by Sophie Stern
Contents
Move
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
About
Honeypot Babies
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Alien Dragon
Move
Sophie Stern
Copyright © 2016 by Sophie Stern
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Bailey is having a pretty bad month.
Her boyfriend just dumped her for her much-hotter cousin, her philosophy professor is dating her mom, and her boss just fired her because she wouldn't flirt with a customer.
When her roommate drags her to a pole dancing club, she's skeptical. Kasey swears that pole dancing will give Bailey a new outlook on life, but Bailey isn't so sure. Things have been so bad up to this point. How could one little hobby change everything?
But when Bailey walks through the doors of Club Kitten, she realizes that everything is about to change.
Learning her moves proves to be a challenge, but when she meets a tall, dark, and handsome stranger, she knows nothing will ever be the same again. Cooper is unlike anyone she's ever met.
Soon Bailey is just as addicted to him as she is to dancing.
What could possibly go wrong?
Chapter 1
Bailey
“You have to be kidding. Those wouldn’t fit a 12-year-old. There’s no way they’re made for an adult.”
“They’re totally made for an adult. Come on. Just give them a try.”
Kasey shakes the no-way-in-hell-they’ll-fit-me booty shorts in front of me and I grumble before dropping my pants and wiggling into them. She laughs as I manage to pull them all the way up, and then up a little more.
“Is my ass supposed to be hanging out the back like that?”
“Yep.”
“No.”
“Yep.”
“No, come on!”
“Bailey, get real. You’ve had the worst week of your sad little life. I’m tired of you moping around the apartment feeling sorry for yourself. It’s time for you to get out there and do something with your life.”
I glare at Kasey, but she just shrugs. We both know she’s right. I can admit that now and don the matching, way-too-tiny tank top, or I can argue with her for another twenty minutes before I have to put the clothes on.
Glaring, I toss my t-shirt aside and yank on the black tank.
“My bra is showing.”
“So lose the bra.” Kasey looks unconcerned about my modesty. She’s seen me naked plenty of times before. We do live together, after all, but somehow wearing these tiny clothes make me feel more naked than when I’m actually naked.
“Will there be guys at the class?” I ask her.
“Still no,” she assures me. Kasey strips down and pulls on her own dance clothes. She yanks her blonde hair back in a ponytail and tosses me a band so I can do the same. I turn to the full-length mirror on her bedroom wall and turn back and forth for a minute.
“I look good,” I say, finally.
“No shit. Let’s go.” She tosses me a water bottle and heads into the living room. I hear her pulling her shoes on and I realize I need to follow suit or we’ll be late.
Club Kitten waits for no woman.
***
Club Kitten is located in a two-story building downtown. The classy brick walls make me think of a time long past. Despite the fact that it’s a pole dancing club, this place looks classy.
“Are you sure it’s the right place?” I ask Kasey, self-consciously yanking at my booty shorts.
“Stop,” she swats my ass as she walks past me and pushes inside the building. Frustrated, I follow her, realizing I don’t really have a choice. If I didn’t want to clear my head from my horrible week, I should have told Kasey back at the apartment.
I shouldn’t have let her drag me to a pole dancing club.
It’s not that I don’t need to relax. I do. I absolutely do. I’m just not sure that shaking my ass on a pole is the right way to forget about Dominic. Yeah, he was two-timing me with my bitch cousin, Pumpkin, but so what? That happens to lots of people. I just wasn’t expecting it. I didn’t think the guy I loved would betray me like that.
I didn’t think my own flesh and blood would, either.
But that’s life, right? I can’t sit around waiting to get over it. That’s what Kasey keeps telling me. I think she would have let me mope around the apartment for another week or so, but when my boss fired me for refusing to “be pleasant to the customers,” which is code for “flirt,” she knew it was time to take some action.
That, coupled with my mom’s announcement that she’s now sleeping with my English literature professor, made the choice to come to Club Kitten pretty easy.
I just hope it’s the right choice. Kasey keeps telling me that pole dancing isn’t just for professional dancers. More and more women are choosing to pole dance as a way to lose weight or as a form of therapy.
For me, hopefully it’ll be both.
Hopefully it’ll help me feel like I have some control over my life.
“Welcome to Club Kitten,” a friendly-looking woman says when I walk inside. Kasey is leaning casually against the counter, chatting with another girl who looks like she’s here for class.
“Thanks,” I say.
“First time?” The woman says with a smile.
I just nod. There’s no point in playing in cool. It’s obvious I don’t fit in here. I try not to stare at all the beautiful women in the lobby. I try not to compare myself, but it’s certainly not easy. The women here are all different shapes and sizes, but they all exude this confidence.
Will I get that from dancing?
