by JA Huss
And then his hands remember what we started earlier. Fingertips slip between my legs and I realize I’ve been sitting in his lap for hours. The waitress has come and gone so many times, we’ve got dozens of drinks covering the table—most of which are even more watered down with the melting ice than they were when they arrived.
“Don’t try to figure me out. It’s bad in here.” He points at his head.
I place my palm on his face. Look at him. And feel so much sadness I get a lump in my throat.
He grabs my hand and pulls it down onto his cock. “But it’s excellent down here.”
TYLER
I’m like a goddamn vampire. I know the morning is just about here and soon they’re going to kick me out and I can’t risk this being the only chance with my angel that I’ll get. I also can’t fucking wait anymore and I can’t pretend to be somebody I’m not.
So I take her hand and force her to take my dick and hold it. Tight. It is, by far, the best thing about me and if I’m going to leave her with anything, any memory of this night, it’s not going to be about me stumbling to get words out, or dumb shit about cars, or the fucking scars all over my body—which, until this very moment right now, I have never given a shit about, but suddenly I hate them and wish they were just not there. But they are. And so I want her to remember something else about me.
Please, angel, remember what happens next instead.
MADDIE
My hand wraps around his shaft and begins to pump. He lets his head roll back into the couch as his fingers play with my clit.
I can’t stop. And I don’t want him to stop either. We can’t even think about stopping. So I grind on him, the wetness almost pouring out of me as he continues to stroke me.
And then… before I can get a hold of myself…
I come all over his fingers.
He grabs my hair and pulls me forward. His mouth on mine, his tongue inside me again. His hands are on my tits, pulling them out of my angel outfit. The wetness from my release smears across my nipple.
“You’re my angel,” he says, lowering his head so he can take my breast in his mouth.
“Yes,” I say, knowing everything about this night is wrong and I’m going to regret all these sweet, perfect moments the second I lead him out of this room…
But I don’t care.
“Yes,” I say again, his teeth nipping me until I throw my head back and wince. “I’m your angel.”
TYLER
I can’t wait. I can’t hold out for another second longer. She can see that I’m about to release all that’s inside me all over the inside of her thighs, so before I can, she stops pumping with her hand, drops to her knees, takes me in her mouth and slides the warmth of her tongue down the length of my shaft.
She’s barely gotten her lips all the way around me before I explode onto her tongue. I can feel hot come throbbing out of me and sliding down into the back of her throat.
She takes it all in. She drinks it all down. She keeps bobbing her head back and forth, making sure that she has drawn every last drop of me dry.
My stomach clenches and releases as I moan, “Angel.”
She finishes taking it all in, draws her lips back, slowly, kissing the tip of my softening cock as she goes, then draws herself up to my waist and kisses me on the belly button.
Then up to my chest and kisses me over my heart.
Then finally to my chin, where she lurches forward and kisses me on the mouth so that I can taste the salty residue of myself on her lips.
She places both hands on my knees and pushes herself to a standing position, her breasts and stomach passing my face as she lifts up until her pussy is directly before my mouth.
And I start to get hard all over again.
I rise up so that I’m standing with her. Once again, I take her hands in mine. I lift them, studying the soft curves where her fingers crook and bend. I go in for another kiss when the curtain swings open.
It’s the waitress. The one who’s been bringing us drinks all night. She surveys the two of us without judgment, but she does twist her head to the side.
“Hey, Scarlett,” she says. “Uh… you missed your last stage dance and uh, Raven’s heading this way. Just, y’know, in case you guys wanna put any dicks back inside any pants or anything.” She closes the curtain.
“Um, I—” I start, before my angel interrupts me.
“Shit. Raven’s gonna have my ass. We gotta get it together.”
I nod. I push my dick back in my pants.
She adjusts her tits into her bra.
I put my shirt back on.
She straightens her halo back upright and reattaches her wings.
I try to smooth my beard down as much as I can.
And we stare at each other.
For what feels like a very long time.
Chapter Seven - Maddie
It’s dark in here. They do that on purpose so customers can’t tell how late it is. But it’s not late anymore. It’s early. So the only reason I care if it’s dark or not is because I want to see his eyes. Like… really see his eyes. And I can’t. Because it’s too fucking dark.
“Uh,” I say. Because even though he was really chatty all night—told me stupid jokes and funny stories—he’s quiet now. Like he’s wondering what the fuck just happened.
I’m wondering that too. “Thanks?” I say.
It comes out like a question and I roll my eyes at myself.
I have never—ever—given a customer a blow job. Shit. I don’t let these jerks touch my tits, let alone sit in their laps and get giddy like a stupid fucking schoolgirl. And get off, I remind myself. And swallow their fucking come.
I glance at the table of drinks. You know, the ones that are still full. So I can’t even play this off like I was drunk.
I sucked his dick and swallowed his…
I shake my head and turn away as the waitress comes up with the bill. “Sign here,” she says, handing him a pen.
There’s a shuffle of paper—the credit card slip, I guess—so I glance over my shoulder to look at him one last time before he walks out, and catch him pocketing his card. He’s looking at me like…
“No,” he says. “Thank you.”
