The Player's Club: Scott

by Cathy Yardley

  “Sorry, sorry. But don’t worry. This is just to get you in,” she reassured him.

  “Because I can’t…no. I don’t dance.”

  She could see that, obviously. But he went with her to the side door anyway.

  A bruising bouncer that looked like an ex-marine was working, earpiece in, sunglasses on despite the fact that it was nine o’clock. “Who are you?” he snarled.

  Amanda felt her heart beating double-time, and wished once again that she were better at lying. “We’re dancers,” she said. “We’re with the Bettie Pages.”

  The bouncer glared at Scott. Or at least, he seemed to glare. It was hard to tell with the sunglasses. “He don’t look like a dancer.”

  “We have an act together,” Amanda said, trying to bat her eyes without being too ridiculous. She was wearing a tank top and sweats, so it’d be easier to change into her costume. She shot him her most innocent-looking smile.

  The bouncer still scowled at them. “I have to call it in.”

  She felt her palms sweat, and leaned back against Scott. The guy was listening intently to his earpiece.

  Suddenly, Tina ran out to the door. “Amanda! Thank God. If you hadn’t shown up, I wasn’t going to get paid. Where’s your friend?”

  “He’s right here.” Amanda gestured to Scott.

  Tina was clearly surprised, but she shrugged. “Right now, I’d take you if you were a trained chimp. No offense,” she said quickly. She seemed to be running on adrenaline and nerves. “Rinaldo, they’re with me, and they’re late. I need them in costume and on stage in like ten.”

  “Right, Tina,” the bouncer said with something like an adoring smile. Apparently, the bouncer had a crush on Miss Tina.

  “I can’t believe that worked,” Scott whispered in her ear.

  Tina turned to them. “All right. Amanda, you know about the wigs and outfits…but I really wasn’t expecting a guy. What does he do?”

  What does he do? Amanda blanked…and suddenly felt badly. After all, this was Tina’s livelihood. She couldn’t exactly leave her high and dry. “Um, are we in a cage, or on a stage?”

  “Stage. Good thing, with this crew,” Tina said. “They are a hell of a lot more famous, and more rowdy, than the last guys you danced for. I’d be careful when you’re crossing the floor.”

  “I’ll make sure nobody touches her.” Scott’s voice was rich with menace. Tina nodded with approval, even as Amanda shot him a look of surprise.

  “Do we have a chair?” Amanda asked.

  “I’m sure I can get one. Why?”

  “That’s the act. I’m sort of doing a…er, lap dance. For him,” she improvised.

  Tina’s eyebrows jumped up.

  “Very tasteful, though,” Amanda quickly added.

  Tina sighed. “I swear, from now on, no more big venues. I don’t care how much money they pay. They don’t know how to treat artists. I’ll go get that chair.”

  “A lap dance?” Scott exclaimed, then goggled as she stripped down to her underwear in the room Tina had led them to.

  “It was all I could think of. She’s being nice enough to let you in here. The least you can do is sit on a stage and get entertained,” Amanda explained, hastily sliding the hangers on the rod. “What do you think?” She held up a black bra-and-tap-pants number, and another in leopard print.

  Amanda watched as Scott swallowed. “The, er, black one.”

  “Got it.” She took off her bra, switching it for the black. “Take off your shirt.”

  His smile was hungry. He took his shirt off, reaching for her.

  “No, not yet,” she said with a laugh. “That’s going to be your costume.”

  “What?” He looked down at his chest. He was well-defined…and yummy, she thought, although she’d bet he didn’t see it. “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “It’ll work like gangbusters.”

  “All right. There’s a chair on the stage,” Tina said, wild-eyed. “I need you on stage now. I’ll have a few more girls coming in after all, but I can’t afford an empty stage for long. Can you perform for at least five minutes until I can get the backup dancers on?”

  Amanda gritted her teeth, then nodded. “Sure we can. Right, Scott?”

  “Right,” he said slowly.

  “Then let’s go.”

  Amanda held Scott’s hand as they wove through the drunken revelry. There were people in various states of undress, dancing, drinking and doing God knows what else. She bet a paparazzo would have a field day if he could get a camera in here.

