Electrified (43 page)

I laughed, stretched my hand over to shake his, and answered, “You got that right, but no harm in swinging by and checking out the competition. That way I get to catch up with assholes like you.”

Ryan chuckled. “I’m kidding, dude. We all know you got your sights set on something bigger and better over at the Electric Tunnel. Just happy to see you can still slum it over at our fine establishment. We know our market, and you’re it.” He slapped my back in jest and asked what I wanted to drink.

I ordered a shot. I figured it would be quick, and I was practically hopping back and forth on my feet, fighting my desire to get to the action.

Finally, he poured, I lifted the little glass, tossed the burning liquid down my throat, and gave the dude a small chin lift in thanks. “Catch you later, Ryan,” I said and moved like a leopard on the prowl.

Earlier, I told myself I wanted to check out the competition, so I could convince myself I was doing better than them. But it was really something more. I had my limits, and I was nearing them. I needed to get off. Period.

The Pink Leop had been around for a while, and had a reputation for allowing quite a bit of crazy shit to go down. Word on the street was you could get just about anything you wanted done to you, or for you, in the private rooms. And for the right price, you could take a girl back to your place with you for the night. It was exactly what I didn’t want for the Tunnel, but it didn’t mean I was immune to the stench of sex when I walked through its doors, or that I didn’t want to partake a little bit. I did. It was exactly why I was here, pushing a few gross fat and sweaty men out of my way so I could get closer to the action.

So what if the owners lost money in lap dances? They obviously made up for it in their private rooms. Yeah, some of the shit they allowed wasn’t exactly on the up-and-up. “Heavy touching” was probably putting it nicely, but hey, what the hell did I care? I didn’t own the place. I was here for a good time like the next guy. If they got into trouble with the law, it wasn’t my problem.

Finally, I sank down into a worn-out red suede chair to the side of the scene that caught my eye. I couldn’t be bothered with how grubby the shitty chair was, pushing out all thoughts of what may have touched its gross fabric over the years.
Thank fuck, mine are leather at the Tunnel.

I was fully laid out in the piece of crap, sticky as all get-out, and I couldn’t be bothered because the two women directly in front of me were
hot
. Smoking hot, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the fake haze whirling all around them from the smoke machine.

I wanted to take both of them home and test out what they were doing onstage with me in the middle, preferably without any clothes in the way. The girls were both completely naked other than the thongs they wore, one red and the other gold. They stood on either side of a chair set in the middle of the stage, long messy hair falling all around soft and demure shoulders and touching the tips of their nipples, grinding on either end of the piece of furniture while leaning over and groping each other’s tits.

I was rigid everywhere as I watched in anticipation of what the two would do next. Christ, the way they twisted each other’s nipples, moaning and groaning like it felt better than anything they ever had before, appeared to be incredibly hot. The two luscious babes stared deep into each other’s eyes as if they were soul mates, doing exactly what they would be doing at home, but I knew the truth. They’d much rather be at home on their couch, drinking wine and watching a chick flick.

My line of work let me see behind the curtain, so I knew it was a ruse, a charade, nothing but pretend, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. They were doing what they were paid to do, which was to titillate the audience, and they were doing a mighty fine job of it from where I was sitting. My eyes focused on the women, even though I could only see their hazy profiles. My dick twitched, anxious to be released from my pants, screaming, “Let me out to play,” and my mind was running through an endless stream of scenes involving the two women and me.

I motioned to one of the Leop’s managers on the floor. When he appeared by my side, I asked him how much it would cost to take the pair back to a private room. I made a mental note to feel them out and see if one or both of them would accompany me back to my house. Of course, I was hoping for both, but I’d settle for one. I needed some action. Badly.

The manager set out the deal and I agreed to the terms. I had cash to burn, with a growing business and no real responsibilities at home. After paying for the first hour in advance, I headed to the back to wait for the women in my private booth. Yeah, I stroked myself over my pants a little while waiting for them. So, sue me.

When the song changed out in the main club, I heard two pairs of heels clicking down the hallway toward the room where I waited. My breathing sped up in time with my heartbeat, and I sat up and waited for the delicious duo to open the door.

Here they come.

The outer door opened and closed, then two curvy silhouettes entered my little corner and turned around. I blinked. Then blinked again, hard. I tried to clear my eyes, to get them to focus in the dim, red-hued light.

Why the hell was everything in this ugly fucking club red?

I didn’t have time to ponder that right now. Instead I stood up and crossed the space in between the couch where I was sitting and the door in two steps and said, “Holy shit! Natalie, what the fuck are you doing here?”

Not stopping to wait for an answer, I opened the door and pushed the other girl outside the room toward the nearest bouncer. “Never mind,” I told him. “I changed my mind. I only want one girl. This girl.” I gestured behind me to Natalie. “Keep the extra money.” The girl glanced back at me, a confused look on her face as she tottered toward the bouncer, then I slammed the door shut.

I stared at the door for an extra moment, trying to contain myself. Thank God there was no one else in the high-backed booth on either side of me because I feared I was about to lose my shit.

