So Trashy (Bad Boy Next Door Book 2)(13)

Never. I never get laid anymore.

“Aw, c’mon, Cuz. Well, at least tell me about the guys. Were all those Marines muscled and hot?”

I wriggle into the shorts. “Some of them are pretty to look at. Some are only pretty to look at. Trust me. I got a lot more respect from the ones I didn’t fuck.”

I step out of the changing room and pirouette in front of the three-sided mirror in the corner. The camo shorts let my ass cheeks hang out and are about as tight as Dick’s hatband, but I guess that’s what I want if I’m going to get this job.

Sadie giggles and rolls her eyes. “Maybe I should join up and see what it’s like.”

“The guys at my duty station were great—until they sunk their cock into you. Then they became one of two people. Either complete assholes or the kind you can’t get rid of, even with cockroach spray, neither of which do I have the time or the inclination to fuck.”

Sadie’s jaw drops for a moment. “Now that is just sad.”

“All I’ll tell you is this: after a few months of banging pretty much any guy old enough to buy booze, I gave it up. I did date this one guy a few times, but—well, let’s just say he wasn’t who I wanted. And if I can’t have who I want, I’d rather do without.”

She turns side eyes on me. “That must be some cock.”

“Yeah. It wasn’t just the cock though.”

Sadie darts away and reappears just as quickly with a pair of platform fuck-me shoes with heels no less than six inches long.

She pushes them against my chest. “Here, try these on.”

“No fucking way. I’ll break my damned ankles in these things.”

“All the girls wear them,” she sing-songs.

I snatch the shoes from her hands. “Fuck all the girls.”


* * *

The outside of the place doesn’t look like much. Plain building, no windows. Glass doors, blacked out. A neon sign perches high on the rooftop. The blinking XXX alternates with LIVE GIRLS.

What the fuck? Like someone’s gonna pay to see dead girls. Then again, there probably is some sick fuck out there that would.

I follow Sadie inside. Darkness fights for dominance over flashing lights and more neon signs. Music blares, sending vibrations through my bones. A bar takes up half of one wall, topped by glass shelves. Back lit liquor bottles neatly glow in rows over the beer taps.

A large stage takes up the center of the almost abandoned room, surrounded by four smaller squares off each corner, creating a pinwheel pattern that’s reflected in the mirrored tiles on the ceiling. Shiny brass poles connect the stage to the mirrors above, one for each section.

Three of the five poles have girls hanging off them in various positions. One girl has her legs pointed to the ceiling. Another is near the top, one leg wrapping the pole as she slowly spirals toward the bottom. The third looks like maybe she’s trying to do a headstand, using the pole in place of a wall?

Shit. I didn’t even think about the poles.

I wonder how imperative it is that I be able to swing on a pole with any level of expertise. Because, if it’s super important, I’m screwed.

I grab the strap on Sadie’s big shoulder bag. “Hey, wait up.”

She turns and smiles. “Don’t worry, Lou. They’re gonna love that you were a Marine.”

“Am a Marine—always a Marine.”

“Okay, if you say so.” She takes my hand. “C’mon, I’ll introduce you to Lonnie.”

“I used to know a Lonnie. Is this one a jackass too?”

“He’s a creeper, but you can ignore him most of the time, as long as you’re nice to the customers. The bouncers are all good guys though. You’ll like Hank and Bo. Sling and Rocky are great too.”

“I have to get the job first. Got any tips for me?”

“Don’t break your ankle.”

“Yeah, thanks. That’s at the top of my list of things not to do.”

My stomach clenches as we approach the bar and the two guys leaning against it, one on either side of the counter.

Oh, God. I’m never going to make it through this.

Sadie pushes me forward, almost knocking me over. “Hey, Lonnie. This is my cuz, Loula Mae.”

“I go by Lou.” I toss her a frown and put out my hand as he turns to me.

Ah, shit.

Should’ve known.

Lonnie, the very one I knew—and hated—back in high school, chews on a toothpick as he looks me up and down with a smile that climbs up my spine, one vertebrae at a time, leaving oily hand prints behind.

I do my best to wipe the surprise and disgust from my face.

Fuck my luck.

Fuck my life.

This is just—ugh.

He dismisses the lanky bartender with a wave of his hand. “Well, if it isn’t little Loula Mae Fontaine. How’re you doing, Darlin’? Did ya miss me?”