by Monica James
Eventually, Avery moved her studio from Detroit to Cleveland, which is why I am here. No one would ever hire me, considering my past and lack of experience, but as I said, I owed Avery everything. She never married and didn’t have any children, so I’m all she has.
Shouldering my bag, I switch off the lights and lock up the studio. My truck is parked in the parking lot out back, a short walk around the building. But nonetheless, I ensure my mace and cell are in my jacket pocket.
Lately, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched. I’m probably just being paranoid, but too much shit has happened in my life for me to be careless, which is why I have no idea why the new guy at work is getting under my skin.
Even thinking about him has my skin breaking into goose bumps, but they soon scatter when heat washes over me. He had no issues getting up close and personal with Tawny today, but with me, it seems he can’t get away fast enough.
Last night was a perfect example of this.
I let my guard down—the one and only time—and look what happened. He did what every other jerk has done—tossed me aside. Groaning at my stupidity, I remember how his soft lips felt against mine. They were cautious, timid almost, the tremble to them revealing he was nervous, which most certainly did not match the way he looked.
I have never seen someone so…imposing before. He scares but intrigues me all in the same breath. Could it be because I see a prisoner trapped within, desperate to break free, just like me? He looks at me as though I’ll break, but I won’t. I can hold my own.
His hair is short, but I can see it’s dark in color. His eyes are so unusual, but in a good way, a way which sucks you into the abyss of sin. His upturned nose only adds to his arrogance, his lips are wicked and full, and his slightly longer canine teeth play into his animalistic vibe.
He is tall, mysterious, and smells like a juniper dream. He’s covered in so many tattoos, and I have the urge to study each one, hoping they will shed light on just who this man is. His hands and fingers are inked, and so are his arms, which I saw today as that tight white T-shirt clung to his muscled body like a second skin.
The intricate tattoo on his neck consists of two skeleton hands clutching either side of his neck. They appear to be squeezing his throat tight. It has me wondering if it’s somehow connected to the Roman numeral number four on the back of his neck.
So much about him fascinates me, which is why I need to stay away.
Regardless of how good it felt, I shouldn’t have kissed him. It was a mistake, but it was like I fell under his spell, a spell I’m certain he doesn’t even know he cast. He has no idea the effect he has on others. There’s a magnetism about him that has everyone turning their head the moment he enters a room.
I don’t feel threatened by him. God knows I should, but when he jumped to my defense without a second thought, it showed me that underneath his hard exterior, there is something special, something different.
Something I want.
His darkness dances with mine. I can feel it. This darkness inside me has been festering since everyone I loved left me. Everyone has a cross to bear, but mine seems to become heavier and heavier with each step I take.
So when I saw him today touching that vulture, Tawny, I realized I need to stay away from Bull. I can’t afford any distractions.
I have a plan, and that plan is to save enough money to get Jordy and me the fuck out of Detroit. I want him to have a normal childhood and not have to mourn the death of a friend. I want him to be able to walk to school without being jumped for his lunch money.
The money Avery pays me barely covers my rent, which is why I dance. The money is good, the hours work around the ballet classes and babysitters, and I can dance. I’m not cut out to work nine to five as a slave to some chauvinist boss because I don’t obey the rules. I never have.
Dancing is my way to be free. And I was until Bull walked into my life and tilted it upside down.
“Stop being such an idiot,” I whisper to myself, as I walk to my truck. It’s an old pickup, but she does the job.
The daylight has already given way to night. I quicken my step, keys in hand, but when I hear a bottle roll along the ground, the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. With mace in the other hand, I run to my truck and unlock it quickly, before diving into the driver’s seat. Then I slam the door and press the lock down.
After three attempts, my truck finally roars to life. When I turn the headlights on, I’m half expecting the boogeyman to appear in front of me. Putting the truck into drive, I pull out of the lot and focus on the road and not on the fact that the boogeyman destroyed me long ago.
