True Bliss (2 page)

ZANDER

“Take it off! Take if off!” I hear the women chant. I'm gyrating my hips just inches away from a bride-to-be's blindfolded face, my hands on top of hers as they grip my butt, trying to pull me closer. This bride is so drunk that I'm surprised she's still standing. They were doing tequila shots when I arrived, and the champagne has continued to flow the entire time I've been here. I've done my normal tricks; the pizza delivery boy routine is a firm favorite. The client, usually a friend of the recipient, answers the door, and I pretend to be delivering a pizza to the wrong house. By the time I'm dragged into the living room, the women are pumped up and begging to see some skin. The music is switched on, and my routine begins. Sexyback by Justin Timberlake is always a good starter. By the time I'm ripping my pants off, and honing in on the bride to be, my ears are ringing from the hollering and screaming out. Let me tell you, you may think guys can be crude and vulgar, but holy heck, some of the things I've had yelled at me in the middle of a routine would make Hugh Hefner blush.

Getting turned on isn't a problem. Cracking a stiffy in a room of women is not my idea of fun, so I always whack one off before a gig to avoid the chance of a surprise erection. It was part of Stripping 101 that my manager taught me. Take care of yourself beforehand so that you lessen the chance of poking anyone's eye out.

You'd think I'd be a pro at this stripping thing by now, especially since I've been doing it for the past year, but I still get nervous as all hell beforehand. I can never anticipate how a crowd is going to react, how handsy they're going to get, or whether I'll get out of there alive and with my thong intact. Believe me, I've learned to carry a spare set of clothes in my car.

I'm only stripping on the weekends now, just enough to cover the rent and bills. I'm at the Chicago PD Academy five days a week, training to become an officer. I've always wanted a career, but after four years at college and no end in sight, I dropped out and tried joining the workforce. Four weeks later, and with no job on the horizon, I answered an ad in the newspaper for a male entertainer.

Imagine if you will, having to strip down to your underwear and shake your ass in front of a group of drunken ladies who think that because they've paid for you to dance for them, they can touch you in places that would otherwise be frowned upon in public. My balls are fondled nightly which I know sounds like a guy's wet dream, but I've actually had a work related injury caused by a forty year old lady, her fake fingernails, and a fondle and twist gone wrong. My balls were black and blue for a week after that.

Another Friday night and I've just finished my second bachelorette party for the night. I've called in to 42nd Street bar on my way home to catch up with my roommate Zach who tends bar there on the weekends. A cold Bud after a gig is the perfect way to wind down, and this particular brew is going down very well tonight. Usually, I'd be all up for burying myself balls deep inside a willing female, but since my friend Mac met her boyfriend, I haven't felt like going out on the prowl. It's not as if I'm heartbroken; Mac and I were friends who just happened to go off in the sack together. And don't get me wrong, it's not like I don't get my fair share of phone numbers and offers from clients, but I have a rule about that. You don't screw on the job. No clients, no friends of clients, and no female colleagues. The only exception to that rule was Mac, but the chemistry between us was scorching. I mean, we could barely control ourselves when we first met. I banged her up against the side of her friend's house half an hour after meeting her.

It was so fucking hot.

A few months ago, I thought that something might happen with her best friend Kate. Having saved her from a drunken asshole who wouldn't take no for an answer, and getting her home safely, she kissed me with those perfect plump lips of hers, and it took all of my self-restraint to stop it from going further, but I didn't want her to regret it in the morning even though I know I wouldn't have regretted a damn thing about being with her.

Kate. My fantasy girl personified. From her fiery red hair to her five foot nothing body with curves for miles. She's a good girl; a take home to mom kind of girl. Definitely not a one night stand type of girl who you'd subject to the walk of shame the next morning. Unfortunately, there is also the whole sloppy seconds issue which doesn't bother me one bit, but I know it would bother her.

She'd be a good friend though, and I don't have many female friends. Mainly because women only seem to want me on their arm, making them look good, but as soon as I catch on to that fact, I'm out the door. I work hard to stay in shape; I have to keep up with it to stay stripping, but that doesn't make me a juice head. Not only does a woman have to like me as a person and not just arm candy, she needs to be as adventurous as I am, in and out of the bedroom. I have this thing for sex in public places. The thrill of getting caught with my pants down, and the excitement of someone possibly watching seems to get me harder than nothing else. Having someone as equally into exhibitionism as I am would be a sure fire winner in my book.

