by Leigh, Mara
“Screw you.” I hung up on my brother.
Instantly regretting it, I texted him: Stay away from her, okay?
Sure Nicky, he replied.
Wondering what Jade was up to, I opened my bedroom door a crack and peeked.
Wow.
I swung the door open, barely believing my eyes. All the crap was picked up and there was a pile of garbage bags near the door. The dishes had vanished from the counters, but I couldn’t see any sign of Jade. Had she left when she finished?
Then I heard her—singing along, slightly off key, to the chorus of an Adele song. I walked across the room and spotted her, down on all fours and scrubbing my kitchen floor, her boobs bouncing in time with her effort. I could see straight down her shirt. No bra.
Keeping an eye on Jade was the best thing Keagan had ever asked me to do. She hadn’t spotted me yet, so I kept doing my brotherly duty, trying not to feel like a shit for watching her tits bounce.
Every night, I saw naked women gyrate on stage, twist around poles, spread their legs and squeeze their breasts for the crowd, and yet this was the most erotic thing I’d ever seen. I watched her tits bob, the muscles of her arms flex, as she scrubbed off something black and crusty I’d always thought was a flaw in the tile.
She stopped and wiped sweat off her brow with the back of her arm. “Enjoying the show?”
My stomach tightened. She knew I’d been watching. “You think that’s a show?”
“You seemed to be watching pretty intently.”
“Sweetheart, I watch dancers every night. Professionals. Takes more than a bit of cleave to get me hard.” I shifted behind the counter, hoping she hadn’t spotted my obvious boner.
“You hang out in strip clubs every night? Classy.”
“That’s where I work.” I shot her a wicked grin. “You too, starting tomorrow tonight.”
“What?” She sat back on her heels, her nipples hard under that thin grey shirt, now soaked in places with sweat.
“I told you.” She pointed her sponge at me. “Sex. That’s where I draw the line. I don’t care how much I owe you.”
“Did I ask you to have sex with me? With anyone?”
“I’m not going to be a stripper.” Her jaw twitched. “That is not part of the deal.”
“Of course not. The girls at the club are pros, trained.” I grinned. “Speaking of trained, do you have experience waiting tables?”
“Sure.” She tossed her sponge into the bucket of water. “But I hoped I’d be working in a kitchen. In a real restaurant.”
“Beggars can’t be choosers.”
“Do you see me begging?”
“You are on your knees.”
“Fuck you.” She gave me the finger.
“Now who’s suggesting sex?” I chuckled. “Let’s see how it goes tomorrow night.”
Clearly fighting a grin, she put in her ear buds and went back to cleaning the floor.
Stan was always looking for kitchen staff, but she’d hate it in there. Especially if she was hoping to work in a nice restaurant. At Solid Gold, most of the food went straight from the freezer to the deep fryer and no one in the kitchen was remotely chef-like. If Stan didn’t have a few crooked cops and health inspectors in his back pocket, the kitchen would’ve been shut down years ago. No one went to Solid Gold for the food.
“If you can’t cut it as a cocktail waitress,” I shouted, “don’t worry. You’re not bad at washing floors. The tiles in the private rooms can get a tad… sticky.”
“Gross,” she shouted back.
“Gratitude?”
Without looking up, she gave me the finger again.
Six
Jade
Standing in the strip club dressing room, I stared at my image in the skimpy uniform I’d been handed by Stan, my absolutely lovely new boss at this fabulously classy establishment. The man had handed me the clothes after looking me over with utter respect—not at all like a letch.
Not even my inner sarcasm made me feel better.
I’d showered right before heading over, but five minutes in Stan’s presence and I wanted to spend a week in the hottest shower I could find. And he hadn’t even seen me wearing this ridiculous getup yet.
The so-called dressing room was more like a big closet. Skimpy bits of stripper costumes hung off nails and hooks driven into plastered walls painted black. There were two small tables with mirrors, strips of LED lights above, and assorted, dirty-looking makeup tubes and bottles scattered over their surfaces.