“I’ll need you to fill these out,” the receptionist hands me a clipboard with some forms. I raise an eyebrow. “The first one just says you won’t record anything that happens in class or take pictures. We take privacy very seriously here at Club Kitten and even though these classes are for women only, we don’t want anyone to feel uncomfortable or worry that a picture of them might end up on social media.”
“Got it,” I sign my name. I noticed right away that you can’t see the dance rooms from the lobby. If you want to get to the rooms, you have to talk to the receptionist first. She’s basically the gatekeeper of the club. This is nice since if you don’t want people to know you dance, you don’t have to worry about someone driving by and seeing you shaking your booty in the window.
“There’s a second form,” the receptionist points. “This one says you’ll let us know if you get hurt or injured during class and that you won’t sue us if you accidentally break an arm.”
“Does that happen a lot?”
“It’s never happened in the time I’ve been here.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Thirteen months.”
“Thirteen months…” I tap my chin dramatically. “Sounds okay to me.” I think that if someone was going to break their arm, it would have already happened. Then again, I’m Bailey. I basically have the worst luck in the world. If anyone is going to break their arm, it’s definitely going to be me.
I sign my name with a flourish and hand the forms back, pay for my class, and head back to the classroom with Kasey.
We enter a hallway behind the main room that has a large l
ocker room on the right with showers, sofas, and lockers. On the left, a closed door says “OFFICE.”
“That’s Sassy’s office,” Kasey says. “She’s the owner.”
“Sassy?”
“Yeah, Professor Sassy McMittens.”
I raise an eyebrow, but Kasey ignores me and we move on down the hall. That’s definitely a story for another day. I will not be letting her forget that. What kind of name is that? Is that the owner’s real name? It can’t be.
Surely there’s a story behind this.
I take a look around as we walk. There are doors on the right and left and a large spiral staircase directly in front of us. It looks like something out of a made-for-TV movie or a cartoon. Instantly, images of castles and secrets and adventures run through my mind, and I want to see what’s up that staircase. I take a step forward, but Kasey grabs my arm.
“The stairs lead to an apartment. That’s off-limits.” She points at a little sign hanging across the staircase on a chain that says as much. “The room on the left is for dance classes and yoga-type stuff, and the one on the right is for pole.”
“We want pole.”
“We want pole,” Kasey repeats, and pushes the door open.
We walk inside and I try not to gasp. There are nine poles in three tidy rows. The walls are covered in floor-to-ceiling mirrors. At the front of the room, there’s a 10th pole set off by itself. I assume that’s where the instructor teaches.
“Yoga mats are back there,” Kasey points to a corner where there are several rolled mats. “You can bring your own if you prefer. Those are for stretching and stuff like that. Sometimes the floor is too hard to just want to plop down on it. Shoes go in the cubbies.” She points to a set of cubbies and we deposit our shoes, then pick a pole.
“Wait,” I say, realizing something. “Why do we dance barefoot? Aren’t we supposed to wear stilettos?”
“Not today. You can wear them once you’re more comfortable with dancing, but your shoes have to have an ankle strap for safety. Some clubs make you have a wide heel, too.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you can’t actually wear stilettos. You can wear really high heels, but the heel part of the shoe has to be wider than a quarter so you maintain your balance while dancing.”
“This studio doesn’t have that requirement, though?”
“Nope. Just the strap thing. Like I said, though, that’s something to think about later. Some girls like to dance in heels or boots because it gives you more of a burn when you’re stretching or doing squats. Some people think the heels make them look better when they’re dancing. I don’t care about that, though. I’m just here to have fun, and you’re a beginner, so you don’t get shoes.”
Being told I don’t get to wear shoes makes me want to cross my arms and pout like a little brat, but I know she’s right, so I just take a deep breath and chill out. I’m here to have fun. I’m here to get over my crappy past. I’m here to move forward with my life. I might be a freshman in college, but I’ve spent so much time with Dominic and trying to please my mother that I haven’t really lived.
Maybe Club Kitten can change all that. Kasey shows me some stretches and she helps me get comfortable touching the pole as we wait for the class to begin.
The room fills up quickly with several other women of all ages and sizes. Suddenly, I feel a lot more comfortable in my booty shorts. Everyone here seems to be at ease with their bodies and that, in turn, makes me feel more relaxed. There are a couple of girls who look around my age, but there are also older women. One with white hair smiles at me.
“First class?”
I nod.
“Don’t you worry, hon. Haley is the best.” She pats my hand as she walks by and takes a pole in the front row. I’m a little confused because she reminds me of my grandmother in some ways, but of one of my girlfriends in others. Strange. Kasey told me that women of all ages like to dance, but I guess I never really expected to see anyone over 30 or 40 in the class. It’s kind of cool that there are older women, though.
A few minutes later, music starts pounding through the speakers and a petite woman with short dark hair dances into the room on five-inch heels. She’s wearing booty shorts, a sports bra, and a smile. I like her immediately.
