Bradley's Whistle (P.ornstars of Romance #2) (14 page)

“No, Dad, it wasn’t the money. I was just worried. I barely made it through high school. The study load at college was ten times more, and I was struggling . . . I didn’t want to fail.”

My dad huffed out a frustrated breath. “Wiska, what have I been telling you since you were old enough to talk?”

“Always brush my teeth before bed and beware of boys who want to give me candy?”

“And?”

I sighed. “Never let my fear allow a something to become a nothing.”

I found my fingers touching the breasts on the marble bust, and I abruptly pulled my hands away and cast a guilty look over my shoulder. Bradley was in the kitchen area chatting with Casey, and both of them seemed oblivious to my phone call and wandering hands.

“You are too smart to be a nothing, and you are too brave and stubborn to let your fears stand in your way.”

“Maybe I could try again?” I said softly.

My dad should have been a motivational speaker rather than a bulldozer operator. He had a way with words that lifted me up and made me want to fly.

“If you don’t try, you fail anyway.”

“You’re too smart for your own good, old man,” I grumbled, and Dad laughed. “How’s Mom? Is she still angry?”

“Not angry, honey. Just worried. And you know how she is; she was brought up in a different place with different beliefs. She doesn’t understand why you did what you did.”

“I’m not a home wrecker. I didn’t know he was married,” I hissed defensively.

“She knows that. We both know that. You’re our daughter, after all. It’s the film work you’ve been doing that she doesn’t understand.”

My mom had definitely been the stricter parent; her beliefs on dating and boys kept me home every weekend, right through high school. It didn’t surprise me that she was having so much trouble coming to terms with my secret life as a porn star.

“Maybe if you tell her I’m thinking of quitting, she’ll come around.”

Dad was quiet for a moment.

“What do you mean, thinking of quitting? Do you have another job?”

“I just think it’s time to do something different. And maybe my old man has some kind of magic; every time I speak to him he makes me want to be a better person.”

“Wiska, while I’m not afraid to say the change in career makes me happy, what’s important here is that you are happy. You need to do what makes you happy, and you don’t need to try and be a better person, honey. You are already the best person I know, and I am very proud of you.”

“Not so much of the porn, though,” I whispered.

“Not so much that,” he agreed grudgingly. “But, as long as I don’t see or hear about it, I can live with it, if it makes you happy.”

“I love you, Daddy,” I said with a soft sigh.

“I love you, too, honey.”

“I’ll call you when I get home. I’ll be back in a couple of weeks.”

“Okay, princess. You take care, and if you need anything, you call me. I’ll talk to your mom, too.”

“Thank you, Daddy. Bye.”

“Bye, princess.”

The line went dead, and I turned right into the chest and arms of Casey. How he knew I would need a hug, I had no idea, but I appreciated the fact he was there for me. I didn’t cry, though. I missed my parents and I missed my home, but healing the rift between my parents and me was good enough to keep the tears at bay.

“I think we need a night out. How about we go on a date, you, me, and Bradley?”

“A threesome?” I asked.

“Yes, a threesome. We can get dressed up. We can all wear glitter, because we all know if you hand me glitter, feathers, and a hot glue gun, I can make the world a better place.”

Bradley coughed on a donut.

“There is no way I’m wearing glitter.”

“I want glitter!” I exclaimed.

“There shall be glitter,” Casey said with a smile.

“I’m not wearing glitter,” was Bradley’s staunch reply.

Casey gave me a wink. “Of course you are.”

Bradley

I couldn’t believe I was wearing glitter, the fucking herpes of arts and crafts! I had showered, and I still had the sparkly shit on me. I cast Casey another irritated glare, and he simply smiled.

“You know, being gay is like wearing glitter; it never goes away either.”

Wiska laughed. I didn’t.

“Oh, come on, Bradley, there isn’t
that
much on you anymore, and you can only see it under the lights. It’s going to be dark in the strip club, right?”

