Drop Everything Now (10 page)

Gladys gave me the once-over before I went out on the floor, and I could have sworn I saw a tiny beginning of a smile curl her lip.
Not bad. Not bad at all.

The pit manager, Jeff, sized me up as I was grabbing my tray from the back station. “Got your papers squared away, sweetie?”

“Yep,” I said, forcing a smile. I didn’t love it when people I barely knew, especially people I worked for, called me any term of endearment, but for this job—and the promise of moving up the ranks quickly—I was willing to stomach it.

“Good,” he said. “I’m putting you in the pit and private rooms one and two,” he said, pointing to their locations on the casino map. “You did a good job on the floor, and I want to field test you back there, see if you have more natural talent for one or the other at a slower time of day. Got it?”

“Sure,” I said, wondering what this meant for my tip-earning potential. “Any advice?”

“Just do your job, sweetie.” One of the other waitresses grabbed him away for something then, and I was on my own.

Cara reached across me to grab her own tray from the pile. “He pit-testing you?” she grinned.

“Yeah, I guess,” I said.

“Good,” she smiled. “For the pit, try to memorize faces and shirt colors since they’ll be moving around. For the back rooms… Unfortunately, those high rollers like multiple types of action, and gambling is just one of ‘em.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, terrified that I probably knew exactly what she meant.

“Unlike the assholes at the slots, they know full well we don’t turn tricks at night. Doesn’t mean they won’t try their damnedest to get us to come back to their rooms with them. These are rich guys, and they’re used to getting whatever they want.”

My eyes flew open wide. “So what are you saying?”

She laughed. “Well, obviously, you don’t go to their room with them. But make them think that maybe, just this once, you will, and you’ll get some twenties along with your ones and fives.”

I nodded, smiling grimly. “Got it.”

I didn’t know if it was the fact that it was my fourth day out or I really liked the pit and back rooms more, but that day was far less exhausting than the previous one. The pit was sparsely populated during daytime hours, so I spent most of my time in the back rooms, waving my boobs in front of old rich guys, letting my butt brush against their arms every so often, and winking far more often than I’d like.

Cara was exactly right; almost every wink turned into a $10 or $20 bill.

By the end of my ten-hour shift, my feet ached, though not nearly as much as they had the first day. Either they were becoming desensitized to pain, or I was breaking these shoes in. I peeled off my tights, then shimmied back into my jeans, only pulling off the skirt once they were securely fastened. I tugged the shirt off quickly and stuffed them both into my bag. They would have to go into the laundry before my next shift, and I still had to figure out where that was, which meant I had to talk to Ryder.

A strange feeling twisted in my chest, and I couldn’t tell if it was dread or excitement. Maybe a combination of both.

“Yeah, those need a wash at least every second day,” Cara said, stepping out of her shoes beside me and wincing.

I laughed halfheartedly. “If only I knew where the laundry in my new place was.”

“He didn’t show you where it was? What the hell was he doing on his night off?”

Instantly, the flush took over my neck and spotted my cheeks. Cara’s gaze whipped over to me. “Hold on,” she said, her eyes wide. “Was he doing
you
?”

I tried to laugh again, but a strange sound came out instead. “Uh…well…”

“He was!” she squealed, hitting me. “Holy shit. As far as I know, it’s been a long time for our emo boy. Nicely done.”

“Well, it wasn’t exactly… I mean, we didn’t quite… See, we…”

Cara nodded, smiling. “Did you spend the night?”

“No,” I said, a breath whooshing out of me.

“Almost, though, huh?” Cara said, knowingly. “That’s good. That’s really good. After that bitch dumped him, I didn’t think he’d ever get back in the ring.”

“Uh, yeah. He told me a little about that.”

Cara popped a fist onto her waist. “Did he whine? He sure as shit better not have whined.”

“No. No, he just kind of mentioned it and then kissed me. A lot.”

A huge grin spread over Cara’s face. “Okay. Good. That’s good. You heading home now?”

“As soon as I can snag a taxi, yeah.”

“No, I’ll take you home. I just want to stop by to see Rob at work first.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “If you tag along, you can see Ry.”

I had to admit, even though he’d kind of ditched me that night, the thought excited me. And besides, he hadn’t been rude or anything—just left me reeling from an the best orgasm of my life all by my lonesome when the only thing I really wanted was to feel him inside me.

There were worse things. Even if it hadn’t seemed like it at the moment.

“That would be good,” I said, stepping into my flats. “Let’s get out of here.”

