The Pickup Line

by Louisa Trent

  And the way he took her to paradise, slow and easy, the intensity gradually escalating to a gentle crescendo-

  Lordy! If he ever let go, they'd have some serious fucking going down.

  Unfortunately, the sexual miser Lou was still holding back with her.

  Tantric sex had its place, she guessed, and it sounded great in theory, but in practice, she found it wanting-

  If Tantric sex was even what Lou was doing. Frankly, she wasn't really certain what Lou was doing. She knew what she wanted him to do, though. She wanted Lou to go ga-ga. To go completely out of his mind. To forget about neatly folding his clothes. To neglect screwing the tops back on tubes of lube. To dispense with his tie and cufflinks. All for her. All because of her.

  Thus far, he hadn't. When he'd left her hotel room at three that morning, he was as neat as a pin, every hair in place, not one smudge on his immaculate white shirt, not a rumple on his gray wool blend pleated trousers. He looked so somber he could have gone directly from shagging her to a wake. She, on the other hand, was left lying in a mountain of bedding, her hair stringy and knotted, her body covered in a humid slick of sweat.

  No semen, though. Careful Lou never forgot to wear a condom, even when he knew he wasn't going to come-

  He actually planned his eruptions in advance. The guy wasn't exactly Mr. Spontaneity.

  She supposed she should be grateful that he'd protected her so well. No string of pearls decorated her thighs; no passion bruises gave evidence of a night passionately spent. There was nothing on her body to remember Lou.

  Fuck a duck! Blue fumed, rubbing her skin even more vigorously, she resented that most of all. She wanted something, some physical manifestation of the most wonderful night of her life.

  Taps at the metal hotel door. One-two-three.

  Lou? Had he decided he couldn't stay away, couldn't keep his cool hands off her?

  Yeah, right. He probably forgot something. Like the shine on his imported leather loafers-

  Still, she started racing for the threshold just as she was, which was naked.

  Thinking better of it-what if the knock belonged to maid service?-she grabbed her lace robe, tucked herself into it, tied it at the waist, and then practically tripping over her own feet, flew to the door and yanked it open.

  Jason Andrews, male slut extraordinaire, seducer of art models, handsome devil who had gotten into every female artist's panties in their collaborative, except hers-she wore boxers, and besides which, she'd never been so inclined -stood in the hall.

  Sexy as sin he leaned an elbow against the frame and looked her up and down. “Catch you in the shower, did I?”

  “No, I'd just finished.” She stepped aside for him to enter.

  Jas was undoubtedly a letch and a flake, but he wasn't dangerous.

  “Oh, I wish I had known! I would've joined you and washed your back. Such a long back it is too. How do you ever reach all of it?”

  “I manage,” she replied and closed the door after him.

  Why not? Jason knew, because she'd told him so, that she had zero-tolerance for his hanky panky; there was no reason they couldn't converse in her hotel room.

  “What can I do for you, Jas?”

  “Plenty-”

  “Jas,” she said in a warning tone.

  His mouth lifted at the corners. “Can't blame a guy for trying.”

  “I bloody well can,” she said sternly.

  With a sigh, he behaved. “All right! I'm here to beg favor. I need a lovely, tall, narrow-hipped, small-breasted, tomboyish female model for the Roman mythology panel I'm working on. Natch, I thought of you. You'd make a kick-ass Diana.”

  “Me? A childless vegan of questionable nurturing tendencies? You want me to model for the virgin goddess of hunting and childbirth?”

  “It'll be our little secret.” He grinned winningly. “And you do owe me, Blue.”

  She did. Seven inches of Jas were represented in her exhibit. He'd made an excellent model too, standing patiently for her while she'd greased him up.

  “Agreed. My work studio at GoCA at seven. Be on time. I'll tell security you're coming and the guard on duty can let you in with his master key.”

  “Not only will I be on time, I'll be on my best behavior.” He winked. “That is, until you tell me I may play Orion to your Diana.”