I grunted—it was the most I could manage right now. I was too pissed off at Casey for his surprise glitter attack to warrant his attempt to pacify me with anything more. I had effortlessly slipped back into cranky, Broody Bradley again.

I gave one of the bouncers a nod, and he quickly pulled the doors open, allowing us entry to The Lovely Lounge. He spared Casey a long look, and I didn’t blame him. When he told me he was going to join me in wearing a suit, I had been pleasantly surprised. I sure as hell didn’t expect it to be a pale blue plaid suit. I gave Casey another stink eye, and he simply smiled.

“Don’t worry. I have cards in my pocket. People are always asking me where I bought this amazing ensemble, so I came prepared.”

I shook my head as my eyes drifted to Wiska and lingered . . . and lingered. She was wearing long black, lycra pants with a shimmering, red, metallic top that clung tightly to her body, thin straps crisscrossing in the back held it in place and showed an abundance of skin. Her shoes had kept me fascinated from the moment she had sauntered out of my bedroom. They were black leather ankle boots with enough zippers and buckles to give an urban vibe, but the spiked, red, eight inch heel was all sex. They boosted her height and made her lips easily accessible. I loved those fucking shoes. And just like that, Broody Bradley was gone, and I was smiling.

“Mr. Emerson, your table is ready.”

Angelina, the tall, dark haired seductress appeared in front of me, a tray in one hand holding a glass of whiskey. Wiska and Casey both turned and raised a brow; I simply stared right back. So sue me. I came here often enough to be considered a regular.

My table was at the back of the bar. All the tables in this section each had their own small stage and brass pole directly in front of it. I watched as Wiska ran her hand across the platform with a small smile. We all sat; Casey and Wiska on one side, looking far too chummy, cheerful, and foreign—there was no way to miss the fact they were tourists. I sat opposite of them, a local sitting alone, brooding again.

My fucking mood swings were giving me whiplash these days, but I knew they were connected to Wiska. One moment, I was all lusty and hot for her; the next, I was pissed off about my completely overwhelming need for her. It almost felt like a weakness. Maybe it was hormones. Was it possible my mid-life crisis had arrived early? The thought of buying a convertible sports car wasn’t unappealing. I was constantly questioning my life and happiness, and had recently had the urge to change my hair style. Holy fuck! Was I going through male menopause? Was I having the dude version of a cougar crisis? My thoughts made me want to hyperventilate.

Angelina placed the whiskey before me, and I quickly threw it back, squeezing my eyes closed against the sudden burn. No, there was no way I was having a mid-life crisis; after-all, I’d been this way most of my damn life. I’d always wanted a sports car, I was always slightly altering my hair styles, and I was a health conscientious man who liked to keep fit. As for my happiness, it had been on a roller coaster for a long time now. Nothing had changed; apparently, my life was trapped in a constant state of menopausal confusion. Just as long as my virility didn’t abandon me, I’d be fine. My heart beat began to slow, and I opened my eyes to a vision of Angelina, a patient, somewhat amused look on her face.

“Another?” she asked.

I nodded, unable to speak as I shook off my panic attack. Turning, she kept her face neutral as her eyes carefully took in Casey. I realized I would need to tip her well tonight. She didn’t so much as blanch at Casey’s ridiculous outfit.

“I’ll have a pomegranate martini, and the lady will have a virgin Shirley Temple.”

Angelina swiftly disappeared to get their drinks while I watched Wiska and Casey rubberneck the room with big, wide eyes, fascination clearly etched into their faces. While I had become immune to the club’s sophistication and charm, I could understand their wonder as they took everything in.