We drove a little way down the street and a couple blocks further off the Strip. The palm trees still stretched up, their leaves spreading against an artificially-lit indigo sky. After a few minutes’ drive, we pulled up in front of a long, white building with no signs or markings whatsoever and only tall street lights to illuminate the parking lot. Dozens of cars filled the lot, but the building didn’t show evidence of a single soul inside. Curiosity pricked at my brain. What went on here? Was it some kind of secret gambling room? A high-class bar?

As we got out of Cara’s car and walked toward the building, I heard the sprinklers softly hissing and ticking on the meticulously kept flowerbeds. There wasn’t a piece of dirt out of place, not a crack in the sidewalk my flats smacked against as we made our way to the side of the building. There, on the back side, completely out of the street view, was a line of women done up to the max—perfect hair and makeup, short sequined dresses, and insanely high stilettos.

“What the hell kind of a place is this?” I asked Cara.

She stopped in her tracks and gaped at me. “You mean he didn’t tell you? What his second job was? You two played tonsil hockey and, I assume at some point, had your hands in each other’s pants, and he didn’t tell you about this job?”

“Cara, seriously,” I hissed, refusing to move. “What do they do?

“Come on,” she said, tugging at my forearm. “You’ll see soon enough.”

Chapter 14

Cara
strode confidently to the front of the line, ignoring the nasty looks she got from the other women. She approached the bouncer—a guy my height but with biceps the size of my waist—and grinned. “Lookin’ good tonight, Randy.”

“Care-bear, you know I love your compliments.” The fat silver hoops in each of his ears swayed ever so slightly as he sized me up. “Who’s your friend?”

“This,” she said, practically bouncing with excitement, “is Ryder’s girl!”

“Ryder has a girl, huh?” Randy asked, grinning at me and revealing one gold tooth. Despite every indication of toughness, I had to admit I found the guy kind of charming. “Well, go on in. Elton saving you a spot?”

“Yep, and I’ll nudge out whichever bitch thinks she’s entitled to a girlfriend seat for Andi here. Don’t worry about me.”

“I never do, babe.” Randy flashed one more grin, then went back to taking cash from the girls behind me.

“Why did he call him Elton?” I whispered to Cara as we pushed through a heavy door. “Is that his last name?”

Cara giggled. “Oh, you’ll see,” she said. “Follow me.”

The club was full of roving colored spotlights and billowing fog machine smoke. Despite the ladies-only clientele, I didn’t fully realize what kind of place we were in until Cara and I settled into seats right in front of a simple white runway-style stage and a bare-assed male waiter sauntered by me.

Cara’s hand shot out to touch his elbow. “Hey, Connor, a drink for both of us?”

“Oh, sorry, hon, I didn’t see you there. The usual?”

“Yep!” Cara replied cheerfully. “And make hers a double. She’s gonna need it.”

It all hit me like a ton of bricks as the waiter’s muscled ass cheeks practically waved at me as he walked away. “They’re strippers, aren’t they?”

Cara threw her head back with laughter, then doubled over. “Yep, they sure are. Oooo, I can’t believe he didn’t tell you before I did.”

“What the… How… Oh, Jesus.” Suddenly, the room felt kind of spinny. I had to sit back in my chair.

“Oh, it’s fine. It’s an ‘all-male revue,’” she said, complete with air quotes. “Nothing nasty. I kind of get off on it, to be honest. Knowing I’m the only one who gets full access to…well, you know.”

I would be the judge of what was “nasty.” I was no prude, but I’d heard of guys getting head from girls in the audience at these places. I wanted to ask Cara everything—whether they did full strips, whether they kissed the clientele, exactly how much of their bodies the girls were allowed to touch. But before I could, music started thumping, and the lights dimmed, leaving only thick, green and blue spotlights slicing through the fog.

A lady in a skintight black dress, four-inch heels, perfectly spiraled blonde hair, bright red lipstick, and thick-framed cat-eye glasses sauntered down the catwalk, eating up the spotlight and the screams from the crowd. “Electric Lady” boomed through the speakers as the girls all around me cheered and the lights went wild.

“Good evening, ladies,” she said, strolling across the front of the catwalk and blowing kisses. “Welcome to my house—the finest establishment of its kind right here in the heart of Las Vegas.” She held her hands out, palms up, and a roar went up from the crowd. “Yes, I am the owner of this place. It’s my baby,” she trilled in the microphone. “My name is Katherine, but, of course, you can call me—” She shaped her fingers into claws and stabbed them through the air. “—Kitty. Welcome to the Smitten Kitten!”

A series of whoops went up from the girls behind me. Cara giggled in her seat.

“I know you’ve come to play with my boys tonight.” She waited while the massive cheer that went up from the audience calmed down. “But these boys,” she said, sticking her perfectly manicured index finger in the air, “are my babies, too. And if you break the rules, don’t forget—Mama Kat can get very, very upset.”

