If being in the conference room with Chad Bates was stupid, following him out of the office and watching him drive away is downright idiotic. This man frequents my place of employment, the very same place that pays my bills. It’s not going to take him long to put it together that I had something to do with him getting caught. He’s smart and definitely diabolical, not to mention a compulsive liar.

I saw the look in his eyes when Kennedy stood between him and his wife. It wasn’t good. It was predatory and that is what spurred me to follow him out. I had to know what kind of car he drove. You can bet your ass that I’ll be looking for it at night in the club parking lot or creeping down Kennedy’s street.

One of the classes I took in law school focused on domestic abuse and how it comes in different forms. This man was served divorce papers after not seeing his wife for weeks and instead of breaking down and asking why, he blew up at her. That is easily chalked up to guilt. An insurmountable guilt for what he’s doing. He has no conscious and doesn’t care that he’s hurting his wife, the woman he vowed to love, honor, and cherish. This is a man I witnessed cheating on his wife with her friends. Who the fuck does that?

The parking lot is full when I pull in and the line to get in is stretching around the building.

“It’s fucking Thursday,” I mutter the words to myself, parking my car.

The length of the line should excite me—especially since I’m counting a more female population over male—but I don’t want to be here tonight. I’ve been working each night to make up for missing last weekend, plus I’d rather be at home with Kennedy giving her a private show. The thought of stripping solely for her turns me on. It’s the way she licks her lips, how she crosses and uncrosses her legs for friction, and the lustful look in her eyes. It’s like the first time for us each time she watches.

Up until now I’ve enjoyed stripping. I used to love the cat and mouse game of finding the right woman to bring a little bit of pleasure to at night—the copious amounts of sex that was there for the taking—but now I’d happily give it up if it meant I could make love to Kennedy every night.

Make love?

I tap my head against the headrest of my seat and groan. When the fuck did I go from fucking to making love? When did my life become more about breakfast with the same woman? When did I rush home after work and not stay and party on a Friday and Saturday night?

When I met Kennedy. That’s when. The day I laid my eyes on her in the club is the day that everything changed for me.

I bring my phone to life and thumb over the pictures that I’ve taken of Kennedy. I long to be with her instead of going to work, but I can’t quit. I’m too dependent on the money that I can make by taking my clothes off.

Shutting my phone off I look at the club. The people in line are mingling, having fun and probably talking about hooking up later. They’ll leave horny, willing and ready to give it up.

And to think this used to be me.

Slamming my hand down on my steering wheel I finally make the decision to go in. A few of the women whistle as I walk toward them. They angle their bodies toward me, showing me that they’re available. I smirk and turn to the non-descript door that’s used by employees.

The stripper in me wants to remember their faces for when I’m on the floor. I’ll entertain them, bring them to the brink, and then forget they exist. The thought of touching another woman sickens me, but it has to be done.

Inside, the club is hopping. The music is thumping through both rooms. I say hi to some of our female strippers as I make my way to the male dressing room.

“Sup?”

The guys all mumble “hi” as they get ready. The clipboard tells me that I’m dancing tonight. I can live with that. No private shows. However, that doesn’t mean one won’t get booked. I’ll have to make sure I don’t entice the women too much.

Donnie walks up to me with a guy I’ve never seen before. “This is Roy.”

“Hey, Roy, I’m Hunter.” We shake hands and he sort of laughs, throwing me off a bit.

“Is that your name or like your stage name because you’re a ‘Hunter’? Get it?”

“Um …” In my time working here I’ve met some really strange people, but it’s the dumb ones that really have me questioning why I ever looked for a job like this before. “Name’s Hunter. I don’t use a stage name.”

“Why not?”

I shrug, placing my belongings in my locker and grabbing my lotion. “Never saw the need I guess.”

“Cool.”

I look at Donnie, who is whistling like its Sunday morning. I go about my business, getting ready to go on stage. Once the current act is done the stage will be reset and Donnie and I, along with a few of the other guys, will go out there and have a dance off. The night is still early and we’re the first big group performance and we’ll be the first set to let it all hang out. The other guys who performed showed their ass that’s about it. Bryce saves the big reveals, especially for the new people in the crowd, for his best dancers.

After we hit our opening number I’m backstage listening to Roy talk to G Money about his career. Roy tells everyone that he’s done porn, and while a few of us are skeptical, we also know you don’t have to have a lot of brains to do porn. You have to know how to keep the chick’s legs spread for a good camera angle and eat her pussy. She’ll fake her way through the rest.

Then Roy hits us with the bomb. He pulls out his dick, not only is it pierced but he informs us that it’s been surgically enhanced. This prompts Gary to pull his out and these two idiots start comparing cocks like we’re in a fucking grocery store.

“I got to get the fuck out of here,” I say to no one in particular. I think about leaving, but know if I do I can kiss the rest of my shifts good-bye. Instead, I grab my box and head out the main floor. Surveying the room, I look for the bachelorette party people. They’re less likely to cheat, but the tips usually suck as well.

Once I zero in on one, I make my way over there.

“Good evening, ladies, anyone care for a lap dance?” I turn on the charm and pull my already loose fitting jeans down over my bulge.

“She’s the bride,” one of the girls says, while the first scoots her chair forward. The bride blushes the color of an apple as I go over the rules.

“She can’t touch you?” one of her friends asks.

“Sorry, no.”

