Rock Chick Reawakening (Rock Chick 0.5)(41)

Then she gave me big eyes.

“How fine, sugar bunch?” I asked.

She lifted her hands and held her pointed fingers out at least ten inches. “Fine.”

That was when my eyes got big. “That is fine.”

“So what happened with this chick?” Ashlynn asked.

“She bitchslapped her,” Paris put in. “I was there. It was f*cking aces.”

“Good for you,” I said to Chardonnay.

“You got that right, sister,” Chardonnay replied.

We giggled.

“Know this chick,” Paris said into our giggles, grabbing up a handful of the cashews that Ashlynn brought, which, as far as I was concerned, seriously classed up a birthday party in a stripper dressing room. Then again, cashews classed up anything. “Her name is Dawn. She’s so good spreadin’ her bitch around, think she’s goin’ for the world record of bitchdom.”

Then she threw back the cashews.

“Dawn?” China sidled up, pulling out her own Fat Tire and reaching for the opener. “I think I know her. She went after my girl Bethany’s man. He is hot.” Her face got distracted. “Though I think she’s just a booty call. His name is Hawk. And that night when that Dawn chick made her move was the only time he’s been seen with her in public and that’s only because he was pickin’ her up from this party so he could have his booty call.”

“This dude’s name is Hawk?” Chardonnay asked.

China nodded.

“Who’s called Hawk?” Chardonnay went on.

“I’d call him whatever he wanted me to call him, he’s just that hot,” China replied.

“Now, sugar,” I began to advise, “this guy could be hot but she’s givin’ him some and he’s been seen with her in public once?”

I left it at that but shook my head slowly.

“Daisy, serious,” China said. “I was at that party. I saw him. And Bethany has talked about him. A lot. So even if half the shit she said is true, just getting a load of him, I’d not only call him whatever he wanted me to call him, I wouldn’t care if we saw the light of day, just as long as he kept the lights on when he was doin’ me. Because, I’ll repeat, he’s just that hot.”

“Well then,” I murmured on a grin, “there you go.”

There was a knock on the door and Wynter called out, “Decent.”

Smithie swung in with the door, just his torso, his hand still on the knob, his scowl already set.

“Any a’ you bitches feel like doin’ somethin’ other than sittin’ around throwin’ back a few beers, like, I don’t know, dancing?”

“Is it time?” Chardonnay asked.

Smithie’s gaze cut to the big clock on the wall that said yes, the day girls were done, the night girls were on seven minutes ago.

He didn’t use those words. He just returned his scowl to the room.

The day girls didn’t leave the stage until the night girls scooted out.

So it was definitely time for them to hit it.

“Right, we better go,” Ashlynn said, setting her beer aside.

“Thanks for the cake. I can’t wait to try some during your first set,” Wynter added, shooting me a smile.

I gave her a smile back.

“Knock ’em dead, sugars!” I called after them.

Smithie didn’t move, glowering at them as they filed out in front of him.

After China, the last of them, cleared the room, his eyes came to me.

“Sloan’s booth is empty and the place is already packed. I need the space if he ain’t gonna show. He comin’ tonight?”

I nodded, feeling my heart squeeze and not in a good way.

I’d been back at work for over five weeks.

If I was working, most nights, at some point during the night, Marcus slid into the semi-circular booth at the very end on the north side of the club. A booth that had become his. No one sat at it because, first, it was Marcus Sloan’s and second, Smithie put a red velvet rope in front of it until he showed.

Sometimes I’d watch from the dancers’ hall, and when I did, I’d see that he didn’t watch the dancers (though I noticed his eyes never left me when I was onstage). He would either be on his phone, talking to one of his men, or going over papers he had on the table while he sipped his bourbon and branch.

Whether Marcus showed or not, Brady stood outside the dressing room door if I was in it. If I was onstage, he stood just offstage, eyes on the club.

Yes, Marcus gave me his bodyguard.

After the night was done, if Marcus was there, Brady escorted me out the back door and into Marcus’s limo. If he wasn’t, Brady escorted me to my Porsche then followed me wherever I went after and then escorted me behind closed doors once I got there.

That there usually being Marcus’s place, sometimes my place, though that was rarely.

If I had a day off and it wasn’t a weekend (and I was a headliner and weekends were big for Smithie’s, so it was rare I had time off on the weekends), I’d do my thing, Marcus would do his, but we’d meet for dinner.

The majority of the time he took me to fancy places. The other times, I made him let me cook for him (yes, I’d horned in on his kitchen). Twice, he got takeout but it wasn’t from Twin Dragon or alternate goodness like that. It was always from swanky places that didn’t even do takeout (except for men like Marcus).