes back with my drink and what looks like a whiskey for himself.
He holds his glass up and I follow suit.
“What should we toast to?” he asks.
‘To the unknown,” I tell him, surprising myself.
“The unknown,” he clinks his glass against mine.
I take my first ever sip of a Cosmo and it is just as good as I knew it would be. Ryan puts his drink down after taking a long swallow. He leans even closer to me.
“To you, Aria,” he whispers into my ear, his voice husky.
He brushes his lips lightly against mine. I respond and kiss him back. The kiss deepens and I can taste the whiskey and a hint of salt. His lips are soft, softer than I thought they would be. He opens his mouth further and our tongues intertwine. I feel my pulse quicken and I put both my hands on his chest. I want more of this. He tangles his long tapered fingers into my hair and I respond with a hunger I didn’t know was in me.
Then as quickly as it started, he breaks away from me.
“So Aria, what should we do to celebrate tonight?” he asks.
Ryan
“We have a bachelorette party tonight,” Mickey tells me the moment I walk in the door.
“The bridesmaids want our bachelorette to be showered with extra special attention.” He says as he gives me a crude grin and knowing wink, just in case I don’t catch his drift.
“The girl said, and I quote, ‘don’t hold back in any way shape or form.’”
“What exactly does she mean by that?” I ask.
“Just do your thing,” Mickey says. “They’ll leave happy.”
I dance for bachelorette parties all the time. Normally, the bridesmaid requests that the dancers not do anything that will make any members of the party uncomfortable. The sister-in-laws to be are most often whom they are worried about offending. The “don’t hold back,” requests are usually for divorce parties and bad break-ups.
Maybe the bride is kinky and can’t enjoy the show unless it’s hands on. Or maybe the bridesmaid is hoping to get some good pictures and embarrass her friend. With this job, nothing surprises me. I am proficient in women after stripping for five years and what I know is that women are unpredictable, or in Mickey’s words, “Bitches be crazy.”
How will this girl react to a personal erotic dance? It won’t take long to determine how into it she is once she gets to the club. It has been my experience that most women love it. Venus is much more like Mars than the world likes to acknowledge.
“Is the party here?” I ask Mickey.
We have a private room in back for the more discreet patrons. We also travel to hotels and private homes. More often than not, however, the special occasion is celebrated in the main room with the rest of the club-goers.
“The whole thing is a set up. The bachelorette has no idea she’s even coming to a strip club,” Mickey tells me.
“Any idea how old they are?” I ask.
My choice of music and costume is geared to the audience. I even change up my moves depending on the age. The older ladies can freeze up if it gets too nasty. The younger girls like it dirty.
I do get propositioned. I can’t say I never take them up on it, but I sure as hell don’t stick around for breakfast the next day. A one-night stand is just that.
“Twenty-one, according to the bridesmaid. She promises everyone in the group is of age, but we’re carding nonetheless.”
As a rule, the younger women don’t tip as well. They are just starting out in their careers and don’t have a husband’s money to spend. Money or not, they are almost always still a good time.
In the dressing room, the guys jump all over Mickey. They yell about how unfair it is that I get the bachelorette dance and of course the extra money that goes with it. There are rumors flying around that these girls are money. Not your typical New York socialite money, but oil money. This could turn out to be a real payday. I understand why they are jealous, but if they could work it like me, they would be dancing instead of whining.
For younger women, I keep my dance and costume urban. If the rumors are true and these girls come from money, the rich ones love slumming, in my experience. I go for ripped jeans and a thick leather belt, a white tank and a plaid flannel shirt. Underneath, I have on nothing but a black thong. Whether or not they want to admit it, wealthy women are attracted to a working man.
I tell Mickey to make sure the other guys are in similar attire and I assign the songs I want them dancing to. Normally, I would tell them myself, but I wasn’t in the mood to navigate their bullshit. This is going to be a get in and get out kind of night. I am going to give this girl an experience that will keep her warm when her husband is staying late at work to do the secretary.
I go backstage to watch a new cowboy routine that some of the guys have put together. City girls can’t get enough of cowboys. The dance is well-choreographed and the women love it. A new dancer in the back, whose name I don’t know, is off on his timing. He’ll either get it together in the next two weeks, or he’ll be looking for a new job.
Mark is leading a group of women to a table right in front that is held for parties, big tipping groups, and VIP’s. This must be my bachelorette party. I do a quick survey to pick out which one is the future bride. Usually it’s easy because she is weari
ng a ridiculous tiara or a veil.
The woman walking next to Mark is a hot blonde in an almost non-existent white dress. I peg her as the “give my friend the night of her life” maid of honor. The blonde is all over Mark. Despite the expensive clothes, shoes, jewelry and salon blonde hair, she still looks cheap. The next woman is an entirely different story.
She has long hair that is dark to the point that it’s almost black. It is straight and sleek and so shiny that it reflects the light. She is tall, at least a few inches taller than the other women in her group. She walks with the ease and confidence of someone who has everything they have ever wanted and know their future is set for them.
Her dress is black and shimmers in the club lights. It clings to her breasts and hips, accentuating a flawless body. The dress does not show too much skin though. She has long legs and covered curves and it’s making me hard.
Money or not, this bachelorette is a class act. I have to give props to the man who managed to tie her down while she is still so young.
She is young; by the looks of her, younger than me, and I’m only twenty-two. What could drive someone who is so young and hot to want to get married? Could it be true love? After my parents and this job, I don’t believe there is such a thing as true love. Whatever her reason for getting married, it’s not my business and it has nothing to do with my job. I can guarantee, however, that I will make her forget the groom, no matter who he is, before this night is over.
The star of the party appears nervous sitting at the table. She is looking everywhere and anywhere but at Mark when he brings them shots and champagne. She is just as timid about doing the shot as she is of looking at the waiters, in their hot shorts. It’s refreshing for me to see a woman in this place that isn’t jaded and predatory. I wonder what kind of friend this bridesmaid is, to think this is the best idea for her bachelorette party.
“What’s her name?” I ask Mickey. He looks down at the yellow notepad he uses for everything.
“Aria,” he tells me. “What the hell kind of name is that,” he grumbles.
Object Me: A Bad Boy Lawyer Romance Page 27
