This is what I love about this city. You can be anybody you want. I just spent the last three hours of my life thinking I wanted to be a stripper. They just make it look so fun. But they soon showed me the real truth about stripping. The routines get repetitive, the strippers get lazy and the men become more obnoxious as the night progresses. In other words, they crushed my dreams.
Esther’s is the most upscale club on Bourbon. They even have a velvet rope and a big bouncer like you see on TV. And, just like on TV, if you’re hot enough, you don’t have to wait in line—you’re ushered in to one of the many tables and often seated with someone you don’t know. Judging by this crowd, I’m afraid I might have some competition. So I wait patiently at the back of the line.
It’s cool tonight, but not cold. Just enough to make me shiver every now and then, but not enough to have me snatching a parka off someone’s back. Compared to the clubs that are hot and make you feel sticky, it’s refreshing—even with the scent of piss, sewage and vomit in the air.
An overly loud group of men wearing suits makes its way down the center of the street. They’re drunk, obviously rich and very good looking—like, all of them. I wonder if they’re brothers.
“We need three girls!” one shouts, and I’m astonished at the amount of women in line ahead of me that raise their hands like a bunch of desperate losers. I guess the pickings are pretty slim tonight. But I’d take Barney home before I raised my hand. I’m not that hopeless.
“You.” He’s looking at me. The girl in front of me, who I’m woman enough to say is better looking than I am, points to herself. “Not you. You.” This time, there’s no denying who he’s talking to. And all eyes in line are on me.
“Wanna party with me and my boys tonight?” Ugh. I hate when they refer to their friends as boys. But what the hell? They look good. My feet hurt, and my hair is starting to frizz. And…I didn’t have to raise my hand to get their attention.
I flash him my best smile. “Only if you can keep up.”
“Oh, baby,” he says, giving me a devilish grin. “I can keep up. Question is, can you?”
Stepping out of line, I loop my arm through his. “I guess we’ll find out,” I whisper seductively, nipping his earlobe with my teeth. He growls a promise of taking me places I’ve never been, or some shit, as we move to the front of the line and follow the group inside the club.
The place is very dimly lit and lined wall to wall with large booths that surround the dance floor. Red chandeliers illuminate the center of the room, and one single red bulb hangs over each booth. There’s no bar, only waiters who come to your table. If you don’t have a table, you don’t get in—hence the long line outside.
Some techno beat is pumping out through the speakers while people dance wildly. This is the type of place you can order ecstasy. Or if you hang around long enough, someone will slip PCP in your drink. Thankfully I’m buzzed to the point of not giving a shit. But I do make a mental note to keep an eye on my drink at all times. Until I forget, of course.
The guys I’m with must be “somebody” because we’re ushered to the VIP section reserved on the back wall, centering the dance floor. It’s quieter here, considering the speakers are pointed away from us—I guess important people need to be heard when they have shit to say.
The booth can accommodate at least eight people, but twelve of us manage to squeeze in. Somehow I end up in the center with a girl on my right and the “You” guy on my left.
I’m handed a champagne flute already filled to the rim. The guy on my left leans up and gives a toast. “Congratulations, Mark. You fuckin’ deserve it.” I don’t know who Mark is. I don’t know what he deserves. But I smile and clink my glass to everyone else’s.
Turning to the girl on my right, I find her smiling at me, before holding her glass up and taking a sip. “I think you’re so hot…” Her eyes fall to my cleavage, then lower to my exposed thighs. Leaning closer, I put my mouth at her ear—noticing how she holds her breath in anticipation. I smile.
Tonight will be epic indeed.
CHAPTER 12
Lucy is her name. She doesn’t bore me with small talk about her shitty little life. She only wants one thing—for me to keep doing what I’m doing to her.
We’ve been making out¸ dancing, drinking and having the ultimate girl-on-girl experience for hours. I like to leave a little to the imagination, so I haven’t been too forward with her—yet. But my hands and mouth have been on every part of her exposed skin. I slipped my hand between her thighs once, but had to pull back when she all but dry humped my fingers. I like a more intimate setting for the good stuff, and these guys have gotten a free show for long enough.