Overhead, a bank of buzzing fluorescent lights made my silver spandex bra sparkle. Although it was supposedly my size, 32C, flesh bubbled out of the cups that barely hid my nipples, and the shorts—or should I say panties—were smaller than most of my underwear.
I turned around to look at my ass and tugged at the fabric. It was no use. No matter how hard I tried, the garment came a couple of inches short of covering my butt. I’d have to make sure I never bent over. Which might be difficult given the height of the tables I’d seen out on the club floor. They looked designed to make the wait staff bend.
The door to the dressing room opened, and I immediately crossed my arms to cover my over-exposed boobs.
“Hi!” A woman who looked slightly familiar smiled. “I’m Melodie.” Tanned and curvy, with gorgeous long black hair, she reached out her hand.
I risked breast exposure to shake. “Hi. I’m Jade.”
She grinned. “Real name or stage name?”
“Real name.” I frowned. She thinks I’m a stripper?
“Didn’t mean to offend you.” Melodie tossed a small pink backpack under one of the tables and shrugged out of a light hoodie. “Jade. It’s a nice name.”
“Thanks. My dad chose it.” He’d named both Crystal and me. I thought better of asking whether Melodie was her stage name. Probably was.
She pulled off her shirt. Braless, she rifled through the costumes on the wall, and I felt a little dumb trying to cover up my skimpy bra, with her so clearly comfortable half-naked. I turned back toward the mirror.
“You’re new,” she said.
“First night.”
The door opened again and another woman walked into the room. She had ultra-blond hair, an orange tan, and over-inflated boobs—all obviously fake.
“Hey, Angel,” Melodie said. “This is Jade.”
Smiling, I reached out to shake Angel’s hand.
She glared at me. “You’re not supposed to be in here. Dancers only.”
“Oh, sorry.” I looked over to Melodie, who’d stopped searching through the costumes and was putting rouge on her areolae.
“Where am I supposed to change?”
Melodie looked over. “It’s no biggie, but the waitresses change in the bathroom, and there are lockers just inside the kitchen where you can store your purse and shit.”
“Thanks.” I picked up my stuff and drew a deep breath, bracing myself to face whoever might be outside. “Who runs the kitchen?”
“Why?” Melodie shimmied out of her jeans.
I looked away after noticing she was both panty-less and hairless down there.
“I’d rather work in the kitchen than serve cocktails.”
“No, you wouldn’t.” Melody slipped into a G-string, then came over to join me in front of the mirror. “The kitchen is super gross. Plus Stan pays the cooks shit.”
“Oh.” Sounded as bad or worse than the jobs I’d quit.
“You should make good bank waiting tables, though, as long as you keep your orders and the money straight. Don’t let the bartenders rip you off,” Melodie added. “Make sure they don’t overcharge you. And keep track of your tips. Tuck them in here.” She tugged on the waistband of my skimpy silver panties.
“Thanks.”
She stepped back, eyeing me critically. “Can you dance?”
“Dance?”
“If money’s what you’re after—and really, why would you be working here unless you need money—you’d do way better dancing. You’ve got a cut
e little bod. Make the most of it.”
“No way,” I said too quickly and probably too sharply, given how Melodie raised her eyebrows.
Now I’d offended her. “I mean… I don’t have any experience. I’d probably suck.”
Melodie shrugged.
“Why are you still in here?” Angel shot me an angry look.
“Don’t listen to Miss Grumpy.” Melodie nudged my hip with her curvaceous one, then a look of realization came over her face. “I saw you the other day, right? At Shitty Melrose?”
“Shitty what?”
Melodie grinned. “Shitty Melrose. From that 90’s TV show Melrose Place? My mom used to love it. That’s what I call Shady Oaks ’cause it reminds me of the apartments in that show—but shittier. I saw you there, right? With Nick?”
“Oh, yeah.” I nodded. “You were coming home from a run or something?”
“That’s right, neighbor.” She grinned. “You moved into 311?”
“Yup.”
“I’m in 302, across the courtyard, if you ever need anything.”