Dazzling chandeliers hung above the exclusive, private tables at the rear of the club. The crystal lights were dimmed, but still gave off enough illumination to send shards of reflective light over the tables. Separating each private table was a heavy, dark curtain, which carefully hid the private doors to more private booths. They were the rooms where the hellishly expensive and brain melting blow jobs could be discreetly exchanged for an astronomical, yet worthy, price. I knew that more than a blow job was attainable, but not allowed in the club. Agreements to meet on neutral ground could be made in those rooms, though I had never indulged in more than the fabulous bob nob.

The fully stocked bar sat in the center of the room, and it was definitely the centerpiece of the establishment. The bar itself was made of glass, which was filled with water, and big, slow, fat, bubbles rose from the water at evenly spaced intervals.  The water feature was lit up with yellow-gold lighting, sending a golden hue around the bar. Sitting in front of the bar was a large stage with three brass poles staggered at different intervals. A small catwalk of sorts led the stage out into the depths of the club with its own pole at the end. Tables and chairs were set up close enough for patrons to easily lean forward and tip their favorite dancers. Behind the poles was a mass of gauzy red fabric. I had seen a few dancers twist and roll through pieces of that fabric in a display of aerial seduction that blew my mind, and on one occasion, almost something else that would have left me in a damn embarrassing situation.

The club was nowhere near full. It was still early in the evening, but the men who had already arrived were mostly dressed in expensive suits, or at the very least, designer pants and button-down shirts. The women, and there were less than a handful, were mostly dressed in skin tight dresses that barely hung past their asses, breasts only one wrong movement away from falling out.  

As Angelina strolled back to our table, she carefully placed Wiska’s and Casey’s drinks before them and gave me a quick glance.

“Put it on my tab,” I murmured.

“You have a tab?” Wiska gasped with a cough.

“Some of the bars around London can be a bit rough and garish. This place has one of the best reputations in the city; the astronomical prices keep the deadbeats away, it’s discreet, classy, and I can have a quiet drink without being hassled.” My tone bordered on defensive.

“You’re preaching to the choir, Bradley,” Casey said with raised hands. “I’m completely in club-love with this place. It’s just a shame about all the heterosexuals.”

A young woman I knew well approached the table. Luna, at least that’s what she claimed her name to be, was one of the best dancers the club had to offer. She was tall, standing easily even with my six-foot frame. Her jet black hair was cropped pixie style short, and her dark brown eyes were so dark they could easily be mistaken for black. Her cheekbones were high and accentuated with a deep rouge, her full lips a deep shade of purple. Her features were almost harsh and angular, in an exotically beautiful way. She was wearing a tiny black G-string that barely covered the necessities, a matching, shimmering black bra, and her shoes were fuck-me high, black stilettos. She looked like a sex goddess. I liked to watch her dance, and I had enjoyed her mouth on numerous occasions. Luna had propositioned me for a night away from the club more than once, but she was the kind of girl who loved to play the game, and I’d never really considered myself a player.

“Emerson,” she purred as she approached us, “would you like some entertainment?”

Casey and Wiska had stopped drinking and just stared—Wiska with something akin to awe; Casey with something akin to fear. Casey and I both said, “No” at the same time Wiska said, “Yes.” I kind of hoped Casey was glaring at her just as I was now.

Wiska offered an innocent shrug. “What? She looks fantastic. Give the girl a chance to work.”

Luna’s face morphed into a bright smile, and she stepped up onto the small stage, her hand reaching for the pole. As if by magic, the music changed and “Hell Is Around The Corner” by Tricky filled the room, the sound loud, crisp, and clear. Luna moved her body with the three S’s . . . slow, smooth, and seductive. She was spectacular, graceful, the perfect pole dancer. But tonight, she didn’t hold my attention like she would have a few short weeks ago. Tonight, my gaze drifted to Wiska, her wide eyes watching Luna with intrigue, her smile bright and beautiful. Casey, on the other hand, looked mildly ill. When the music died down, Wiska’s applause filled our private table, and Luna actually blushed as she stepped from the stage. When Wiska reached for her purse, I quickly pulled out one hundred pounds and handed it to Luna. I knew the two twenty pound notes Wiska had quickly stuffed in there wouldn’t come close to a reasonable tip in this establishment.

