“Seriously, O?” Chad’s voice was more curt now, and Owen clamped his lips shut. Shit, he’d gone too far. His friend had called him about something else, and Owen had blurted out that he had a friend looking to attend. He hadn’t meant to, really, but it’d happened. He wanted to help Chad. He wanted to make himself useful so Chad had reason to keep him around. And if Chad went to school, started a steady job, maybe Owen wouldn’t look so goddamn boring. Maybe they could actually have a future together.
“I’m sorry, I—” Owen fidgeted. “Okay, I’ll back off.”
“I’m a big boy,” Chad muttered.
“I know.”
“I can handle my own affairs. I have an apartment and a job, and I even wipe my own ass.”
Owen smiled in spite of Chad’s bitter words. “You’re practically an adult.”
“Damn right.” Owen heard the smile in Chad’s voice.
“I’m sorry,” Owen said. “That was over the line.”
“It’s okay. I’ll take the scholarship stuff, but you don’t have to make phone calls on my behalf, okay?”
“Okay.”
No one said anything for a minute until Chad spoke again, his voice lighter, but still slightly weighted. “What’s this work dinner you have Saturday?”
“Grant wants me to help him entertain some advertising clients he’s trying to woo.”
“And he asked you? Wow, he must be desperate.” There was a teasing quality to Chad’s voice that Owen didn’t take offense to.
“Yeah, well, we all know your sister would be better at it, but she’s out of town. I’m the stand-in.”
“You’ll be great—just use big words like ‘moratorium.’”
Owen laughed. “Okay, I’ll work that into conversation.”
“And I’ll call you Sunday?”
“Yeah,” Owen said, glancing around the office. “Call me Sunday. We probably need to have a talk, then, Chad, ya know?”
Chad’s exhale fuzzed the receiver. “Yeah, we do.”
Chapter Twelve
The Peach Pit was exactly like Chad thought it would be—a nondescript brick building with a small sign over top that said The Peach Pit and had a picture of the namesake fruit. He and Ace parked around the side of the building and walked toward a steel door. Now that he was here, he remembered driving by this building several times. But he’d never been inside. Maybe he just wasn’t in the crowd that received invitations to super-fancy, exclusive strip clubs.
He wondered if Marley and Austin had ever been. And then decided he didn’t want to know. He hoisted his bag higher on his shoulder and scratched the stubble on his jaw. “So, this is it?”
Ace grinned at him and smacked him on the shoulder. “Never seen you look nervous before, Lake. What’s the malfunction?”
“Dude, seriously? I’m not a robot. I have to take my clothes off in there.”
“I told you, there’s no nudity.”
“Okay, most of my clothes.”
“You work in the bar with your shirt off five nights a week.”
Chad glared. “That’s different.”
Ace shrugged and held the door open, waving to motion Chad inside. “You’re only doing waiter duty tonight. Don’t worry. You can look around, see what it’s about, and then step it up if you wanna do more next time.”
Chad bit back a nasty comment as he walked into the building. The door shut behind him with a heavy metal click, and Chad’s stomach dropped.
This weird swirling dread in his veins was unfamiliar and unwelcome. Since when did he get worked up about something like this? Ace was right—he was basically a piece of meat that served drinks every night at Blue Moon, so why was this so different?
Because of Owen.
Chad gritted his teeth against the thought of cuddling with Owen on the couch. The thought fueled him and made him pause. He had lied and said he was working late at Blue Moon, a job, which, yeah, he worked shirtless, but it was still a far, far cry from being a dancer at a strip club. Or even a waiter. He should back out right now, because there was no way Owen would be cool with this if he knew. He’d insist Chad find another way to come up with the money—a way that probably included his help.
And that just wasn’t acceptable.
This was the fastest way for him to make money by himself. Without the help of his boyfriend. Or…the guy he was seeing, or whatever. No, Chad was doing it his way, and if that meant being here for other men and women to ogle and maybe touch and definitely objectify, he was doing it so he could go back to school and be the kind of guy Owen could be with.