  “They’re mostly smashed,” she told Scott, as Tina led them onto the smallish wooden stage. “Nobody’s going to be paying attention to us.”

  “I hope not,” Scott said, looking pale.

  The music kicked up, and Tina grabbed a mike. “And now, presenting…the Bettie Pages!”

  Amanda felt her stomach roll as a spotlight hit them, and a crowd of several hundred suddenly looked at her and the seated Scott.

  Tina had apparently taken her literally. The song blasting from the high-tech sound system was “Lap Dance” by Pharrell. It had a driving, insane beat, which helped. She did a few dance steps, some of the burlesque wiggles she’d managed to pick up from her last outing with the Bettie Pages.

  The crowd looked bored.

  Tina looked like she was going to be sick. Possibly have a heart attack.

  And Scott was sweating.

  Scott. Just being able to focus on him helped Amanda feel better. She moved closer to him, leaning enough to have her cleavage about eye level, and she did a quick bend and snap. He smiled, a sexy, seductive smile.

  The heat in her stomach went from nerves to desire in a second, and she reveled gratefully in the change of energy. She scooted closer, her hips swiveling, moving to tease, to caress. She backed up against him, felt his fingers almost touching her…and she danced out of reach.

  Pretty soon, she was sure he was sweating for an entirely different reason. She momentarily forgot all about the audience as she danced, teased, caressed and tempted. He reached for her, kissing her neck, his fingers digging into her hips when she straddled his lap.

  He held her tight, pressing a hard kiss on her, and she gasped against his mouth. She leaned back, letting him kiss her chin, her throat, between her breasts as her legs wrapped around his waist. It was less a dance, more like a mating ritual. She gyrated with him. He kissed and stroked anything he could get a grip on. She thought she was losing her mind.

  She barely made out a low roar of approval as Scott clutched her to him. She got up, dizzy, almost drunk with it. He got up out of the chair, following her.

  She didn’t know how long they were out there, but suddenly, they were surrounded by other women dancers, in the trademark Bettie Page costumes. Tina gently ushered them off stage.

  “Whew!” she said, fanning her face with her fingers. “You two were hot.”

  Amanda felt a blush—and a heat, as her legs throbbed.

  Tina handed her clothes to her. “I got a couple of pictures of you. I’ll email them tonight,” she added, with a wink. “Otherwise, you two have fun. I think we’re good now. I’ve managed to pull together the full crew.”

  Scott didn’t say anything, just grabbed her hand as soon as she’d changed clothes and took her from the building. “I don’t know if I can make it to the car,” he rasped as they rushed down the street. She almost stumbled and he swung her up over his shoulder.

  “Oh, my God,” she laughed breathlessly. “You’re insane!”

  “You,” he said, smacking her softly on the ass, “have no idea.”

  They made it to the car and sped away. She was practically writhing with the heat her body was generating. She wanted sex. She wanted Scott. And she wanted it now.

  “Traffic jam,” he cursed. “Some kind of accident.”

  She whimpered…then grabbed one of his hands from the steering wheel, putting it between her legs. His fingers flexed and she gasped, shuddering, her thighs clenchi
ng him.

  He groaned. “Screw it. I know a place.”

  He turned off, taking them in an opposite direction, until they reached a secluded part of Golden Gate Park.

  “Here?” she squeaked. This was the sort of place where murderers hung out, and thieves. It was stupid, dangerous, undoubtedly…

  He got out of the car, surprising her. “I’ve always wondered about this,” he said, pulling her up and out of the car. “I used to work here one summer… I know this place.”

  She didn’t say anything as he led her to a shady grove. He tried the lock. It opened.

  “Same combo,” he laughed, then tugged her inside.

  It was an arboretum of some sort. Fragrant flowers perfumed the air—the slight breeze made the leaves of the tall eucalyptus rustle, and the jasmine flowers bloomed. The sky was clear. There was no one else around.

  He pressed her to a tree, removed her top. She felt the smooth bark against her back, then gasped as he undid her bra. “Scott,” she said, starting to protest, until he took one breast into his mouth and started to suckle. She arched her back, tilting her pelvis toward him like a flower reaching for the sun.