  Jason's conceit was enormous; he was also enormously talented. And since she never confused the artist with his art, keeping both separate in her mind, she said, “Lay a finger on me and I'll substitute a two-inch wiener for your cock in the exhibit.”

  And then she let it go. One-upmanship had suddenly lost its former appeal. She could handle Jason.

  “Blue,” Jas said on the way out-he was never one to wear out his welcome—"about that nurturing putdown you just laid on yourself? Well, I know what you did for Gil in his final months. How you took care of his every need. He had no family, and at the end, his lovers were nowhere to be seen. It was only you in those final moments. I've always admired what you two had together. Even without the sex, I was jealous.”

  Hot tears stung her eyes. “Stop, Jas. Please?”

  “He loved you, Blue. Maybe not the way you deserved to be loved, but Gil did love you. You're one nurturing lady, which is why I want you for my Diana.”

  She waited until the hotel room door closed before doubling over. The pain seared her so!

  Stumbling to the rumpled bed, she fell facedown on the pillows and let the soaking tears fall.

  * * * *

  It was past six and going on dark outside when Blue finally dragged her tear-dehydrated body off the bed and pulled on a pair of clean men's trousers and a tailored man's shirt. The boxers were nixed. Oh, not because Lou didn't like them—the man didn't own her! Going sans underwear had nothing whatsoever to do with her lover's likes or dislikes; she wasn't bothering with boxers because she'd only have to take them off to model for Jas.

  Drained from the torrent of tears, Blue left the hotel and dragged her limp body to Sprouts. She hadn't eaten a full meal since she didn't remember when; maybe sustenance would boost her depleted energy level.

  After wolfing down an enormous salad, she set off for GoCA, not nearly as sapped as before, and very nearly plowed into Lou who was on his way into The Pink Flamingo.

  “Lou!” she cried in disbelief as he steadied her, then bent slightly to give her a kiss. “You're going in there? Into a strip club? After you and I-”

  She couldn't breathe, never mind speak the words. A sense of betrayal left her feeling smothered.

  This was the man she'd gone to bed with, a man she'd welcomed into her body, and he was about to pay to watch other women take off their clothes?

  How little she knew him!

  “It's not what you think, Blue.”

  The hurt, oh God, the hurt of being played for a fool. “Oh, isn't it?”

  “No, it isn't, dammit!”

  “You deny you were on your way inside?”

  “No, I don't deny it. But I'm not here for the entertainment.”

  “Don't tell me,” she said sarcastically. “You're the CPA who does the books, right?”

  “I work here, all right. But I'm no accountant. I manage The Pink Flamingo.”

  Which was worse? Watching the entertainment or providing it?

  Providing it! By far, she thought, revulsion filled.

  “You might have told me, Lou. We had a heated argument over this strip club in this very spot.”

  “If I had told you, would you have listened? Or would you have condemned my occupation without hearing me out?”

  “Oh, don't you turn this back on me! You lied!”

  “You never asked what I did for a living, so how could I have lied?”

  “You're splitting hairs!”

  “Maybe so. Maybe I'm guilty of a lie of omission, but you never once asked about my job; you never wanted to know anything about me, other than if I was into S&M.” He let her go. “Listen, I didn't tell you because I k
new this would be your reaction. You made it pretty damn clear what you thought of The Pink Flamingo. You compared me to a pimp. I am no pimp, Blue!”

  “Perhaps not, but you must take advantage of all that pussy.”

  “I've never taken advantage of any woman.”

  She laughed. “Do I look naïve to you? You're surrounded by beautiful woman, big busted women, women who take off their clothes for a living, and you expect me to believe that you're not getting it any time you want it?”

  “You have a very low opinion of your sex.”

  “I respect the sisterhood I belong to!”

  “Then why the blanket denigration? Why attack the moral values of a whole group of women based on how they earn a paycheck?”

  “This is about you now,” she said, getting flustered. “Not about these unfortunate women. You lied about where you work—who's to say you didn't lie about your sexual history as well? You led me to believe that you don't jump from bed to bed. I trusted you!”