The long drive back home had me thinking about my brother, Christopher. He left a few months after Jordy was born. Although he never told me, I knew my pregnancy broke his heart.
When Jordy was born, I promised myself that I would protect him with my life. I was sixteen, and Christopher was twenty when I gave birth to Jordy. I was a single parent, but even if Jordy’s dad was in the picture, I wouldn’t tell Christopher who he was because Christopher would have killed him.
Jordy’s dad, Michael, was Christopher’s best friend. I was young and stupid, but I never regretted getting pregnant or falling in love. Jordy is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And so was his father, until he left town.
Michael is the only man I’ve ever loved, and when he left, I promised never to be vulnerable to that kind of heartache again.
Shuddering at the memories, I quickly make a beeline for the dressing room since my shift started fifteen minutes ago. I hate being late, but I had to drop by and see Jordy first. My neighbor, Erika, is looking after him.
Christopher made sure I was fed, went to school, and was well looked after when our mom remarried and moved to Vegas. She left us the trailer, which cleared her conscience of abandoning her kids, but I had to move out of the trailer after Christopher left. There were too many memories there. So I moved into a small two-bedroom apartment. The place isn’t flashy, but it’s close to Jordy’s school.
Every day I wake up promising myself this life isn’t forever. Before working at The Pink Oyster, I worked any job that I could to bring home an income. But it was never enough, which is why I’ve danced for the past nine months.
The money is good because, unlike at most clubs, Lotus pays a wage. It’s small, but it’s an incentive to stay because it’s a steady paycheck. Her house fee is half of what the other clubs charge, and she doesn’t charge an off-stage fee. If we don’t want to work onstage and just want to do lap dances in the VIP room to earn more money, then we can. Tip-outs aren’t mandatory either, which is why Lotus doesn’t have a DJ.
We keep what we make and aren’t expected to tip the staff because there isn’t anyone to tip.
Basically, Lotus is the best boss I could ever ask for, and as for the clientele, I can treat them like dirt, and they keep coming back for more. Win-win.
“You’re late.” Bae smiles at me as she shimmies out of a gold dress. “I covered for you, so don’t worry.”
“Oh, thank you.” I press my lips to her forehead before rushing to my locker. “What’s it like out there?”
Bae slips into sweats and a baggy T-shirt as her shift is over. “The usual,” she replies with a shrug. “Dogs in heat, but full of Georges. One guy actually asked me to squash his balls with my heels.”
We both shudder in disgust.
The world is full of sick perverts, but we deal because most are Georges—generous tippers. Bae and I have given them what most of our clients want—the girlfriend experience. We’ve spun hurl stories, tricking them into thinking they’re our white knights.
We give them this, and they chum the waters—tipping big, so we pay more attention to them for the rest of the night.
Stripping isn’t about taking off your clothes—it’s about strategy. Men mistake Bae to be a delicate little flower because she’s barely five feet and weighs next to nothing. But she’s lithe like a
tiger. And as for me, I dance my ass off, sticking to my motto of less is more, and they tip me big.
It’s all about the hustle. They think they’re in control, but they’re not. We’re the ones hustling them.
Tossing my bag onto the floor, I strip out of my jeans and sweater. I showered before coming here, but I still feel dirty the moment I take off my bra and thong. When I put on my uniform—because that’s what every outfit I wear in this place is—I become Tigerlily.
Tonight, I’m dancing to “Rock You Like A Hurricane” by Scorpions. I don’t ever refer to what I do as stripping. Yes, I take off my clothes, but I’m not a stripper. I’m a dancer, who just happens to take off her clothes.
I very rarely dance to pop music because it doesn’t have the same feel as a rock song. Rock songs are filled with angst, passion, and sex. And seeing as I haven’t had sex for many, many years, at least I can feel sexy when on stage.
“Have you met the new muscle?” Bae asks, fanning her cheeks as I slip into my baby blue netted crop top and matching thong.
