Four Seconds to Lose (Ten Tiny Breaths #3)(43)
It’s me who needs the convincing, as I watch her, imagining what her sweat tastes like.
“Maybe you shouldn’t be standing out here like a starving kid waiting for a piece of fresh bread, then,” he scolds in a dry tone. “You’re tormenting yourself, you dumbass.”
“Fuck off,” I throw back. A heavyset guy on the side of the stage catches my eye. He’s hollering something at Charlie. I can’t hear him but I can read his lips, the vile words forming in his mouth. The way he’s gesturing crudely at his lap.
“And get that f**ker in the yellow shirt out of my club, right now,” I bark. Normally, I don’t kick patrons out for yelling things and gesturing. It’s an adult entertainment club where women grind on guys’ laps until they explode in their pants, for God’s sake. And yet I’ve been booting out customers every night for two weeks when Charlie comes on.
Nate doesn’t say a word. He simply strolls over and, with a heavy hand on the man’s shoulder and what I imagine is a forceful instruction in his ear, he escorts the guy out without argument. No one ever argues with Nate.
From where Ben is standing, I catch him shaking his head at me.
Yeah, I probably deserve that.
Chapter sixteen
CHARLIE
“Did you see how Cain kicked out yet another customer?” a girl with bright pink hair says as she leans in her chair to fasten the straps of her absurdly high-heeled shoes, to match her absurdly revealing silver-and-black polka-dot bikini.
“He sure is wound up about something,” Ginger’s friend, a sweet brown-haired girl named Hannah, says. After a pause, she observes, “Can’t be about money. It’s coming in by the truckload.”
I change quietly, listening to the group of them chatter, not sure what I can possibly add to the conversation. I’m kind of hoping they don’t notice that I’m here.
“He just needs a good f**k,” Kendra, a dark-skinned dancer with shiny black hair, jokes as she peels her lime-green skin-tight dress off in exchange for a concoction of feathers and bows—her stage outfit. “Levi, why don’t you let him come all over those tits again.”
The gorgeous blonde with very large, very fake br**sts winks devilishly and the group of five women break out in titters.
They’re on a roll with the sexual tales at Cain’s expense tonight. I’m wondering if this really is all just harmless banter or if there’s an ounce of truth to it, when Kendra murmurs, “Someone must be teasing that dreamy c**k of his to no end . . .” Five sets of heavily kohl-lined eyes turn to stare at me.
Ah, yes. The rumors.
“I’m just doing my job,” I manage to get out around a swallow, ducking my head to hide my heated cheeks.
The cackles of laughter in the dressing room don’t settle down, even as the door bangs open and China strolls in, carrying her stage outfit and wearing a bikini made for an eight-year-old. I’m surprised she bothered putting anything back on after her show. That woman is missing all modicum of modesty.
“What’s so funny?”
“Oh, New Girl was just telling us how she plans on polishing the boss’s knob in his office tonight.”
I feel my face burst with heat as I shake my head. These women are not only crass; they’re relentless.
“Of course.” China’s mirthless chuckle follows her as she takes a seat by a locker. “Though I’m sure New Girl already knows she doesn’t have what it takes to interest a guy like Cain.” Her sharp eyes roll up and down my frame with a pointed smirk.
There’s an edge to her tone—a warning, almost—that I catch immediately. And it annoys the hell out of me. Instead of being decent, this woman made me want to cry coming off the stage that first night. Since then, she’s done nothing but shoot me vicious glares. I’m pretty sure she started the rumor that I’m a terrible lay. And that I have crabs. Now, she’s trying to put me in my place, and that place is clearly beneath her and away from Cain.
I’m no idiot. I dealt with jealous girls all through high school. But I should probably be careful around her. Sam taught me to always keep my thoughts to myself. “Guard your words,” he’d say. “Only reveal what is absolutely necessary.” The way I was raised, the real me avoided confrontation and argument. I was complacent to let others lead, to go with the flow.
But Charlie Rourke is not putting up with this bitch. She has enough to put up with. “I’m sure if the new girl were interested, she’d have his c**k in her hands in under two seconds,” I answer sweetly, as I pull my shirt over my head. I silently thank my sophomore drama teacher for casting me as Regina George in our school’s modified rendition of Mean Girls.
Of course, there was no c**k talk in that performance.
But Charlie Rourke can adapt to any situation.
A loud eruption of whistles and catcalls fills the room, followed by slaps on my legs. I guess that means I’ve officially joined the inner stripper club. Unfortunately, the raven-haired viper staring at me with an icy gaze right now isn’t rolling out a welcome mat.
I watch Ginger with interest as she accepts a twenty and throws a suggestive wink at a customer. It’s fascinating—the way she flirts with these men, I’d never in a million years guess that she’s not interested in anything but their tips. And, by the beaming grin that explodes on the man’s face, neither would he.