  “You can still trust me. I don't sleep around. I don't hit on my employees. That's called sexual harassment. Apart from it being illegal, and a low stunt to boot, the ladies who work for me are some of the most decent human beings I've ever known. They work nights so they can be home with their kids during the day, or because they're doing something else worthwhile with their time. And for the last time, they are not strippers; they're exotic dancers. Seraphina Ruiz used to work at The Pink Flamingo as a singer and she's a former missionary. Her nose isn't stuck up in the air like yours is about the place I manage.”

  “My nose is not stuck up in the air! I'm merely advocating for a woman's right not to be demeaned.”

  “It's narrow-minded attitudes like yours that demeans the ladies who work for me, not anything they do at The Pink Flamingo. I run a respectable place.” He raked both hands through his hair. “Look, Blue, I manage a club that employs gorgeous women. Why should I have to apologize for that? Adult entertainment is a business like any other. I've never dated any of the exotic dancers. I've never even had a hand on any of them-”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “I haven't!” His tone kicked up a notch. “I don't touch any of my female employees but obviously you've had your hands all over your male models. And do I say anything about that? Hell no! I give you credit for being a professional, which is more than you give me credit for. I take my work every bit as seriously as you do.”

  She fidgeted, checked her watch, refused to give him the benefit of the doubt. She was hurting, dammit! And that was just so unfair. This weekend was about having fun, about having a few laughs and great sex. How dare Lou Franco turn this into something serious when she wasn't ready for serious right now! She was still in self-pity mode over Gill, and she wasn't ready to give up the wallowing to deal with all this heavy crap, all this self-questioning. Not right now! Yeah, she liked Lou. She liked him a lot, more than she wanted to like him. But this, all of this, was just too real.

  In a small scared voice, she said, “Excuse me. I'm meeting someone in my studio in a few minutes, and I can't be late.” She turned swiftly to go.

  “We've got to talk,” Lou yelled after her. “When can I see you again?”

  She didn't answer. Head down, she hurried toward GoCA.

  Fun-loving Jason was waiting there for her. He never took anything seriously.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Jason was already inside her studio, charcoals and sketchpad set up at the easel, high stool installed behind it, every light blazing.

  The artist turned to the door as she entered. “I hope you don't mind that I made myself at home?”

  “No, not at all. Setting up beforehand saves time.” She gazed at the heap of black satin pillows strewn on the floor. “I take it you'd like me in a reclining pose?”

  “Yes. Diana at rest, bow and arrow off to the side. Is that all right?”

  “Reclining is fine.”

  There was a privacy curtain off to one corner where models could change out of their street clothes and into costume. Or, if a life model, take off street clothes and throw on a sheet or something for modesty's sake as they crossed the floor. Blue had spent most of the day crying over Gillian and now Lou had deceived her. She had more important things on her mind than modesty.

  Standing right where she was, she stripped off her shirt.

  Pointing to the gold ring in her nipple, she said, “Does this come off or stay in?”

  Jason looked up from his large drawing pad. “In, I should think. This is a modern interpretation of the Roman Myth, after all. The piercing will give the work a ballsy look. Diana was no wimp. Neither are you, Blue.”

  He offered up a cheeky grin, a player's grin, a superficial and flirtatious grin that meant nothing. “Not only do you make one saucy goddess, you'd make a myth believer out of any man.”

  Jason and his male nonsense! And bless him, he was putting forth a real effort, trying his darndest to make her laugh in order to put her at ease.

  Not even a stand-up comic could humor her out of her present funk. There was a numb bleakness inside her, a tired apathy, a black hole of despair; nothing seemed funny to her.

  Was it all myth, then? Was love nothing more than a cheap pickup line?

  She had cared for Lou. They had only just met, but she thought she might have fallen for him. Which is why his deceit hurt so. How much more could her heart take? She was still grieving over Gil, and now there was fresh wound to cry over.