“Thanks.” I headed toward the door.
Angel stepped in front of me. “You know Nick?”
“He’s my next-door neighbor.”
“Stay away from him.” Angel’s eyes narrowed, and she stuck out her balloon-like tits.
“Excuse me?”
“Hands off him, bitch. That man and his big dick are mine.”
“In your dreams, Angel,” said Melodie.
Angel shot Melodie a murderous look, then redirected it at me.
“I’m serious,” she said, poking her finger into my chest. “Lay a hand on Nick, I’ll cut you.”
I squared my stance. “Touch me again, and I’ll cut you.”
Angel backed off a bit, clearly all bark. I didn’t plan to lay a finger, or anything else, on Nick, but I was not about to be intimidated by this chick.
“Besides,” Angel said, “if it’s one of the Downey brothers you’re after, you should go after Keagan.”
“Keagan? Who’s that?”
“Don’t you know anything?” Angel shook her head, and the balloons on her chest bobbed. “He’s the Downey brother in charge. The smartest, the richest.”
“And the hottest,” Melodie added, then went back to applying her lipstick.
“Seriously, though,” Angel said. “Hands off Nick.”
“Fine.” I pushed past her and into the hall.
Once outside, I leaned back on the wall, trying to process the interaction. According to my dad, Nick was the one who’d arranged the deal—the head honcho, the one pulling the strings. But if Angel and Melodie were right, it sounded like Nick had someone tugging his strings. Someone named Keagan. Was I showing gratitude to the entirely wrong guy?
Seven
Nick
I’d been semi-hard the whole night.
Jade set a couple of shots and a beer on a customer’s table. The man strained his neck, trying to get a view of her twat from behind.
I wanted to slam the guy’s face straight through his table. But he hadn’t touched her, so I didn’t have an excuse to kick him out, never mind smash the face of a paying customer.
Shaking my head in admiration, I watched Jade stick out one hip and laugh at something the man said, then pocket what looked like a fifty for two drinks that would have cost half that, even with Stan’s high prices.
Jade was a natural at this, and I wasn’t sure why I’d expected different. She had the air of a woman who’d quickly be at home doing just about anything. Even on her first night, she’d found that fine line most of the cocktail waitresses never discovered. That line where she could joke and flirt with the customers while making it clear she wasn’t on the menu.
She hadn’t faced a bachelor party yet, but I had a feeling she’d survive that and the weekend traffic, too. Plus, if anyone dared lay a hand on Jade… I narrowed my eyes. If I didn’t kill them, they’d wish they were dead.
Wearing sky-high heels, she walked confidently to the bar and leaned as she waited for her order. Her gaze found mine.
I nodded, and she rewarded me with a huge grin, accompanied by the finger. I chuckled as I turned away. We hadn’t known each other long, but her extended middle finger was starting to feel like a term of endearment, a sweet-nothing between us.
What was it about this chick? She was hot, sure. And cute as fuck. But as far as I could tell, I was the only man in the room totally fixated on her.
Were they all blind? There were six sexy dancers plus three other waitresses on the floor tonight, and still my eyes kept going back to Jade. It was like she had lights inside her that beamed straight at me.
She was on the short side for a strip club employee—probably five-five or six, if I had to guess—but in no way fragile. Her long, tight muscles flexed when she carried a full tray of drinks, and her legs looked carved when she walked in those stupidly high heels Stan made the staff wear. I’d be willing to bet her sculpted muscles hadn’t come from a gym. Hers were the muscles gained from physical work.
Her tits were small compared to every other girl’s here, but to me they looked so fucking juicy, especially in that silver bra. My dick throbbed as I remembered how they’d bounced as she washed my kitchen floor.
All I wanted to do was tear that bra off her body, pull her tits out, and suck them into my mouth. Not since I’d been a virgin had I felt this uncontrollably horny. Like I’d be ready to come if she so much as touched me.
“Hey!”
I jumped at the male voice beside me, then turned to see Keagan, an amused grin on his mug.
“Who’s the girl?” he asked.