And then he turns away, rubbing his hand over his beard. I’m not sure if he’s feeling as lame as I am due to the lackluster final conversation taking place, but I don’t want to leave it this way.
So I open my mouth and I’m about to say something… maybe explain myself. Tell him I’m not that kind of a girl, I never do this sort of thing, he’s the only one… but that’s when fucking Raven bursts in.
“Time to go home, big spender.” She shoots him a wink that’s sexy, but only in a sad stripper sort of way. And then she glances down at the bill and laughs. “Jesus, Scarlett! What’d ya do? Suck his fucking dick all night?” Raven. Real class act.
“He’s a fucking customer, Raven,” I snap, a little louder than I should. Pissed and trying to play it off at the same time. We’re not allowed to fuck the customers. I mean, girls bend the rules all the time. Mostly we get them all excited and they come in their pants. But we don’t fuck the customers in the club. And we certainly don’t get on our knees and let them shove their cocks down our throats. If we wanna do that shit, we gotta take it someplace else.
Raven squints at me.
Shit. She knows. She must. I glance at the waitress, who is playing monitor for this room, and she gives me an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Meaning—I didn’t say nothin’.
So I go all in with my defense. Because I cannot lose this job. This guy right here might’ve saved my ass tonight, but one night does not change a girl’s situation. I gotta think of myself. “You know I would never suck a customer’s cock. Especially this guy,” I whisper, loudly, thumbing over my shoulder at him. “Come on, Raven.”
I glance behind me, just to see if he’s gonna play along or decide to out me, but his face is almost blank.
Almost.
> There’s a slight frown if I’m reading him correctly. It’s hard to tell with that beard.
Did I hurt his feelings?
And now I feel like shit. I feel confused and stuck between two worlds. Maddie and Scarlett. The person I am and the person I have to be. I want to say more, tell him that’s not what I meant, goddammit. But he’s already heading for the door.
“Hey, chief,” the bartender calls from the other side of the room. “Thanks for the tip!”
My guy says nothing. Just huffs and keeps walking until he passes through the doors, and out into the early-morning light.
“Did you—” Raven starts.
“No,” I snap. “Don’t be a bitch, Raven. I don’t appreciate you accusing me of inappropriate behavior, OK? Keep that shit to yourself.”
“Well.” Raven laughs. “You’re certainly taking this personally. But OK,” she says, holding up her hands in surrender. “Whatever. You didn’t suck his cock. Congrats on getting him to spend more than two thousand dollars on you tonight. Plus the liquor and room tab. Guess you won’t have a problem paying me now, will you?”
“Yeah.” The bartender laughs as he approaches us. “And that fuckin’ hobo spent almost two grand on drinks at the bar too!”
“He tipped us good too,” the waitress says. “Almost eight hundred bucks.”
Jesus. That’s like… seven grand, all in. On one night with me.
I saw his credit card. It was one of those green American Express ones. Not even the gold one.
Who the fuck was that guy?
And then I realize… I never got his real name. Ford Aston. What a crock of shit. No one is called Ford Aston.
I head for the door and for a second I feel like chasing him out to the parking lot. Making him tell me who he is. Getting his fucking number, or writing down his license plate, or… something.
“Hey,” Raven calls, stopping me in my tracks.
“What?” I snap again, so sick of her shit.
“You better watch yourself.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I saw you flash a customer last weekend.”
“What customer?”
“Sitting in the front row during your dance? Waved that fifty at you? And then you spread your legs and pulled your panties aside. Gave him a peek and took his money.”
Shit.
“Guys like that, they—”
“Guys like that, they what?” I ask.
“I’m just saying, watch yourself, Scarlett.” She sneers my name. Of course she knows it’s fake—Raven is fake too—but it’s a hard-and-fast rule that we don’t call each other by our real names in here. Too easy to slip up in front of customers. “Because rules are rules. And I don’t even like you, so if you think you’re gonna break the rules and still have a job… think again, sweetie.”
She pats my cheek—two quick slap-like taps to make her point—and walks out.
I am torn between chasing down the beard guy and just wanting to grab my shit and get the fuck out of here.
I go for option two.
Fuck this place and fuck that guy.
He’s just some stranger I met at work. Just another sad dude who needs to watch girls get naked to make himself feel better. He’s nobody, and the quicker I put this night behind me, the better off I’ll be.
The next day—or night really, since I slept all day—I am ashamed of what I did. I just stare at that money he paid me and feel… dirty. Sinful. And I’m not even religious. Like at all. But this is Sin City, right? I mean, I grew up in the Devil’s playground and last night I broke every rule I have in place that lets me pretend I have values. But the truth is, my job is a ticket straight to Hell if it turns out there is a God standing guard at some pearly gates checking everyone’s moral compass before he lets them pass through.
I’m totally fucked after last night. I mean, before that I could play it off. Pretend I’m nothing but an entertainer. But the longer I work at Pete’s, the looser I get. I did pull my panties aside for that Logan guy. Raven saw. And he works for Carlos, and now I can only imagine what they’re all saying about me.
