Tease (3 page)

“Never,” I said, giving a nervous giggle.

She wore a tiny pair of boy shorts and a glittery corset that pushed her chest up to her neck. Her skin was creamy and pale and she was curvy in all the right places.

“The first time is always the worst. After a while, it’ll be like brushing your teeth. You won’t even think about it.”

I couldn’t imagine getting naked in front of a bunch of drunk and slurring idiots would ever get any easier, but I didn’t bother to disagree with her.

“Do you wear contacts?” I asked, totally distracted by those purple eyes.

“Yeah.” She smiled. “I’m Roxie,” she said, holding out her hand.

I shook it. “Harlow.”

“You gonna use your real name on stage?”

I hadn’t thought about it. I guessed I probably shouldn’t. “I don’t think so.”

“Got a stage name in mind?”

“No. And I don’t have a song either.”

“Adam never tells any of the new girls they need a song. He’s such a man, I swear. He probably doesn’t even know music plays around here. All he cares about is making money.”

I couldn’t really fault him for that. I mean, hello, it’s the reason I was here.

“That what you’re wearing?” she asked, taking in my skimpy cutoff shorts and white “wife-beater” tank top.

“Yes?”

“Lose the bra.”

 A protest formed on my tongue. If I lost the bra, then when I took off my shirt, I would be completely bare… I was kind of hoping to delay the inevitable.

“Oh, and Adam probably didn’t tell you that we aren’t a full nude strip club.”

“What does that mean?” I said as she pushed me down onto my stool, picked up a brush and pulled down my ponytail.

“It means we don’t take off our bottoms. You can strip all the way down to your panties or thong—whatever you have on—but that’s it.”

Well, that was the best news I’d heard all day. “And our tops?”

“Yeah, those can come off.”

“How long is a shift?” I asked as she teased the hair at my crown.

“Usually the girls stop dancing at two a.m. and then we take turns on who stays to close down the bar.”

So that meant I had to do six or seven dances a night. That was a lot of freaking naked time.

She patted my shoulder. “You can do the same routine a couple times so not every time you dance is brand new, just don’t do the same one back to back.”

“I only brought what I’m wearing.”

“Did Adam tell you nothing?”

I shook my head. “Just that I was auditioning.”

She shook her head. “I’ll talk to him.”

“What about that stuff back there?” I motioned to the racks of clothes.

“I wouldn’t put that community wear on my body. Who knows where some of these dirty bitches have been?”

My mouth fell open and then we both started laughing.

“It’s true,” she said with a smile. “Like you haven’t been thinking it since you walked in the door.”

A little bit of the tension coiling inside me eased. “So how long have you been doing this?”

She shrugged. “A couple years.”

“Seriously?”

She lifted one shoulder as she smoothed out my hair. “What can I say? The money’s great.”

I didn’t say anything because I honestly wasn’t sure if the money was going to be worth all of this.

“What do you think?” she asked, and I looked in the mirror.

“Wow,” I whispered, leaning in. My hair was bumped up in the back and parted to the side so it fell over one eye. It tumbled around my shoulders loosely and flirted with my collarbone.

“You still need something,” she mused, then walked across the room to her table and rummaged around in a hot-pink bag. When she found what she wanted, she snapped back up and shimmied over to me.

With a grin, she reached out and clipped something in my hair, adjusting some of the strands around it. Then she stepped back and admired her handiwork in the mirror.

It was a hair extension—a thick strip of purple that popped out against my dark hair and actually played up the blue in my eyes.

I liked it. It was sexy.

“There, that’s perfect.”

“Don’t you need this?” I asked, fingering the ends of my hair.

“Nah, it clashes with my eyes so I don’t wear it. Keep it.”

“Really? Thank you.”

Roxie looked up at the clock and then back at me. “Showtime.”

And just like that, my nerves intensified by like three thousand. “I can’t do this.”

“Yes. You can.”

“No. I don’t think I can.”

“You have a boyfriend?”

I felt my brow wrinkle at the change of topic. “No.”

“Probably better that way,” she murmured almost to herself. “Well, just imagine there is this really hot guy sitting out there. Imagine you’re dying for him to ask you out, but he seems to never notice you.
Make
him notice you.”

I nodded.

She laughed. “Whatever you do, don’t look like that out there.”

She yanked me toward the couple stairs that led up to the curtain behind the stage. One of the girls was just finishing up and the men were all whistling.