“Hey everyone! Welcome to all the newbies. I’m Haley! Let’s get started!” I can already tell that Haley has a crazy amount of energy, but instead of feeling like it’s silly, I like it. I’m eating it up. I was so nervous to come, but now I feel like I can really do this.
We do a few stretches using our poles, then Haley teaches us a short routine. To my surprise, the entire thing forces me to use muscles I didn’t know I had while making me feel like a sexy, sexy superstar.
Maybe it’s because Haley keeps telling us how hot we all look or because we take turns showing off the routine at the end of class, but by the time Kasey and I walk out of Club Kitten, I’ve got a stupid grin plastered on my face.
“I know that look,” she teases. “You’re hooked.”
***
A few weeks after I join Club Kitten, a job opens at the coffee shop next door and I jump at the chance to work so close to where I play. My interview goes perfectly and I start work that same day. By the time I get home, I’m sore, tired, and happy.
“How was work?” Kasey asks when I walk inside.
“Good. Long. Can’t believe I finally have a job again.”
“Me neither. I was starting to get tired of having a mooch for a roommate,” she smiles, and I know she’s joking. Luckily, I had some savings, but even if I hadn’t, Kasey would have helped me out while I was between jobs. I hate the idea of having to depend on her for cash, but I know she looks out for me.
I drop my bags in my room, then grab my English lit notebook and come back into the living room. Kasey is on the faded brown garage-sale couch we bought a few months ago, and I join her. The cushions are falling apart and the springs are a little bit painful, but we bought the sofa with cash and it suits us just fine. We don’t need anything fancier.
“Homework for Professor Asshole?” Even though my mother has been dating my professor for over a month now, I still refuse to talk to him about it. Kasey, luckily, doesn’t push.
“Yep. I should have switched sections, but it was too late. Apparently, if you want to switch halfway through the semester, you just have to drop the class.”
“And you don’t get your money back.”
“That, too. Sometimes I wish I was a trust fund baby.” I reach for one of her chips and munch on it.
“Me too, hon. Me too.”
Chapter 2
Bailey
“What kind of milk would you like with your mocha?”
Words.
Remember to make words.
That’s what mouths do: they make words.
My mouth can make big words or little words or sometimes in-between words, but today, it seems this bodily orifice has forgotten how to function.
Fuck.
Me.
Silly.
I’m staring at a tall man in uniform, though, and I can’t quite remember how words work. One of the perks of working at Drinks on Me is that it’s close to Forrest Air Force Base, so all of the airmen come here to get their drinks.
One of the downsides to working at Drinks on Me is that it’s close to Forrest Air Force Base, so all of the airmen come here to get their drinks.
“Regular milk is fine,” the airman doesn’t seem to mind that I’m gawking. If anything, he seems amused. Are his eyes twinkling? They must be twinkling. I can’t be imagining that. There’s no way I’m imagining that.
“We have skim,” I say helpfully.
“That’s fine,” he says.
“Three-fifty,” I manage to squeak out.
He hands me cash and I make his change, trying not to touch his hand when I give it back. Of course, this means that I touch his hand extra weirdly and awkwardly, and he flashes me another smile.
The man moves to the side and I take the next person’s order, but she has to repeat it twice because I’m so completely out of it while I’m eye-fucking the airman. Seriously, it should be illegal to be so damn beautiful. His hair is cropped short, of course, and it’s Monday, so he’s got his blues on.
All the baristas at Drinks on Me love Mondays. There’s some sort of morale program where the airmen have to wear their fancy uniforms – the blue ones – on Mondays. Apparently, they all hate this, but everyone else loves it. I don’t know if the blue uniform is supposed to encourage them to love their country more, but it sure as hell makes me proud to be an American.
When his mocha is ready, I stare at it for a minute, then hand it over the counter to him. The man twists it around and looks at it.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
“No,” he frowns and hands it back.
“Um, what’s wrong, sir?” I’m genuinely confused. I swear I got it right. I even put in the skim milk.
“You forgot to write your phone number,” he smirks, obviously proud of himself, and I raise an eyebrow.
He hands me the cup.
“Does that line usually work for you?”
He nods. His smile doesn’t falter.
I write my phone number and hand the cup back.
“What’s your name?” He asks.
“Bailey.”
“I’ll call you,” he says, and I cock my head.
“Not a text?”
“Not for you, Bailey.”
He walks away and I stare as he leaves the shop. The door jingles as he walks away, blues and all. He slides his cover on his head once he’s outside and I can’t help but wish I’d said something more clever. Anything. I should have said anything.
“Wow,” a voice says dreamily. It’s the woman who ordered after him. She’s probably in her mid-50s and looks like she’s on her way to a professional business meeting. Maybe she’s a lawyer or a CEO. Still, she’s looking at the airman the same way I am. “No wonder you got my order wrong. He’s something else.”