It was just a night. One night.
Get through this, he told himself. Pocket the money, and then figure out a better way to make money. On his own. Because he’d be damned if Owen had to hold his hand while he got his life situated. Finding scholarship applications was one thing, but for Owen to call his professor friends… Chad shuddered. That was taking it too far. There was no way he’d let himself be daddied, and he didn’t want there to come a time when Owen would resent him for being helpless and for needing someone else to get ahead.
There he went again, talking like they had a big future.
Chad shook his head. He needed to get his game face on.
Ace swiped a card through a reader, and the red LED light on the door changed to green. Chad followed Ace through it, making sure the door shut behind him. He thought that seemed kinda high-tech for a strip club, but what did he know?
Running down the hall was a topless girl in a G-string. A hot topless girl. Chad tried not to stare.
“I thought this was ladies’ night?” Chad asked.
“It is. The girls are just getting off their shift.”
“Hey, Ace!” the topless girl shouted, her tits bouncing as she went up on her toes in her platform heels and kissed him on the cheek.
He squeezed her shoulder, which Chad found surprisingly sweet. “Hey, sweetheart. I like the hair. That new?”
She plumped her long, deep red mane. “Yep, Chrissie’s getting her license, so I let her practice on me.”
A woman with blonde hair peeked her head out of a doorway, smacking her gum. “You like it, Ace? I tried a new technique.”
Chad assumed the blonde Ace was smiling at was Chrissie. “Yep. Looks great. School going okay, then?”
“Yeah, I love it! Six more months and I’ll have my certification.”
“Good for you.” Ace kissed her on the head and pointed in Chad’s direction. “New kid. His name is—” He paused and Chad furrowed his brows. “Rod.”
Chad stared at him with big eyes. Because they hadn’t discussed a—Jesus Christ—a stripper name, and if Chad was going to pick something, it sure as hell wouldn’t have been Rod.
But he was stuck now, because Chrissie and Red Hair were smiling at him and saying, “Hey, Rod!” So he had to grit his teeth and wave back.
“Hey, ladies.”
Red Hair was actually Brandi.
With an i.
Fucking stripper names.
But the girls were, obviously, very attractive and friendly, and they were just like Chad, working here to give themselves a brighter future. If those were the people working here, it might not be so bad.
And then he saw what he had to wear. And nearly walked out.
Because really, he should probably just be naked. It would be more comfortable than squeezing his ass and package into those tiny red briefs Ace was holding up. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
They stood in the men’s dressing room, which wasn’t very large, but big enough for a mirror stretched along one wall with a table in front of it full of what looked to be cosmetics and body spray. There was a guy in the corner getting dressed who completely ignored them. Ace stood in the middle of the room and waved the briefs from side to side. “Wear me, Rod,” he said in a high voice.
Chad snatched them out of Ace’s hands. “You could have consulted with me on a name, fuck you very much.” He shook his head. “Rod.”<
br />
“Rod is a great stripper name! The puns about rods are infinite. I did you a favor.”
“I would have chosen something much cooler.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know.” Chad took off his shirt and stuffed it in his bag. “Maybe Rock. Or Jax.”
Ace rolled his eyes and began to dress himself, thankfully turning his back on Chad as he struggled into those damn briefs. Normally, Chad would have loved to ogle Ace’s bare ass as he got dressed, but that felt not right. And if nothing else that night had been a clue, not wanting to ogle a hot ass should have had Chad hightailing it home.
But instead he slapped his hands on his hips and declared, “Done!” and stood there in untied motorcycle boots and red briefs.
Ace wore a pair of bright blue briefs. Shit, the two of them looked like a homoerotic Captain America cosplay. Ace gave him a once-over, then grabbed a tube of something off the table. He squeezed something onto his hands and then rubbed them together as he approached. Chad held his hands up and backed away. “Whoa, whoa, what’s that?”
“Turn around.”
“Is that lube? Why the fuck do I need to turn around?”