“The song,” I said, turning around to flee the stage.

“I’ll tell Remy what to play. You just concentrate on moving.”

I nodded numbly. I couldn’t believe I was actually doing this.

“Oh, name! What’s your name?” Roxie said before rushing away.

“Violet,” I said, reaching up and touching the purple stripe of color in my hair.

She gave me a thumbs-up and then rushed away, leaving me alone behind the curtain.

The other girl moved off the stage and behind the curtain. Her hands were filled with cash. “You’re up,” she said, looking down and smirking.

It was the kind of smirk that lit a fire in my blood, like she was certain I was going to bomb big time.

I’d show her.

The music cut out. The stage went dark. My heart began to pound.

When the DJ introduced the new girl Violet, I didn’t realize he was talking about me until music started playing.

It was Def Leopard.

I stood there, rooted on the stage, gripping the curtain like I was frozen.

Roxie appeared and gave me a little shove.

And just like that, I was center stage, and every man in the room watched for me to get naked.

3

As I stared out into the crowd, I realized something:

It wasn’t only men who waited for me to show them the goods, but women too.

Well, this was awkward.

I couldn’t imagine why a woman would come here to watch another woman undress. I mean, if she wanted to see boobs, she could look in the mirror.

A spotlight flicked on and circled the room until it landed on me. It was a purple light, casting violet-hued shadows over everything around me. I liked it because I somehow felt it gave me more coverage (hey, I never said my logic wasn’t flawed).

Someone in the front row cleared his throat and then the music pressed in on me.

I was supposed to be dancing.

Or something.

I heard some giggling and I turned my head to see a couple of the girls standing behind Roxie, watching me.

I started to move. I pretended like I was a model strutting down a runway, shaking my hips and running my fingers through my hair, giving it a shake and a playful toss. Someone in the back whistled.

I admit, that made me feel good. I looked up to see who it was, but the spotlight blinded me and I stumbled a bit. How could I trip over my own feet? I looked down.

I was wearing flip-flops.

Crap.
I meant to change.

Now I understood why some of the girls were laughing.

I stopped at the end of the stage and bent down to touch my toes, making sure my backside was in full view. I’m pretty sure my shorts rose up my crack. It didn’t feel good.

But I smiled like I loved it.

Then casually, I pulled my shoes off each foot and tossed them over my shoulder and gave a suggestive little look to the crowd.

That got me a couple more whistles.

The song playing was “Pour Some Sugar On Me,” one of Def Leopard’s most popular songs. It was a sexy song and it helped me get into the mood.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

I turned to strut back toward the front of the stage, thinking I would find a chair and do something with it.

But I tripped over my flip-flop.

I fell right off the stage, halfway across a round table for two.

The table probably would have fallen over except the two men sitting there reached out to steady it.

But I did manage to knock over their beers and a shot, which currently soaked my arms and shirt.

There was some laughter from the crowd, and I was pretty sure I was going to die of embarrassment right there.

“Are you okay?” one of the men at the table asked.

“Sorry about that, guys,” a new voice swept in. “Here’s a pitcher on the house for the trouble.”

I looked up from my position sprawled across the table.

Of course.

It was the hottie bartender.

Because I needed even more humiliation right now.

Our eyes locked.

He winked.

Inspiration overcame me.

“Thanks for the catch, boys,” I said in my best throaty voice. I climbed up onto the table, planting my bare feet right there in the puddles of beer. Then on instinct, I reached down, dipped two of my fingers into their new pitcher, swirled them around, and stood, wrapping my lips around both of those fingers and slowly sliding them out.

The crowd roared.

I did a little shimmy and then glanced at the bartender, who was standing there watching me. He held a tray and on it was a pitcher of water.

I bent, sticking out my butt and thrusting my chest in one of the men’s faces, and gripped the handle of the pitcher. Slowly, I stood back up, held it over my head and looked up into the darkened ceiling letting my hair fall away from my face.

Then I poured the water over me.

It was cold, sloshing over my face, down my neck, and into my shirt. When the pitcher was empty, I tossed it back to the bartender and turned away to the two men flanking my sides.

“Can a girl get a little help here?”

The bigger of the two men gripped me around the waist and picked me up, stepping back to the stage and setting me down. I was still soaking wet, the water dripping down my legs, and my shirt was plastered to my chest.

