“You do. That’s why you’ve been so evil.” Smoothing her hand down the length of her auburn dreadlocks, threaded beads clicked together. Galaxeé flicked the thick mass over her shoulder, still staring at Sullivan, mesmerized.
Rio tsked. The nerve of this woman. She folded the towel neatly into quarters and laid it across the curved bar. Yeah, maybe she had been evil, but she’d never shown bad manners to anyone other than her best friend and, of course, her ex-husband Devon, the midlife-crisis hound.
Arching one eyebrow a fraction, Galaxeé said, “You’re getting another pimple, too, right there in the center of your forehead. At your age, any fuckable age, lack of weenie action always launches a round of zits.”
“Shut up. Where do you come up with this mess?” She stole another glance at Sullivan. This man wasn’t lacking anything from what she could tell.
Galaxeé leaned back, dangling her arms behind the chair, cackling. “It’s true, especially after wrestling the monthly blues. I used to get them.” She’d hooked up with a new honey, an older man who, after four months, still lavished her with expensive gifts, bombarding her with boyish love. “Besides, I can tell you really like the way this guy looks, the way he moves. Your aura’s melting, on the verge of disintegrating. And it’s the first time I’ve seen your eyes glaze over in almost two decades.”
Aura. And glaze? She tsked again. Sometimes Galaxeé talked too much smack. No one caused Rio Saunders to glaze over, especially youngsters. “Bar lights, disco lights—”
“Bullshit. Admit it. He’s hot.”
He was hot—is hot—and far too young for her. Plus, he was nowhere near right for her. “Why do you think he came here for a job? Why not apply at Silk’s?”
Smoothly Silk, Killer’s sole competition, employed two African American dancers Rio and Galaxeé had disqualified from their league of performers a month before their own club opened. The guys were physically unsuitable for near-naked entertainment.
“Maybe he did,” Galaxeé replied as the music died away. “We need to interview him anyway. Ask him.”
APHRODISIA BOOKS are published by
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Copyright © 2008 by Delilah Devlin
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ISBN: 0-7582-5121-1
Down in Texas Page 22