“It’s not lube, you dumbass. Calm down. It’s just lotion. Makes you look shiny and sexy, and I don’t know. We’re supposed to wear it.”
“I can put it on myself.” His voice was close to a squeak. The guy in the corner lifted his head and raised his eyebrows. Chad shot him a glare.
Ace sighed with infinite patience. “You can’t get your back. Now will you calm down? You’ve spent a month flirting with me, and now you’re freaking out because I need to touch your back.”
Chad huffed and turned around so Ace didn’t see his face. He closed his eyes as those big hands began rubbing the lotion on his skin.
To make him shiny.
Like he was a pie to glaze.
Ace directed him to grease up the rest of his skin himself and Chad scurried over to the mirror, grateful he didn’t have to be close to Ace anymore. No need for him to see his nerves.
He rested his hands on the table when he was done and eyed himself in the mirror while Ace talked to the other guy in the room.
This wasn’t that big of a deal. He was just delivering drinks. Albeit in much less clothing. But still. No big deal. It didn’t have to be a thing. He could do this job and pocket the cash. Was it really Owen’s business how he made his money, anyway? He needed to stop worrying about what Owen thought. He wasn’t a hooker, he was a waiter in a pair of Speedos. He was Chad Lake, and he’d done crazier things than this. Fuck what other people thought—including let me call my professor friends Owen.
He hated this anxiousness that was skittering over his skin like ants.
With a firm nod to himself that he was going to forget everything but pocketing cash, he ran his fingers through his hair, thinking maybe he should get a haircut. He had to admit, his package looked damn good in these briefs. He twisted at the waist. His ass looked great, too. He flexed his pecs a couple of times, which made him feel douchey, but no one was watching.
And then he clapped his hands and turned around to see Ace spying him with a grin playing on his lips. He handed him a key card. “Here’s a temporary one so you can get back here tonight when you need to. So, you ready now, Rod?”
“How come you get to keep your name?”
Ace laughed. “This isn’t my name, man. An old nickname that I use at the bar and here. My name’s Doug.”
“Doug?” Chad asked, staring at him as they walked out of the room in the direction of the main floor.
“Yeah, Doug.”
“You don’t look like a Doug.”
“Great, because I want you to call me Ace anyway.”
Ace directed him to swipe his key card through the reader by a new door, and then they entered the main floor.
It looked like, well, a strip club. There was a stage and a pole. The lights were dimmed, and chairs and tables lined the stage and around the bar.
“So, the Pit is known for having male and female entertainment. Tonight is ladies’ night, so this is when we dudes come in. Soon we’ll see switchover in the clientele. The women and the men who…like men.” Ace shrugged. “I do think we have a large bachelorette party lined up, plus some corporate entertainment—”
“Corporate?” Chad asked. “Like, professional people?”
“This isn’t a seedy strip club. We entertain high-profile clients.” Ace’s voice edged on haughty.
Chad held up his hands. “Okay, don’t get your briefs in a bunch, Superman. Damn.”
“So your job will be to report to Candy over there—”
“There’s always a stripper named Candy. Always. Does she have a heart of gold?”
Ace ignored him. “Candy is the head bartender. She arranges who delivers drinks where. Listen to her, because she will chew your ass out if you fuck up.”
“Okay, maybe not a heart of gold,” Chad muttered.
“So,” Ace said. “Any questions?”
Chad shifted his lips from side to side. He’d talked earlier with Braxton, who read him the rules and gave him paperwork to sign. “Uh, people can’t touch me, right?”
Ace shook his head. “You’re just a waiter. You serve drinks, and they look at you.”
“And they know this?”
Ace grinned. “They know this.”
Chad took a deep breath and tried to ease the tension out of his muscles. Normally, he was a jump-without-looking kinda guy. But right now, he was analyzing fucking everything. This was all Owen’s fault. Damn him. Chad cracked his neck and pushed the guy to the back of his mind. He stared at his greased-up abdomen and flattened the waistband of his briefs, then grinned at Ace. “Let’s do it.”