My nipples were hard because the water was cold, and the air-conditioner brushed over my skin, making them even harder.

Feeling bold, I grabbed them, gently squeezing, then pulling away.

I knew my tank was see-through. I knew every person in this place had a clear view of my goods, and I actually still felt decently covered up.

For fun, I reached for the hem of my shirt, slipping it up so it showed off my navel and the flatness of my belly. Then I yanked it back down and walked away, toward the curtain.

The men were all going crazy, yelling, catcalling, telling me to come back. So I stopped, looked over my shoulder, flipping my saturated hair, and then I quickly undid the fastening of my jean shorts and pulled them down just enough to show the lace top of my panties.

Then I yanked them back up and spun, facing the crowd and shaking my finger like they were all very bad.

 I stuck the same finger back in my mouth and pulled it out before turning around and walking behind the curtain, completely out of sight.

Roxie was standing there with a towel. Her eyes were wide. “What was that?”

“I’m not really sure,” I said, my nerves coming back full force. Had I really just created my own private wet T-shirt contest out there?

“Well, honey, whatever it was, they sure liked it.”

I glanced around the corner at the crowd. They were all still whistling and catcalling. Dollar bills crowded the edge of the stage.

“Go get your money,” Roxie said.

I walked back out there, and the whistling got louder. I strutted around while I picked up the cash and then gave the guys at the table I almost knocked over a wink before rushing backstage to my dressing table.

One look in the mirror told me my water stunt ruined my makeup and most of my hair.

And my shirt was definitely see-through.

Using the towel Roxie gave me, I squeezed the water out of my hair and wiped off the worst of my makeup. I brought a little with me, so I pulled it out and reapplied quickly. Then I pulled my hair into a high ponytail and hoped the wet ends would dry quickly.

I was still too nervous to count the money I made, so I shoved it all in my bag and then put the bag under my table.

Roxie was by the door, waving me to hurry, so I went after her and we stopped at the end of the bar.

“Just go around and get drink orders. Then come back and tell the bar. Deliver and repeat.”

I nodded. I used to waitress, so this at least wasn’t completely foreign to me.

Roxie disappeared into the crowd so I took a deep breath and picked up a tray. I felt like I was being stared at so I turned my head. Hottie bartender watched me from the other end of the bar.

I gave him a little wave, grabbed a tray, and started to take orders.

It didn’t take long to figure out I wasn’t really out here to take drink orders. I was actually out here to give the people something to look at, to flirt with, and to generally keep the customers happy.

I relaxed into that role because at least this was something I could wear a shirt for.

Just when I was starting to get nervous about my next “routine,” Adam waved to me from the edge of the crowd. I slipped through and followed him into his office.

He was going to fire me.

I fell like a klutz, spilled beer on paying customers, and didn’t even take off my shirt.

I was the worst stripper in the history of strippers.

“What the hell was that out there earlier?” he said, standing beside his desk.

“I’m so sorry, I—”

“You’re sorry?” He cut in. “That was brilliant!”

“It was?” I asked, shock lacing my tone.

“Every guy in this place had his eyes glued to your chest.”

I didn’t know how to respond.

“I think you’re exactly what this place needs.” He went on.

“What is that, exactly?”

“A mystery, a girl who whips the crowd into a frenzy just to get a peek.”

Is that what I did?

“Since you didn’t bring anything else to wear, you can just serve the rest of the night. But tomorrow you’ll be dancing every hour.”

“Tomorrow?”

“You got the job, Violet. Welcome to the Mad Hatter.”

“I wasn’t expecting this.”

“Frankly, neither was I. I thought you were going to bomb miserably.”

“Um, thank you?” I said sarcastically.

He flashed me a smile. “Who knew underneath that good girl exterior you were hiding the inner workings of a sexy bitch?”

“I’m pretty sure that could be considered harassment.”

“Probably. Now get back to work. Before you leave tonight, you can fill out the forms I need you to sign.”

Roxie was waiting outside the office when I left. “Well?” she asked.

“I got the job.”

She bounced around on her four-inch heels. “It was the water… men and wet T-shirts… gets ‘em every time.”

“So you think I should add that to my routine, then?” Wait a minute. I was now thinking about my routine? So I was actually going to do this. Somewhere along the way of being scared silly and shaking in my daisy dukes to pouring water all over myself, I decided this was going to happen.