This is a little risqué for me, as I usually don’t wear anything completely see-through, but just the mention of Bull, as I know that’s who Bae is referring to, has me wanting to rub everything I have—not literally—in his face. I still don’t understand what about him gets under my skin, but on that stage, I will show him who’s boss.
Last night when he disregarded me like nothing, and even today in this dressing room, he really pissed me off. It’s evident he doesn’t like to be touched, which is why I gave him an air dance. I thought I was being nice and respecting his boundaries, but then he goes and throws it into my face by being all up in Tawny’s face.
Fuck him.
“Earth to Lily,” Bae teases, snapping her fingers in front of me.
“Yes, I’ve seen him. He looks like another tattooed asshole with a chip on his shoulder.”
“A chip on his very muscled, very broad shoulder,” she amends, giggling when I roll my eyes.
Hunting through my makeup bag, I quickly slick myself up with oil. I then apply my booty dust, so my body shimmers. My makeup consists of silver glitter eye shadow, fake lashes, flawless foundation, and shiny red lips.
Smacking my lips together, I remove the elastic band from my hair and shake it out. As I look in the mirror, a devilish smile tugs at my mouth. I look wild and feral. I look in control.
The men out there may think they own me, but they don’t. I own them…all of them except one.
Tossing my things into my locker, I begin to stretch and warm up because I never get on stage unprepared. I can’t afford any injuries. Once my muscles are limbered up, I slip into my six-inch blue glitter heels and smile at Bae.
“How do I look?”
“God help every man out there,” she replies, grinning. “Although I’m pretty sure only one man out there needs all the help he can get.”
I arch a brow, confused.
Her grin grows wider. “I heard the new muscle asking if you were coming in tonight.”
“Oh?” I reply, surprised.
“Yeah, which is why I asked if you had met him. I wondered if maybe he was the one to end your drought,” she playfully teases. Bae knows of my “drought” because she’s the closest thing I have to a friend.
“Ugh.” I screw up my face, tossing a wand of lip gloss at her while she ducks and laughs. “I’d rather stay celibate for the rest of my life. Thank you very much.”
“Ah-ha,” she replies, so not believing me. “He’s so fucking…big. I wonder if his co—”
Thankfully, Ricky, the emcee, announces my name, ending a conversation I have no intention of ever finishing.
“We will continue this conversation later.” Bae giggles when I smack her ass on the way out the door.
The walk toward the curtain is an adrenaline rush for me. I get off on performing because losing myself in the music, to dancing, is when I feel most alive. As the music commences, I crack my neck from side to side and shake out my arms.
The anticipation is the best part. I don’t come out right away. I let these animals wait. This is my show, so I come when I’m ready…which is now.
Splitting the curtain, I emerge into the bright lights, fucking victorious as I strut my shit on stage. The catcalls from the men in the tip rail have me smirking. Show them a little tit and ass, and they are ready to throw down their life savings. Bills instantly litter the stage, only cementing my point.
I move in time with the music, using every part of my body as a weapon. The pole is an essential prop to my show because its shape is the perfect analogy for what all those morons down there wish I would do to their pole.
In their fucking dreams.
I climb it with ease, before twirling around it and flipping upside down. Hooking my ankle around the pole, I hold it with one hand and thrust my pelvis a couple of times in sync with the music, causing the catcalls to sound loudly around me.
I still can’t believe these douchebags eat this shit up.
I continue my routine, pointing my toes as I extend my body outward using my core. If anyone in this audience had any clue, they’d be able to see my ballet background, but they don’t care. All they care about is seeing me naked.
Anger courses through me, and I spin quickly. Every one of them is just like all the other men in my life— looking at me like I’m nothing but a toy. Dismounting fiercely, I land on the edge of the stage, crouched low.
When a hand extends forward, attempting to touch me, I instantly recoil and dance out of reach. This isn’t a petting zoo. The strobe lights begin to flicker, and I move like I’m possessed. The crowd goes wild as I tear at the thin fabric of my top and toss the garment into the audience.