  Well, she didn't need this shit! This weekend was about fun and games, about sexual experimentation; not about pining away for a man who had lied to her from the first moment. She didn't need a guy who didn't know how to have a good time, who never cracked a smile, whose whole basic philosophy of life differed from her own.

  To hell with him! Blue thought, raising a foot to a chair and bending to unlace her sturdy work boots.

  She felt the heat of a stare as she kicked her feet free.

  The artist was ogling the slight bob of his model's bare breasts.

  Jas liked women. He liked having sex with women. He had sex with all his female models. Why ruin his track record?

  Sex with Jason would be a giggle, and she needed one of those right about now.

  “Where would you like me, Jas?” she asked when her trousers were dropped and she was completely naked.

  “In my bed,” was his prompt, good-natured reply, his gaze lifting slowly from her crotch.

  For sure, Jason wasn't a complicated fellow.

  Apart from his art, he wasn't particularly intense about anything. Sex with Jason would amount to a light-hearted romp, which is just what she'd originally had in mind for this weekend before meeting Lou in the pickup line at Sprout's.

  A shame she wasn't interested in Jason; a tragedy she was interested in Lou. Only Lou. Still. Even after her disappointment over his deceit.

  Lou's sincerity and the softness of his emotions touched her.

  The guy was tenderhearted, but he wasn't a pushover; he'd dispensed with those two river rats on the pier fast enough, and using gentleness, he'd certainly dominated her.

  She'd like it.

  A feminist, through and through, yet she'd allowed a man to have the upper hand on the sexual reins. Because Lou was the one doing the dominating. Her submission was one man specific.

  Jason held up a bottle. “How about a little wine first?”

  She never drank, but what the hell and why the hell not? She needed something to dull the ache inside her. “Sure.”

  One glass led to another. A little wine led to a lot of wine. And soon the edge was off her hurt.

  When she went to the pillows and scooted her butt onto the black satin softness, she was feeling no pain at all. She reclined; her woozy head propped up on an elbow, Diana the slightly tipsy Huntress looking for some fun.

  She looked up at handsome, fun-loving Jas. He'd give a goddess an excellent romp, but she was no goddess and she o
nly wanted Lou

  “Let's get started,” she said, and then giggled. “Is this how you'd like me to pose?”

  * * * *

  Of all the discovery scenarios Lou could've imagined, getting caught by Blue while on his way into The Pink Flamingo had to be right up there among the worst.

  He had hoped that after they got to know one another, he would sit her down and explain rationally how managing a strip club was not the same as being a scumbag procurer. By then, he'd reasoned, she would have developed some trust in him-in them-enough to listen.

  She hadn't listened to anything he'd said today.

  He didn't blame her. She had to think that he was king of the pickups, out cruising for whatever he could get.

  Blue was The One, but too afraid she'd think he was off his rocker ... or that she'd turn tail and run ... he hadn't told her so.

  He'd screwed up.

  He wasn't ashamed of managing The Pink Flamingo, but because he had acted like he had something to hide, it made the situation worse. He hadn't been up front with Blue, and now he was paying the price.

  But how big a price did he have to pay?

  He had made a mistake, instigated by his fear of losing her before they'd had a chance; he hadn't deliberately tried to trick her.

  She thought he had tricked her. Blue figured, to have sex with her, he'd kept his mouth closed about where he worked.

  He wanted Blue, no use denying it, and no argument, he should have been forthcoming about his job. Some of his reluctance about telling her the truth stemmed from his wanting sex, but the majority of his reluctance was about giving them time to get to know one another.

  In hindsight, he realized he should have done things differently. Withholding information was dead wrong, no matter what. But he couldn't just let Blue walk into his life and walk right back out again without trying everything in his power to stop her.

  Anything she wanted, he'd do, just so long as she gave him a second chance.

  The Flamingo's burlesque review was up on stage rehearsing, the dancers strutting their stuff to the beat of the drum, their high heels kicking in unison, just like a chorus line from the Ziegfield Follies. Lou tried to watch the number, but he couldn't concentrate on the routine. The steps, the fancy footwork ... the choreography were wasted on him.