Turning back around slowly, I said, “Natalie…Jesus Christ, it’s been years. I can’t even think about how long it’s been, but what the hell are you doing in a raunchy place like this? You were taking classes, making a life for yourself the last we talked.” When she didn’t respond, I said, “I’ve got to get you the hell out of here.”

Natalie shrank away from me, backing up until her shapely calves hit the sofa. She stared in horror at my eyes boring down on her.

I shoved a hand through my hair and paced back and forth like a madman. I had no idea whether I was whispering or yelling, I was so furious.

With her gaze lowered, her long lashes covering her big, beautiful eyes, she walked toward me and pleaded, “Shh. They know me as Natasha here, and I need this gig, Asher. Stop making a scene…please.”

I could still see the younger Natalie somewhere inside the hard woman talking to me. Her long brown hair hung way down her shoulders, heavy bangs sweeping over her eyes, which were decorated with glitter and dark black eyeliner. Underneath all that caked-on shit, my “little doll,” the girl who used play kickball out in the alley and chase after the neighborhood boys, was there.

I threw my hands up in the air. “Nat, I don’t want to hear that you need this job. This isn’t the fucking place for you, babe. You want to strip, come work for me. My girls are respected. You want to do something else, go do it. What you aren’t going to do is work in this shithole, one step away from being a prostitute.”

She shuddered. I felt Natalie’s whole body shiver under my hand, which had found its way to rest on her hip as she faced off with me. It made me want to wrap her up in my arms and carry her out of the mess she was currently wrapped up in.

I completely forgot that I was at the Leop to get a little action. Instead, it looked like I was going to have to rescue the girl like a fucking superhero.

Shit.

Coming Fall 2014

Domestic violence is a serious situation and one that should never be ignored. If you or someone you love is in a violent or hostile situation, you can find anonymous help here:

National Domestic Violence Hotline

http://www.thehotline.org

1-800-799-7233

So, I get these wild ideas every now and again, like inventing products and changing careers. This time around I wanted to write a fiction book. Actually, I’ve wanted to write one ever since I received a D+ on a paper in AP English. It only took me twenty-four years to do it.

Thanks to my husband and kids, who support all my adventures in writing, running, inventing, donut eating, and cleaning. I love you all.
Please don’t forget to make your beds.

I could
not
have written this book without the writing mentorship and editing capabilities of Pam Berehulke at Bulletproof Editing. I may not be able to pronounce your last name without instructions, but I can’t write without you. Your endless patience, gentle pushing for me to do better, introduction to words like
ham hocks
, and ability to get rid of my ellipsis addiction have all been crucial to my process. I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

There are a few authors who took time to encourage me to reach for my dream, or perhaps just fly my romance-author freak flag. Thank you, Madeline Sheehan. Notice, I don’t beg you for your next installment anymore? Well, not entirely now that I know how hard this thing we call writing really is, but I still want it.

Thank you, Heidi McLaughlin, for smiling at me at a book signing and opening up your virtual arms when I needed them.

Tara Sivec, something about you made me not scared to use my own voice, find my own cadence, and put it out there. Thanks.

And the bloggers. Being one myself, I could never forget you. Sarah at
Smart Bitches/Trashy Books
, we went to high school together, reconnected on the World Wide Web, and now I can’t take a vacation without your recs. Thanks for the never-ending advice to make sure my ass was seated in my desk chair. To Virginia at
Love N. Books
. You cheered for me when my book was only a speck of an idea, and encouraged me to move forward. Although I don’t typically jump up and down, I may for you.

Special thanks to my friends. I know I tend to hole up with my creative projects and disappear. I appreciate your patience when I don’t come out to play.
Who wants to have a cocktail?

SJP (the other one), please make sure I continue to get out to drink wine, eat fried tofu, and learn how to cook a turkey. Thanks for reading this book in its most primitive form.

To my betas—Tiffany, Gretchen, Jill, and Lori—thank you, ladies. You loved my characters from the beginning, some more than others, and begged for me to keep writing when I would leave you hanging. I couldn’t have done this without you. And Tiffany, I still am going to visit you and see your floor coated in recycled book pages.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention my cousin Ed, who made sure I knew a guy with feelings wasn’t a wuss and helped me find my inner-male voice.

Most of all, thanks to you for reading and recommending this book. This would be a great big nothing without YOU!

Rachel Blaufeld is a social worker/entrepreneur/blogger turned author. Fearless about sharing her opinion, Rachel captured the ear of stay-at-home and working moms on her blog,
BacknGrooveMom
, chronicling her adventures in parenting tweens and inventing a product, often at the same time. She has also blogged for
The Huffington Post
,
Modern Mom
, and
StartupNation
.

Turning her focus on her sometimes wild-and-crazy creative side, it only took Rachel two decades to do exactly what she wanted to do—write a fiction novel. Now she spends way too many hours in local coffee shops plotting her ideas. Her tales may all come with a side of angst and naughtiness, but end lusciously.

Rachel lives around the corner from her childhood home in Pennsylvania with her family and two dogs. Her obsessions include running, coffee, icing-filled doughnuts, antiheroes, and mighty fine epilogues.