What I really need is a good girl with a naughty side; a girl who I can take home to mom and who I can introduce to my baby sisters, but who is also a firecracker behind closed doors. A girl who has the perfect mix of sugar and spice. THAT would be my perfect girl.

About three weeks ago, Zach and I got drunk one night after work. We pulled out his laptop and started surfing the net. It was going well, lots of laughs over viral videos of idiots doing stupid shit until Zach saw an ad for Chicago Singles. It was all downhill from there.

“Dude, you got to do it! I know, I dare you to go on Chicago Singles for a month and go out on at least one blind date,” Zach slurred before cracking up laughing like he'd just said the funniest thing ever.

“Fuck that. Do you know what kind of girls are on that? Cougars who are looking for arm candy, or ugly broads who can't get a man any other way. It's desperate, dude. No. Fucking. Way.”

“I'll make it interesting for you,” he'd said, and it was suddenly a done deal. Two months free rent if I completed the dare. If I didn't, I'd have to work one shift a week at the bar for Zach for a whole month.

I'm just downing the last of my bottle when I see a flash of red hair out of the corner of my eye. Turning my head, my eyes follow the short redhead to a booth where she sits down with a man who looks old enough to be her father, let alone her date. She turns her face toward the bar and her bright blue eyes widen when she sees me. My smile disappears when I see her shake her head at me before looking back toward her dad...I mean, date.

I turn back to the bar and hold my arm up to signal Zach to bring me another beer. A quick nod, a flick of his wrist and another ice-cold bottle of Bud is sliding along the bar toward me. Spinning around on my stool, I lean back against the bar and set myself up to watch the show that Kate and her dad date are about to provide.

Before she sits down, she removes her black cropped jacket and exposes her porcelain skinned shoulders. She sits up higher in her chair when she sees me staring at her, pushing her shoulders back in a defiant pose, and making it obvious that she's trying hard not to let my presence affect her. I love the fact that I'm getting to her. I don't know why, but I like seeing her being as affected by me as I am. I'm about to get up to go say a friendly hello and make this night a hell of a lot more interesting when Zach comes around the bar and sits next to me.

“How was your gig, bro?” he asks, taking a drink of his own beer.

“Same old story. Mother-in-law to be had too much wine and went all grabby hands on me. Managed to escape with my junk uninjured and intact.” I smile, but don't take my eyes off Kate.

Beautiful, feisty Kate looks hot as hell right now. She's wearing a bright red dress with a plunging v neckline which dips halfway down her stomach, giving every man in the room an awesome view of her cleavage. And God, those tits look like they'd be the perfect handful. I can just imagine pushing my hard body against hers and wrapping my arms around her, cupping them as she leans back into me. Then spinning her around and taking her rose red nipples into my mouth as she moans sexily. Holy shit, down boy! I only hope that dress of hers is stuck to her like glue or else she's going to give her sugar daddy a heart attack. If that's the plan, someone needs to tell her that you're supposed to wait until after the wedding for that.

“Bro, you're being obvious,” Zach says, bumping my shoulder.

“I know, and she knows I'm looking.” I look over at him and wink.

“She's with a date, man. That's not your usual style.” I frown when I realize he's right, I don't go after the unavailable or unattainable, but Kate...well, I'm not sure what she is. Definitely not unavailable; that night a few months ago proved that. Unattainable? To me, she's a perfect ten. I'd definitely be punching above my weight with her. I'd be the one walking around like a cocky S.O.B if Kate were mine.

“I know that, but look at him. He's old enough to be her dad. It's like watching a train wreck about to happen.” I chuckle as she looks at me again and starts blushing. Even from across the bar, there is no mistaking the redness creeping up her cheeks. It's cute as all hell, and my mind wanders, imagining other situations where I could make her blush.