  He tugged her pants and panties down, ruthlessly, leaving her naked. She tugged at his fly, opening it, letting his cock spring free. He dove into a pocket, tearing open the package and hastily slipping the condom on.

  Then he plunged inside her, and she let out a loud, “Yesss…”

  She hung her legs over his hip bones, urging him deeper, further inside her. The feel of his full cock filling her made her shiver with pure, unadulterated lust. She clawed at his bare shoulders, biting his neck as he gripped her waist, cupped her ass, pulling her tight against his driving thrusts.

  The first time she came, she let out a low scream. The second time, she was panting so hard she could barely catch her breath. And when his rocking turned wild, almost chaotic, a third orgasm ripped through her as a complete surprise, a trembling aftershock that turned into a full-blown quake.

  He kissed her once, twice, collapsing against her.

  “Oh, my God,” she said, when she could finally form a coherent sentence. “I think I’m addicted to you.”

  She hadn’t meant to say that out loud. But he let out an uneven laugh.

  “I thought you could only be addicted to bad things.”

  As he slipped out of her, she wondered at his words. He wasn’t a bad thing, she thought.

  Unless she fell in love with him…and he didn’t fall for her. That would be a hell of a lot more than a “bad thing.”

  8

  IT WAS AN EARLY MEETING, by Player’s Club standards…midnight on a Sunday. Since Scott had been up until four the previous night after his Debauchanalia dancing debut, he was starting to feel a tad crispy around the edges. His work hadn’t suffered—yet—but he was feeling all thirty-four of his years.

  Lincoln was talking to those Players that were paying attention. George and his crew of about seven were holding up the bar, doing shots and making heckling comments. Lincoln was ignoring them, speaking with his usual low, casual tone.

  “So Tony’s doing the marathon,” he said, reading off a list from a black leather portfolio. “He’s conned Victor and Fahey to go with him—twenty-six miles, that’s impressive.”

  The guys in question grinned, nudging each other.

  “Jack, Damon and Bill are BASE jumping in Arizona next week,” Lincoln continued. “And Phil’s pulling together a group going to Africa. Photo safari. Anyone wants in, talk to him. Okay, that covers our latest—”

  “We’re doing a pub crawl,” George yelled, and his cronies chuckled. “Everything over one-twenty proof, and the last guy standing pays the limo driver. Starts Thursday at ten at my house!”

  Lincoln took a deep breath, waiting until the laughter died down. “Okay. Let’s hear from our latest pledge.” He looked pointedly at Scott.

  Scott nodded. “I did my second challenge.”

  That seemed to cut the laughter off at the knees. “What?” George yelped, standing up, his face turning red. “Bullshit. I was at that party. I would’ve known if you got past a bouncer.”

  “Oh, really?” Lincoln asked mildly. “Why is that?”

  George’s face was as red as his hair.

  “Was it maybe because you gave Scott’s description to the head of security, warning them that he’d try to sneak in?” Lincoln never yelled, never raised his voice a decibel…but the tight smile on his face and the glare in his eyes, were more menacing than all George’s bluster. “You forget—I’m friends with most of the bouncers in the city, George. And that was dirty pool.”

  George gritted his teeth, taking a step toward Lincoln. Lincoln didn’t back down an inch.

  “I still call bullshit,” George said. “Where’s his proof?”

  For the first time, Scott was glad that Tina had emailed the photos. He showed his phone to George and Lincoln.

  “What the hell?” George said. “You were on stage?”

  “I said I wanted to crash a party,” Scott said. “I did. I got in there. I even performed.”

  “I’ll say,” Finn said with a low whistle and a laugh. The others joined in…even a few of George’s friends.

  George shook his head. “Okay. I guess you pulled it off.”

  Scott felt his shoulders unknot a little. He didn’t know what George’s problem with him was, but he was getting sick of being on the defensive around the guy.

  “So there’s only the running of the bulls left,” Lincoln said, and shut his portfolio. “Okay. Next meeting is—”

  “Wait a sec,” George said, and Scott suppressed a groan. “I’ve got some new business to discuss.”