Luna nodded with a small tilt of her head, and I knew she was offering me what was hidden behind the heavy, black curtains. I shook my head, and with only a moment’s hesitation, she strolled away.

“Oh. My. Gosh! That was freaking incredible!” Wiska exclaimed.

“No offense, honey, but I’d prefer it with a little more meat and veg and a lot less pink taco,” Casey murmured.

“Pfft.” Wiska waved Casey’s words away. “You have to admit she was an amazing dancer, and she was gorgeous.”

“Much like yourself,” came a familiar voice with a heavy Irish lilt.

“Aedan,” I sighed.

“What a surprise to see you here, Mr. Emerson.” He did his best to try and appear honestly stunned, and Casey laughed.

“Drop with the charades,” Casey scoffed. “We know party boy over here has frequent flyer points at this establishment.” Casey raised his hand and Aedan clumsily took it in what appeared to be a weak and awkward handshake. “Casey of LC’s day spa, which is, FYI, a day spa for your much loved furbaby.”

“Nice to meet you. Aedan Blake, driver extraordinaire,” Aedan said with a smile, his gaze quickly settling on Wiska. I found myself bristling at his obvious interest in her. “And who might this precious angel be?”

Wiska snorted. “Far from an angel, but pleased to meet you. I’m Wiska James.” She politely shook his hand.

“So, if not an angel, perhaps something a little more wicked?”

“Cut it out, Aedan,” I grumbled, and Aedan’s grin grew wide and knowing.

“Apologies, Mr. Emerson.”

He folded himself into the chair beside me, and I was grateful for Wiska’s nonchalance to his presence, her eyes flittering around the bar as she watched everyone and everything with undisguised interest. She seemed a little hyper tonight, bouncing in her seat, her grin permanently in place, her eyes unable to settle on anything for too long.

“So, you’re from America?” Aedan asked, watching Wiska intently.

Wiska either didn’t hear him or ignored him, and knowing Wiska, she more than likely missed his question; she was far too polite and friendly to brush someone off so callously.

“That we are,” Casey answered.

“Pleasure or business?”

Wiska’s attention finally settled back on our table, but Aedan’s question caught her unawares. Thankfully, Casey continued to hold the conversation.

“It’s been absolutely Bradley’s pleasure,” he said with a mocking grin. “He’s been the perfect host. He’s even attempting to whisk Wiska off her feet, pun intended.”

Everyone at the table froze for a moment, silence reigned, and then Aedan laughed, loudly.

“Is that so?” Wiska discreetly elbowed Casey in the ribs which he ignored. “Well, I would imagine Emerson has his work cut out for him.”

Casey beamed at that. I pouted, at least I think that’s what I was doing. My bottom lip felt heavy, my face in a permanent scowl.

“So, what does the wicked Wiska do back in America?”

“I work as an adult film star,” she replied without shame or hesitation.

I didn’t miss Aedan’s jaw, which practically hit the table with shock.

“Go way outta that!” he exclaimed.

Both Wiska’s and Casey’s brows headed south with confusion. Luckily, I knew Aedan well enough to have picked up some of his typical Irish slang.

“He’s basically asking if you’re shitting him,” I explained.

“Oh, no,” Wiska said with big, bright innocent eyes. “I’m not shitting you. I am on a sabbatical of sorts, though.” She glanced my way. “Possibly a permanent break. I’m actually thinking of a career change. I might even go back to school and finish my degree.”

“A porn star,” Aedan whispered with a little awe in his voice, completely ignoring the part about her degree.

Typical male, I thought, almost snorting. Fuck, who was I kidding? The porn part would ordinarily have caught my undivided attention, too. That was before Leah, though, and most definitely before Wiska.

“You do scenes with other ladies?” Aedan eagerly asked, and I groaned.