A collective disappointed “awww” came from the masses of women behind me.

“Carl is our DJ,” she said, whipping her hand out and smiling again as yet another cheer erupted from the crowd. “And he always plays ‘Electric Lady’ when I come out because my boys are like lightning. They’re very beautiful to look at, but you should never, ever touch them. That is…” She leaned forward and displayed some ample cleavage spilling out over the edges of a lace bra. “…unless you’ve got something good to give them.” The girls screamed again, and I turned around. All of them were waving bills in the air—some fives and tens, but I saw a lot of twenties, too.

Immediately, my thoughts flew to all the tens and twenties I had stuffed in my pockets.

What the hell was I thinking? I may have been letting loose, but I was certainly not the kind of girl to stuff cash in a stripper’s thong.
But maybe you’re the kind of girl to stuff cash in Ryder’s thong.
I fidgeted, unable to find a comfortable position.

“Would you just relax?” Cara whispered. “Listen to Mama Kat. Enjoy the show.” I shot her a look, and she sighed. “Seriously, our boys are up first tonight. I just want to see one dance from Rob and then we can go.”

A throbbing beat took over the whole room, and Kat’s non-microphone-holding arm arched up over her head, swaying in time. “Okay, Kittens,” she called, “enjoy the show!” and then she stepped gingerly down a black-painted staircase on the side of the stage and was gone.

The room went dark again, and the music thumped louder.

A single white spotlight illuminated the stage, and the men came out to a slow, sexy song with an insistent rhythm. They each had a long trench coat on and spun and stepped in unison.

“This is the intro to every show,” Cara whispered. “Our guys aren’t in here because they’re the first two up.”

The low bass of a blues song came over the speakers, and then a low, gravelly voice said, “You know I’m a dancer.”

The men spun forward, hats low over their heads.

“Livin’ in Vegas-land.”

They took a step toward the crowd.

“It’s so goddamn hot here gotta keep my coat in my hands.”

In a flash, the men stood spread-eagled and shrugged out of their coats, tossing them to the side.

A scream erupted from the crowd, and a few girls—already drunk, I imagined—caught one or two of the coats, scuttling back to their tables and giggling with their girlfriends.

Connor’s ass sauntered by our seats. He delivered our drinks and winked at Cara when she slipped him a five.

I barely noticed. I was watching the shirtless men in hats start to undo their belt buckles.

“Got so many ladies screamin’.”

The men lined the edge of the stage and started thrusting their crotches out into the air. The screams became less constant but no less piercing.

“Might as well strip outta my pants.”

They stuck their thumbs into their waistbands. I knew what was going to happen as soon as I saw the arms of the stripper closest to me flexing. I slapped my hand over my mouth. “Oh my God.”

There was a rip, and then his pants fell right on top of my head. I quickly pulled them off and felt the Velcro lining each side scratching at my fingers.

Cara was completely cracking up now. “What an intro for Miss Andi!” She clapped, grabbing the pants from me and setting them gingerly at the foot of the stage. “That was Erik,” she explained. “He’ll want those back.”

The crowd screamed again, and I looked up just in time to see the satin thongs hiding the guys’ dicks. The men used their bowler hats to alternately hide their junk and then reveal it, wiggling for the crowd. The women went wild.

And every single one of them was huge. Like, seriously humungous.

“Are those padded?” I asked Cara, barely able to close my mouth.

“Sweetie, look at those schlongs. Do those look padded to you?”

I tried to look carefully through the steam and flashing lights. “Um, not that I can tell.”

“Just wait.” She patted my knee, then cheered as the boys all took a bow and their gorgeously muscled, perfectly tanned asses sauntered backstage.

Kat strolled back to the front of the stage, holding her thick-rimmed glasses between two fingers. The lights dimmed to something soft and warm, and Clair de Lune came rolling out through the speakers. “I hope you enjoyed our intro, my dears,” she purred. A couple errant whoops came out of the crowd. “Above all, I want you all to know that the Smitten Kitten is a classy establishment.” The crowd laughed. I could have turned around and pinpointed the drunkest women by the sound of it.

“It’s true!” she said, pressing her palm to her chest with look of mock-offense. “Why, we even have our own pianist. Please welcome the always enchanting Elton Johnson!”

She stepped backward, waving her hand with a flourish, and two men in bow ties and black pants rolled a perfectly polished, black piano onto the stage.

“Here he comes!” Cara squealed. Two more men came from the back, each biting a long-stemmed red rose in their teeth and bearing one side of a piano bench on each shoulder. Perched on top was Rob, wearing nothing but skintight black shorts and a bow tie. Even though he wasn’t as tall as Ryder, he was definitely more muscular; everything about him was big, from his broad shoulders to his thick thighs and calves.