Mark, the man of the night, has joined in, making this a threesome. The man I walked in here with is still around, but he wants me to give him attention. Tonight I want to be the one receiving it. So far, it’s worked in my favor. For everything I don’t do to Lucy, she attempts to do to me. Mark is the ultimate giver too—never asking me to touch him, but anxious to put his hands on me.
I’m in the middle of telling Mark and Lucy about my fabulous job as an offshore scuba diver when a tray of shots arrives. The waiter passes them around, then waits patiently for us to finish.
I quickly throw mine back, replacing the glass on the tray before leaning back in my seat and pulling Lucy’s leg into my lap. Throwing my own legs over Mark, he scoots closer and somehow we manage to make our own little private nest in the booth.
But suddenly it doesn’t feel very private.
It’s been invaded.
By green eyes.
He’s here.
Standing front and center.
Looking across the table.
Staring blankly…at me.
He’s not angry. But he ain’t happy either. He’s just…well, like I said—blank. Expressionless. Emotionless. Oh, and intimidating as fuck. The whole booth just shut up, and there’s now space between me and Mark. Lucy could give a shit less.
Reaching inside his cut, he pulls out my phone. “Having fun?” he whispers. Or shouts. Or maybe he says nothing. Hell, I don’t know. I’m hammered, I’m horny, he’s here and suddenly I don’t want Mark or Lucy or Barney anymore.
I. Want. Him.
“Who is that?” Lucy asks, raking her fingers up my naked thigh. The movement is a turn-on. Not because it’s her hand, but because she’s doing it and he’s watching.
“This is Bryce. Bryce, this,” I say, turning Lucy’s face to mine and giving her a slow, sexy kiss before turning back to him, “is Lucy.” I’m expecting a flicker of excitement…a flash of heat…that tongue of his to run across his bottom lip…something. Instead, his eyes darken. And not in that sultry bedroom kind of way either. The other way.
Instantly he owns me. Nobody else exists in this room but me and him. We could be the only two people on the planet, that’s how I feel right now. Before, there were no butterflies, nor was there shortness of breath. I blame that on the alcohol. But right now, there’s not enough liquor in New Orleans to make me ignore the power he has over me.
“I told you to be good, Delilah. I meant it.” I feel his voice everywhere. It seems to reverberate through me—shaking parts of my body I want to feel his mouth on. My head is swimming. I’m weak…vulnerable…submissive…
He sets my phone on the table, making the move seem monumental. Or maybe he’s just monumental. “Nice to meet you, Lucy.” He doesn’t look at her. Hell, he’s not even looking at me. He’s looking right through me. I can feel the intense heat of those emerald greens, scorching my lungs and melting my heart. It’s hard to breathe—hard to just…be.
I watch every step he takes toward the door. My soul seems to ache as he walks away. But the fog lifts when he’s out of sight. My head is clear. I’m no longer burning on the inside. I’m free to go back to doing whatever the hell I want. His absence has broken the spell he put me under only moments ago. Problem is, that’s not the only thing that’s broken.
My desire to be here is broken. My hungry appetite for the delicious Lucy is broken. My selfish want I felt for Mark is broken. I hate this place. I feel alone and abandoned. Every part of me aches. I know who for, I just don’t understand why. Reality is, I barely know the guy.
Instead of telling the gang bye, exchanging numbers, or hugs, or promising to accept their MyFace friend requests, I leave without a word. Crawling over the bodies in the booth, I fight my way to freedom, grab my phone and throw back one of the shots still left on the tray.
I’m stumbling through the club, drunk and attention deprived. Outside, I feel even more alone in the near vacant streets of the city. It’s nearing six, and the streets are beginning to shut down for cleaning. With every dark alley I pass, I pray he’ll grab me and pull me into it.
I keep looking over my shoulder in hopes that he’s near. I even force my face to look frightened, thinking maybe he’s watching and will come to my rescue just to reassure me the bogey monster ain’t got shit on him.