  “Oh?” Lincoln stared at him, one eyebrow kicking up.

  “Yeah. Before I left, I sent out an email with a link,” George said, and he sounded…well, sneaky. Scott immediately felt wary. “You and I don’t see eye to eye, Lincoln, but we both agree that people who put the Club out in the public get kicked out.”

  Finn nodded. “That’s true, Linc.”

  Lincoln folded his arms. “What’s your point, George?”

  A few of the guys were checking on smart phones. Faces were grim.

  “We were mentioned in a blog,” George said, his expression one of smarmy self-righteousness. “One of our guys here. Phil.”

  Phil, of the aforementioned Africa trip, looked irritated. “I didn’t name names.”

  “You said enough,” George shot back. “Anybody with half a brain could tell what you were referring to. And judging by the number of comments and hits you got, I’d say you were definitely bragging.”

  “Is this true?” Lincoln asked. He sounded disappointed.

  “I… Well, sort of,” Phil said, sounding disgruntled. “I was just trying to get more guys on board with the Africa thing. I didn’t mean to point fingers at us.”

  Finn was looking on his phone. He showed the site to Lincoln, who scanned the text quickly.

  Then Lincoln sighed. “This is pretty serious, Phil.”

  “You know the rules,” George said, gleeful.

  “Fine.” Lincoln glanced at the crowd. “All in favor of kicking Phil out, raise your hand.”

  There was some grumbling, an undercurrent of distress. About half the guys raised their hands.

  “It’s a tie,” Lincoln said. Then he looked at Scott. “You didn’t vote.”

  “He’s not a Player!” George protested. “He can’t vote!”

  “We need a tiebreaker.” Lincoln’s smile was ghostly. “So…what do you think, Scott?”

  Scott swallowed hard. “Maybe… Hell, everybody makes mistakes. I think a second chance isn’t a bad thing.”

  “Spoken like a true pussy,” George spat out, and his crew grumbled with him. Phil glared at them, then nodded in gratitude to Scott.

  “If that’s all…” Lincoln continued, but George interrupted him again.

  “As long as I’ve got the floor, I want to discuss ou
r meeting places,” George said, standing up like a politician. “I’d like to suggest a few party places that I think are way cooler than the hole in the walls you’ve been setting up, Lincoln. And I want to bring strippers back into it. Real strippers. Not burlesque dancers or whatever the hell you call them.”

  Lincoln grinned. “Majority rules, remember? And you don’t have a majority, so maybe you should just sit down.”

  “Maybe the guys are sick of your little Dead Poets Society self-help crap,” George growled, getting into Lincoln’s face. “Maybe they just want to be studs and have fun for a change, am I right?”

  There was a ragged, masculine cheer, mostly from the drunken, rich frat contingent.

  “Maybe,” George added in a low voice, under the noise of the cheer, “it’s time for new management.”

  “You don’t have the brains or the balls to run this thing,” Lincoln said dismissively.

  “Watch me.” George turned around. “Okay, guys, meeting’s over. New location’ll be announced. Get the hell out!” He was laughing as he and his friends exited.

  Lincoln turned to Finn. “He’s making his move.”

  “I didn’t think he would,” Finn said, sounding irritated…and worried.

  “This isn’t what I signed on for,” Lincoln said.

  “Why can’t you just kick him out?” asked Scott.

  “Wish it were that easy,” Lincoln said. “We’ve all been friends for a long time. Sure, there are some that I like less than others, but when we started, it wasn’t like this. Wasn’t so polarized.” He sighed, rubbing at his temple with one hand. “At least we know it’s happening.”

  “I’d like to do something to help, if I could,” Scott offered.

  “Make it through the challenges. Help us keep a majority, until we can convince some of the guys he’s fooled to come back to reality,” Lincoln said. “He just wants a bunch of flunkies to make him look cool. Sometimes he impresses them with stuff, like expensive gifts. Sometimes women.”

  “He didn’t used to be such a dick,” Finn said. But even he sounded doubtful.

  “Can’t you kick him out for the stupid business cards?” Scott asked.

  “No proof he’s handing them to anybody but pledges,” Lincoln said, but rolled his eyes.