I’m about to cover my breasts, but when a flash of bright blue with a kiss of amber green flicker before me, I suddenly stop, baring myself to him. I have no idea where he was, but he’s now just feet away from the stage. The men are out of their seats, hollering loudly as they watch me fervently, which is the reason he’s so close. He’s only doing his job.
But when those mismatched eyes eat me alive as he rubs two tattooed fingers across his supple lips, I want to believe he’s here because he feels this electrical pulse between us too. My skin is set alight by the feral scowl spread across his bowed lips because he looks dangerously pissed off.
The look only incites me to dance faster, shaking my body with confidence. Bull soon turns around, facing the audience, which has me celebrating in triumph. His submission is my victory, and I end the set, breathless, slathered in sweat and grinning a winner’s smirk.
The stage is drowned in black before the room erupts into pandemonium.
“Hollllyyyyy shit!” Ricky hollers, walking onto the stage as the lights and background music come back on. “Give my girl Tigerlily another round of applause!”
The salivating men do as they’re asked as I bend forward, arm wrapped around my breasts to collect my cash. There is so much green scattered everywhere that Ricky bends down to help me gather it all up. Just as I reach for a twenty, a sweaty, unwanted hand seizes my forearm.
I don’t even have a chance to move because a black shadow coolly glides forward and bends back the wrist of my manhandler. The man yelps and instantly lets me go. I peer into the eyes of Bull, and every fiber of my body is aware of his presence.
“Thanks,” I curtly say.
He merely nods in response, standing guard over me as I collect my earnings. Once I’m done, I quickly scamper through the curtain, where I can finally breathe again.
Cody
“Are you sure we should be here?” My best friend Gary Buchanan asks, as we crouch low, remaining hidden by the trees.
“Yes, now stop being such a pussy and let’s go.”
Gary is right; we shouldn’t be here. It’s way past curfew, but what my parents don’t know won’t hurt them.
We creep toward the scorching bonfire, making sure to stay low because this place is off-limits to two
snotty-nosed kids like us.
The Titans, my brother’s football team, won the finals, thanks to Damian scoring a touchdown with three seconds left on the clock. My brother, the hometown hero, saved the game, which is really no surprise, and to celebrate, they’ve all gone to Pinnacle Point, a local hangout in the woods for the seniors.
The party is in full swing. The beer flows freely, and endless girls flock around Damian. He isn’t interested in them, however, because he’s been dating his girlfriend, Lyndsay, for two years. They really are disgusting with how they look at one another with gaga eyes. But what would I know about love? I’ve never even kissed a girl.
Gary and I were too interested in riding our dirt bikes to pay attention to any girls. But that changed the moment Damian dragged me to his stupid football game tonight, and I saw a brunette cheerleader with a beautiful smile.
I don’t know her name, which is why I’m here. I want to find out. Damian warned me about the cheerleaders, and he was right. I could always ask him who she is, but I want to do this on my own. I’ve always lived in my brother’s shadow, which has never bothered me before, but finding out who the mystery girl is on my own feels like a step toward manhood.
I know that’s fucking lame, but it would be even lamer if my brother introduced his younger brother to the woman of his dreams.
With that as my mindset, we creep closer, eyeing the unfolding scene. People are kissing around the fire, while others are dancing and laughing and having a good time. I scan the area, hoping to see my cheerleader. I do.
“There she is!” I hiss, elbowing Gary in the ribs.
He yelps, jumping away from me. “Yeah, so what? What are you going to do? You can’t talk to her. Your parents will ground you for a week if they find out you’re here. We’re supposed to be having a sleepover at my house.”
He’s right.
My parents are a little heavy handed with me because I’m not the golden boy like Damian. I don’t do what I’m told. I suppose you can call me the black sheep or the rebel in the family, but I don’t mind. Damian wouldn’t rat me out, but I know he would make me feel guilty for disobeying my parents. His honesty would rub off on me, and then I would eventually cave, telling them what I did.