Not that I care what some kingpin’s henchmen think of me, but… I sorta care.
I spend the rest of the week beating myself up for what I did. Promising myself I’ll never do it again. Maybe it’s because I wore the angel garb or maybe I’m just starting to lose it a little bit, but I find that I now seem to have an angel of my own sitting on my shoulder that I’m begging to forgive me and a little devil sitting on the other side—who really likes having extra money for once—that I’m telling to fuck off.
But the devil is winning. He’s got a much better argument. I like having extra money. And I do need it. Because two more real-estate agents turned me down. I even made them each a free video. It’s like they were just taking advantage of my freebie offer and wanted nothing to do with my services.
Fucking freeloaders.
Plus I think about that guy.
A lot.
All week.
Almost every minute of it.
And that makes me stare at that money and wonder if I should give it back.
My angel is saying, Yes, Scarlett. The angel is calling me Scarlett. Jesus. Give it back. You’ll feel better and your soul will be cleansed.
But the devil is the one I listen to. Because he says, Fuck that! You earned it. And after everything you’ve fucking been through? Everything you’ve dealt with, all on your own? Fuck it. You take that shit, Maddie.
But why does he call me Maddie when the angel calls me Scarlett? Before I can reflect on that too heavily, he speaks up and interrupts. And you’re never gonna see that guy again. You can’t give it back. You need it. And you don’t even know his name. So this guilt is a pointless moral exercise.
Like I said, he makes a lot more sense.
So I listen.
But here’s the part I don’t expect: To my horror, when Friday night rolls around, I discover myself hoping that my guy will come back and give me more.
Not money, though.
Just… more.
Chapter Eight - Tyler
When I get home, I try to process what just happened.
Let me go through this for a tick.
I show up at a strip club.
I see an angel I’ve been having dreams about riding the pole.
I go into a private room with her.
She tells me not to touch her.
Hours go by, she sucks my cock until I blow in her mouth, I pay out like seven large, and then she kind of talks shit about me and sends me on my way.
It is entirely possible that my life is a little out of balance.
The rest of the week is kinda hazy.
Every time I close my eyes, flashes of her skin against mine, her hands touching me, the feel of her pussy against my fingertips, all come charging in. Which is kind of fucking me up. Because I don’t usually do that—have what are basically fantasies about something that’s already happened. But this, with her—I dunno. I can’t shake it.
So I start taking a Klonopin and chasing it with a shot (or five) of whiskey. (Dr. Eldridge, my shrink, gave me the Klonopin. She said I should take it for anxiety. She didn’t say I should take it with the whiskey, but in my experience mixing any two drugs is usually a pretty good method for relaxation.) And that cocktail helps me sleep. But when I fall asleep, I have THE DREAM. And so then I wake up, sweating. Shaking. And I have to take another Klonopin with a whiskey chaser to calm the fuck down.
The whole thing is super sexy.
I order food. I watch TV. I fuck around on the internet. I find myself Googling random shit like, “Scarlett Pete’s Strip Club Vegas.” You know. Random.
And days go by.
At some point it looks like I punched the wall? I think? Someone did. Because there’s a hole. I wander over to it and place my fist inside. Yep. Musta been me. Perfect fit. Besides, no one else has been here. Have they?
I wander
around my place to see if I can find evidence of anyone else having been here. I stare out the window. I think about leaving. I don’t. I ignore the phone. I take anti-anxiety medication. I sleep. I DREAM. I wake up. It starts again.
And days go by.
I should leave. Go out. Fuck some chick. Or two. I don’t wanna. Is that weird? That seems weird. Somehow I know though that if I leave I’ll just drive to that strip club and see if she’s there. And I don’t wanna do that. Or I do, but I’m not gonna. And…
Fuck! What was that? Did someone fire a gun somewhere? No? Sounded like someone fired a gun. Fuck. OK. It wasn’t? Shit. My heart is fucking beating again. Goddamn.
I take a Klonopin. I’m not sure how many I’m supposed to take, but they seem to be helping. Maybe? A little? I dunno. I take a second Klonopin. I chase it with whiskey. I order more food. I think about going to the strip club. I don’t go to the strip club.
I try to sleep. I DREAM. I wake up. And…
Ha!
It is entirely possible that my life is a little out of balance.
But fuck it. I take a K-pin (I don’t know if people call ’em that, but I do) and a chaser.
I sleep.
Maybe I’ll get lucky.
And I won’t wake up.
And I won’t wake up.
And I don’t wake up.
And I don’t wake up.
And I…
Holy shit.
I sleep.
“Oh, my God, what the fuck, dude?”
I wake up. Fuck me.
I have woken up with strangers in my bed a thousand times, but very rarely are they fully dressed men eating a Pop Tart.
“Hey,” says Evan. He’s sitting on the foot of my mattress. (The Pop Tart is Brown Sugar Cinnamon. They’re our favorite. Since we were kids.)
“What the fuck are you doing in my apartment? What’s happening? What time is it? Is everything OK? What the…? Who…? What the fuck, dude?”