“What about us, can we touch you?” The one asking is a blonde with deep red lips and a rack of fake tits that are popping out of her size small shirt.

“No one can touch,” I repeat and focus my attention on the bride. “What’s your name?”

“Luna.”

“Luna, congratulations on your upcoming wedding.” That’s all I say to her before I start dancing, moving my hips to the beat of the music playing.

For the first time ever, I’m not into it because I’m not into the girl and I know I have to do better. I imagine it’s Kennedy sitting in the chair and it’s our first time. She doesn’t know me and I definitely don’t know her and shit starts to move better. My hands roam over my hips, crotch, and to the waistband on my jeans, pushing them down to mid-thigh. I show her my dick and her girlfriend’s hoot and holler their appreciation.

I start to stroke my dick and the bride licks her fucking lips. I make the mistake of looking at her and find her eyes hooded with lust. Jesus, she’s getting married! My hands move from my dick to my body, through my hair, and back over my chest while my hips thrust toward her. When I see her start to lean forward, I slowly step back, ending the dance.

“Again, congratulations on your wedding,” I say, accentuating the last word.

“That’s all I get?” she complains, thrusting her money toward me.

“I don’t make the rules, sweetie.”

She balks, crossing her arms and glaring at me while I walk away with the cash. I continue to work the room, taking advantage of the packed house. By the end of the night, the wad of cash is starting to make a difference and I’m feeling pretty good about it.

Once the crowd starts to thin out, we start to lose the energy. We’re tired, our legs hurt, and if you’re Donnie or G Money, your dick is about to fall off from all the fucking you’ve done tonight. I rarely saw them and can only imagine what they were doing for private shows this evening.

Weeks ago I would’ve been jealous.

Weeks ago I wasn’t fucking the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.

“Hey, man,” Donnie says, coming up to me. “I asked Christy to book you for my private shows next week so I can take a few days off.”

I swallow hard. “Um … okay,” I stammer, knowing full well I can’t say no just yet. There’s no way I can step foot in those rooms and expect to go home to Kennedy.

“You’ll like the money.”

“How many shows?” I’m curious to know the dollar amount I’m giving up.

“Anywhere from fifteen to twenty.” I mentally calculate how much money I’m going to lose because next week I’m going to have the fucking flu or bite the bullet and quit. That’s almost five grand I’m giving up.

Fuck it. She’s worth it. Hell, she’s worth more.

Donnie doesn’t need to know that, though.

“Thanks for thinking of me.”

“I know you’re looking to get in the rooms more. And if you get booked for the dark room, it’s guaranteed sex and you don’t even have to look at the woman. Best fucking high right there.”

Right, duly noted.

When the last customer leaves, the lights go out and the cleaning crew starts. I think it’s a nasty job because you know damn well they’re cleaning up jizz and picking up used condoms. People are fucking sick with that shit.

Donnie and I walk out together. He gets into a fucking brand new BMW while I walk to my car. One weekend with his tips and I’d be able to buy something new. However, I’d lose Kennedy and it’s not worth it. I’d rather be poor and living in a box behind McDanks than not have her in my life.

“Hey,” someone behind me yells.

I ignore them; it’s usually a pissed off husband or scorned boyfriend. They think it’s our fault that their chick was here trying to get some entertainment and more than likely she went home and asked why his dick wasn’t bigger or if he could move his hips like we do when we stimulate our fucking scenes.

“Hey,” they say again, but I keep walking. “I’m fucking talking to you, stripper boy.”

This time I pause and turn around, subtly moving my car keys in between my fingers. As soon as the asshole comes into light I know I’m about to kick someone’s ass. It’s the piece of shit Chad Bates and he’s fucking drunk.

“Go home,” I tell him, waiting for him to heed my word. He doesn’t, not that I truly expected him to.

“You have a lot of nerve.”

I shake my head. “Sorry, man, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It’s funny that you work here. I recognize you from earlier. You and that bitch accusing me of cheating on my wife.”

“You’re at a strip club?”

“Because she left me,” he roars. “Are you fucking her? I know you guys like to fuck the customers.”

“You should go home, Mr. Bates. I work for your wife, not you.”

“Bullshit. You’re fucking my wife and now I’m going to fuck with you.” He steps closer, but I hold my ground. “You and that redheaded cunt are going down.”

It takes every ounce of control to not punch him in the face. Calling Kennedy from jail isn’t something I want to do at three in the morning.

“Mr. Bates, I’m warning you.”

“No, I’m warning you. I couldn’t understand how my dumb bitch of a wife figured out my secret, but now I know. It’s perfectly clear to me. You’re fucking Jennifer and you set me up. It seems the owner and I will be having a chat tomorrow.”

“You’re wrong.”

He shakes his head. “No, I don’t think I am. You’ll be hearing from my lawyer. Let the bitch know that I’m counter suing. She isn’t getting a dime of my money and you can tell her it’s because she got on her knees to suck your dick instead of mine.”

Chad Bates walks off, calling to a group of girls waiting by a car. His arms go around two of them and he kisses one of them and then the other while the third rubs up on him. It seems he’s not having any trouble moving on from his failed marriage.

In my car I pull out my phone and text Kennedy to let her know that I’m on my way home.

Home.

I don’t even think of my apartment as home anymore, but her house. We’re going to have to talk about that, but everything is so nice. I don’t want to assume anything.

What I don’t want tell her is about my encounter with Chad. That’ll have to wait until the morning, preferably after I’ve fucked her senseless.