…
Owen swirled the pasta around its little sauce bath and thought maybe he should have declined that third glass of wine.
He didn’t drink much, so he was the lightweight of all lightweights. He wasn’t drunk, but he was well on his way to a decent buzz.
And honestly, he fit in with his dinner-mates.
This wasn’t a formal, professional dinner like he’d been expecting. Grant was clearly working to woo the Esher clients, showing them a good time and lavishing them with expensive wine and food.
The table was full of rosy cheeks and big white smiles and loud laughter. The CEO was a woman named Karina Metzler and her advertising execs were Cary Sanders and Monica Anderson.
Karina was friendly, although Owen could tell she had balls of steel under that skirt. Monica was gregarious. And Cary was flamboyantly gay and had sniffed out Owen’s sexuality within ten minutes. He kept eyeing him, and Owen thought this whole meeting just needed to end so he could go home and be alone with his books.
And go to sleep. Because the sooner he got to sleep, the sooner it’d be Sunday, when he could see Chad again.
“So, Owen,” Karina said, turning her bright blue eyes toward him. Owen was in the middle of a sip of wine he didn’t need, so he swallowed awkwardly, coughed, and felt like an idiot as they all waited until he regained his composure. Karina’s smile didn’t falter. “Tell me, where do you see Gamers in five years?”
Owen opened his mouth, but no words came out. He shut it and looked down, smoothing the napkin on his lap to buy himself some time to get his brain in order and formulate a response. When he lifted his gaze again, he locked eyes with Grant. The other man was watching him curiously, clearly eager to hear his answer.
So Owen took a deep breath and remembered he’d graduated second in his class from an Ivy League school and talked. “We’re already ahead of our competition, using social media more effectively and building platforms across YouTube, Tumblr, and Instagram. And we’re working to establish ourselves on up-and-coming social media sites that haven’t become household names yet. I’m so proud of where we are and what we’ve accomplished already, and that’s why I see big things for us in five years. I see us becoming part of the gaming c
ulture by creating interactive components to better engage our readers—and advertisers. I see Gamers as a brand rather than just a magazine. It will be the go-to for all gamers—reviews on the latest games and products. I see us reaching out more to our consumers and evaluating our readership demographic constantly. Because I think it’s always changing.” He ran out of steam then and resisted fidgeting with his napkin again.
“And can you tell me a couple of ways you think Gamers can achieve that?” Karina asked.
Jesus Christ. Owen could feel the sweat dripping down the middle of his back. “I think we are well on our way now, but I think we need to reach beyond the traditional magazine mind-set. Be more interactive with our subscribers. Hire a social media expert, maybe a couple of people who look good on camera and could do live reviews.” He flashed a grin, gaining confidence. “Of course, larger advertising clients will help us get there faster and more efficiently, which is why I think we are the perfect place for you to advertise, to partner with us as we continue to move forward.”
When Karina didn’t answer and instead stared at him unwaveringly, he wondered if he’d stepped over the line.
Then she smiled and chuckled softly. “Good answer.” Then she turned to Grant. “He could have handled this meeting himself. I don’t even need you.”
Grant’s laugh boomed across the table. “Why do you think I brought him?”
Relief coursed through Owen’s body, until Karina turned to him again. “And Owen, where do you see yourself in five years?”
Owen froze. He wanted to still be with Gamers. He loved it there, and clearly Grant thought he was an asset. But even though he knew she was talking about work, he couldn’t help but think about Chad. Owen hoped to be working at Gamers in five years, and for once, he saw himself in a long-term relationship.
With Chad.
Owen swallowed. “I see myself at Gamers.”
Everyone at the table nodded, and Owen excused himself to go to the bathroom to prevent more questions.
When he returned, Grant was paying the check. And Owen gritted his teeth, thinking he only had a little bit more time before he could hole himself up in his apartment until tomorrow.
Tied to Trouble (Gamers) Page 12