My cock starts to harden as I blatantly check her out. The dress gathers at her waist before falling into a short, fitted skirt, leaving plenty of flawless skin exposed as my gaze travels down to the sexiest pair of black heels I have ever seen. God, if I were half-mast before, I'm full speed ahead now with images of Kate spread out in front of me, her red hair fanned across my pillow, and wearing nothing but those heels and a sultry smile.

“Zan, you either need to get laid, or go home. Or both. Seriously, getting a boner in the middle of a bar while staring at a total stranger is not a good look” he says with a chuckle.

I groan, turning around to save myself from the torture that is my new favorite redhead's disaster date.

“You're telling me.” I down the rest of my beer before standing up from the stool. “Might be best if I leave you to it. See you at home then?”

“Should do, unless I get a better offer of course,” he adds with a wink. That man is never short of offers. 

“All good. Keep an eye on her for me,” I ask, tilting my head toward Kate.

“Sure. So you already know her?”

“Yeah, Mac's best friend.”

“Ah, I see. She the one you told me about?” Zach asks, shooting a glance in Kate's direction.

“Yeah, man. That's her.”

“Damn. And you're sure you aren't gonna go there? From where I'm standing, she's smoking hot, and you're more than well aware of that fact.”

“She was drunk. She's not the type of girl to have a one night stand,” I explain.

“All good then. I'll watch out for her. Hell, she's so hot I'd watch her anyway.”

I growl under my breath, earning a chuckle from Zach. “Thanks. Be good, or if you can't be good, be as bad as I am.” I pat him on the back as I take one last look at Kate before shaking my head and walking out the door.

I must text Mac and find out what the deal is with Kate. She doesn't come across as the type of woman who's looking for a sugar daddy, which makes her date even more of a crack up. And she definitely noticed me; that blush all but gave her away.

As I walk out the door into the warm night air, I find myself wanting to find out more about the enigma who is Kate McGuinness. And I'd also give anything to see her in those heels again, preferably naked. 

KATE

I knew coming to 42nd Street Bar would be a mistake.

Roger had seemed nice enough on his profile, and the messages we'd exchanged were interesting enough, but the moment I'd met him outside and realized that he was at least ten years older than he said, I knew this would be yet another Kate dating disaster.

I'm starting to think I need to write a book about how not to date in Chicago. Seriously, I like to think I'm a pretty good judge of character, but lately my judgment has been seriously impaired. Scratch that, seriously off fucking kilter.

Mac and Daniel acting like a pair of loved up teenagers has made yearning for my own happily ever after increase tenfold, so last week I took the plunge and decided to sign up to an internet dating website. In fact, when I'd told Mac about it one lazy Sunday afternoon, she was so on board with it that she'd grabbed my laptop and we sat on the couch together, writing and rewriting my dating profile.

First, the “Tell us about yourself” section.

My name is Kate, and I'm a 24 year old hairdresser born and bred in Chicago.

I'm looking for my happily ever after, and after searching the kingdom far and wide, I've decided to give internet dating a shot.

I'm a 5 ft. 1 natural redhead with great style and a wicked sense of humor. I like to socialize and meet new people, and I'm always up for new experiences.

I'm looking for a man between 23-30 years of age with a great job, strong family ties, and who likes to have fun and try new things like me.

No photo, No reply.

Then we'd needed to upload a photo. After searching through all of my social media accounts, Mac and I had finally agreed on a photo taken of me a few months ago showing my profile from the back, with my hair blown out in a 50's pin up girl style. My face was hidden in the photo which is what I'd wanted. I'd be mortified if anyone recognized me on the site.

Internet dating is still a social no-man's-land, but it's more acceptable these days, no longer seen as a last ditch attempt to find somebody, anybody to love you. I see it as a new and different way to meet people who you may not have otherwise come into contact with. Your lives may not have been destined to cross paths, so it's almost a way of bypassing destiny and taking a chance.

And that's what this is for me, taking a chance at finding my Mr. Perfect. There is someone for everyone, and I'm anxious to find mine. Not because I'm getting old or anything, God, I'm only twenty-four. It's more about feeling left out, or worse still, feeling like the third wheel with Mac and Daniel. I need my partner, my other half. I know he's out there somewhere. He has to be.