“What are you talking about?” I scanned the room, realizing I hadn’t really seen anything besides Jade in ages. If I’d missed my brother’s arrival, what else had I missed?
“The new waitress,” he said. “The one you were eating out with your eyes.”
“Fuck off.” All the girls were safe, the customers were behaving, but I shouldn’t stay so fixated on Jade. Not if I wanted to do my job.
“Seriously,” Keagan said. “Who is she?”
I shrugged like I could care less.
“Okay, if you’re not interested, I’m gonna see if she’s up for a quick fuck out back.”
I grabbed his arm, and he laughed. “Shit, little brother. I think you bruised me.” He rubbed his arm. “Guess you’ve called dibs. Fine. What’s her deal?”
“It’s her,” I said. “The one in 311. I’ve been watching her like you asked.” It was an excuse, and I knew it.
Keagan shook his head. “Jesse’s brother called. He got a lead on the chick he’s looking for. Found her sister.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I just did.”
There went my justification for keeping an eye on Jade, but I was glad Jesse’s brother wasn’t after her. Guy was scary. So was Jesse.
“Strange thing is”—I leaned over so I could lower my voice—“this girl. She thinks she owes me something.”
Keagan’s eyebrows rose. “Owes you? What?”
“Gratitude?” I shook my head. “Someone—her dad—told her she was supposed to keep me happy, do whatever I asked or some shit.”
Keagan’s eyes opened wide, and he grinned. “Dude!” He punched me in the shoulder. “What the fuck have you been making her do? Anything kinky?”
“None of your business.”
“You are making her do kinky shit, aren’t you?” He leaned in. “Tell me, what’s it like to have a sex slave?”
“Asshole.” I stared ahead, trying to pretend he hadn’t gotten under my skin.
“Okay, Brute Squad. Be selfish. Keep all the details to yourself.” Keagan clapped me on the back. “Come by tomorrow, after you get up, okay? Shane’s got a lead on something.”
I frowned at my brother. “I think I’ll take a pass.”
“Fine.” Keagan caved way faster than I expected. “Come anyway. Any time after noon.”
“I’m serious about staying legit, you know. I’m staying out of whatever the hell Shane’s cooking up.”
Keagan shrugged, trying to make me believe he cared. “Just be there, okay? Family meeting. I’ll have sandwiches.”
“Sure.” I never said no to free food.
Grinning, Keagan put his arm over my shoulder. “And enjoy your sex slave.”
Eight
Jade
Finally back in my jeans and T-shirt, I sat on a stool, facing away from the bar and into the empty club. I couldn’t have been gladder to be out of the hideous silver uniform I’d stuffed into my bag and couldn’t imagine wearing two nights in a row without washing. If nothing else, I wanted to rinse out the residue left by the creepy customers’ gazes.
Even though I’d been careful not to let any men touch me, I felt like I’d been dunked in filth.
My new job was humiliating, but the huge consolation prize was buried in my purse along with the uniform. I’d made almost as much money tonight as I made in a week at all my four old jobs combined. And that was just in tips. Every Tuesday I’d also get paid a week’s wages. The hourly wage was terrible, but the tips were great.
Tonight had clinched it. I was quitting the last of my old jobs. It would be strange to have so many hours off. Home all day, only working one eight-hour shift a night—and I didn’t have to work at all on Mondays! The money was that freaking good.
Melodie claimed dancers made even more. Wow. In my old life, I’d barely scraped by, what with paying rent, covering my sister Crystal’s college expenses, and bailing out Dad when he got picked up—usually for loitering, or for drunk and disorderlies. The idea of saving money had been as real to me as unicorns.
But it turned out unicorns were real. And the quicker I could put money in the bank, the quicker I’d be able to get out from under showing “gratitude” to Nick—and apparently his brother Keagan. The quicker I could start training to be a chef.
Entry-level jobs in gourmet kitchens either paid nothing or, if you were really lucky, next to nothing. Working for free under top chefs was the working alternative to culinary school, an apprenticeship of sorts, and I’d never been able to afford either form of education.