The two boys set him down and moved to the front of the stage, where they spent a moment flexing their biceps and pecs for the girls, then tossed their roses to the giggling masses.

The spotlight focused on Rob—“Elton”—and he wiggled his fingers over the keys. When he started to play, the notes floated through the air so flawlessly it felt like the room had been missing something without them. Even though he was mostly naked, to watch Rob play—the tenderness with which he touched the keys and the look of love on his face—was absolutely magical.

“He came to Vegas to get a job playing piano,” Cara said. “That’s how we met. He was a waiter in a piano bar, but it didn’t pay. Not like this.”

Just as I was about to lose myself in the flawless, perfectly balanced tune, a bad chord spat out of the instrument, ricocheting off the walls. Rob’s face fell into a look of utter despair, too comical to be real.

Kat stepped up the stairs, holding a teacher’s pointer. “My apologies, ladies. It looks like Elton hasn’t been practicing.”

Rob turned his frown on the crowd and may have even eked out a tear. A collective “awwwww” waved through the place.

“What should I do to punish him, girls? Should I get rid of him?”

A chorus of boos came from the back.

“What about remedial lessons?” she said slowly, letting the words roll off her tongue. Someone wolf-whistled. “Yes, I think that’s just the thing. Boys?”

Within seconds, the piano was rolled backstage again, and the two boys who had carried the bench came out with what looked like a very low, rolling coat rack with scraps of fabric fastened to the top—white, some with short black rectangles. Basically, a sectioned curtain looked exactly the same as the keys on a piano.

“Now, Mr. Johnson, if you please?”

Rob stepped up to the side of it and stretched both his arms up high in the air, interlocking his fingers and cracking his knuckles above his head. His ab muscles stretched and his shorts stayed in place, giving the audience a glimpse of that muscle right under his hip. Then he turned around and bent over to touch his toes, showing everyone his perfect butt and calves. The girls ate it up, and Cara just looked at me and giggled again. Then he stepped behind the the hanging fabric keys.

“You will play exactly the notes I say. Is that clear, Mr. Johnson? Do you think you can do it?” Rob looked up at the audience, ticked up an eyebrow, and winked. Then he nodded at Kat. “All right then, pants down.” More cheers. “Very well. Please, Carl, will you play along for us?” One simple note rang out from the speakers, and Kat touched her pointer to one of the keys. Rob flicked his hips, making his abs ripple, and his dick made the curtain beneath Kat’s pointer wave out from behind.

I clapped my hand over my mouth. “I cannot believe he’s doing that with his dick,” I said, my words muffled.

“See?” Cara giggled. “I told you they were all huge.”

Kat and Rob did a couple more notes like that, and soon the giggles overtook me, too. The girls in the audience had calmed down somewhat, and now their reactions were a mixture of laughter, occasional screams, and applause. Rob was actually pretty hot—a great body and a cute face—and hilarious to boot. I had to admit, I was actually entertained by Mr. Elton Johnson. It was kind of nice that I knew this guy was taken. I found him super-attractive but didn’t have the pressure of actually wanting to do anything with him.

However, if Cara was right and Ryder was out next, I might have a little more trouble. Then it hit me. Cara’s boyfriend’s real name was Rob, and obviously Elton Johnson was a cheesy stage name.

“Cara,” I hissed. “What’s Ryder’s stage name?”

She turned to me, wide-eyed. “Oh my God, he never told you? That idiot.”

“Told me what?”

“Ryder
is
his stage name.”

Holy shit. I’d let a guy whose real name I didn’t know lick my pussy? I started to feel faint, but somehow found the strength to ask, “Ryder what?”

But at exactly that moment, the girls went crazy for the end of Rob’s act, and the whistle of a tumbleweed-rolling, ghost-town movie set lilted through the room.

Kat’s voice came oozing through the speakers, though I couldn’t see her. “Some men keep the peace, and some men break the law. Some nights, it’s hard to tell which our next dancer is, but whichever one he does, he always looks damn good doing it. Ladies, please welcome to the stage…RYDER STRONG.”

Ryder Strong. Ride-her Strong. Oh my God. Oh my GOD. How had I not put that together until now? More feelings than I could count flooded through me all at once—embarrassment being the biggest—but then two strong footsteps backstage made me snap my head up.

In a blur of smoke, red lights, and the electric-guitar chords of “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy,” Ryder came cartwheeling and double-backflipping down the stage, landing front and center and whipping two black pistols out of hidden pockets in his faux-leather chaps.