I slowly sip my beer before looking her up and down. “Are you here to dance?”
She rolls her eyes and, somehow, makes even that sexy. It’s a fucking shame that someone who can make my cock twitch from an eyeroll is this fucking annoying. It just reminds me of the biggest life lesson I ever learned - Life’s. Not. Fair.
“I’m digging the sexy secretary vibe.” I’d look her over anyway, but now I drag it out. Since my tongue can’t have any fun, I let my eyes enjoy trailing over every inch of her.
“This is pathetic… even for you.” Her eyes wander around the club, and she crinkles her nose like the reek of desperation in here has reached her nostrils.
Foxies doesn’t exactly cater to the A-list clientele, so I get it. Still, if she would stop being a stuck-up, judgy ball-buster… I snap my fingers, and her eyes are back on me.
“You’ve gotta have a stage name. I’ve got the perfect one: Becky Ball-Buster.”
Prissy rolls her eyes. Both hands dig into her hips, and it really just adds to her fuck-me librarian vibe. “You’ve had your fun. It’s time to leave…” She starts into the lecture part. I’m bored with the lecture part.
“Save me a dance, will ya?” I cut her off. “I’ve got some crisp bills I’m dying to stuff in your…”
“Blaze, stop!” Her cheeks rush red. “You do not get to talk to me like that.” Her hands fly up, ready to swat my words.
“What?” I do my innocent face, the face I use whenever I pretend not to know who took the last package of Pop-Tarts. It’s the same face I used when I told Coach Wilson I had no idea who the guy in the grainy, green night-vision porn was.
“You were going to say... pussy.” She drops her voice to a whisper on the last word, but the lightning flash of anger in her eyes is unmistakable.
I’m not doing innocent face now. This is my genuinely confused face.
“Pussy? You thought I was going to say pussy?”
“Yeah.” When she purses her lips at me like that, I just want to smile. A lot of girls do the cute-when-they’re-angry thing, but none do it as well as Prissy. Whenever she stands there, with her hands firmly dug into her hips, it just reminds me how much I want to run my hands over them.
“Who would say that? That’s not a thing. I was going to say G-string. I don’t know if you need to hear this, but it’s not normal to have cash stuffed in your pussy.”
I fight the smile trying to tug up my lips. She looks like she might kick me in the balls in a second, typical Becky Ball-Buster for you.
She nods toward the stage. “Well, you’re the expert, aren’t you? Is there anything sadder than sitting stage-side and drinking at a strip club… alone?”
She thinks she’s firing shots at me, but they’re hitting every sad, sweatpant-man around me.
“You’re going from Blaze to Burn-out.” She thinks she got me with that one, like I’m going to be shattered by what she thinks.
I’m not.
“I guess I am drinking alone? But only because Rookie is otherwise occupied.” I nod over to the booth. Prissy jolts taller when she sees Rookie across the bar. He’s busy getting buried under an enthusiastic lap dance. Even though he’s wearing jeans, I hope he had a couple of drinks first.
Bambi is grinding on him, giving Rookie a face full of tits and us quite the view. I like the color rising in her cheeks. I love getting her worked up.
“I’ll tell you what, how about you let us finish out our night, let the kid get his booth time, and I’ll promise to be back to Hector House in time for curfew?”
“I have an even better idea,” she counters, eyes narrowing. “Put down your beer. Leave now, or I promise you won’t play anymore hockey this year.”
I shrug and take another drink. “I tried to compromise. Here’s my counter offer. Take your tight ass and your hissy attitude and go away. Unless you changed your mind about dancing?” She barely flinches at the remark, but her blazing cheeks tell me everything I need to know.
“You know what? Fuck this.” She stomps off.
Pretty clear victory if you ask me. I’m sure I’m gonna hear about it later. Maybe from Coach. Definitely from Player. I can’t worry about that stuff now though. That is future-Blaze’s problem. Right now, I’m gonna finish this beer. I try to concentrate on the stage. I watch the new dancer, but it’s Prissy on my mind.
I’m not sure what’s worse, that Player tattled, or that she showed up like she’s cancelling my fucking playdate. Giving me that same “I’m so disappointed in you” look that I’ve seen on quite a few faces over the years. I’m going to chill, enjoy my drink and see how the rest of the night plays out…
What the actual fuck?
Prissy is on the stage. The same stage there’s a girl stripping on. At first, she looks nervous. Is she going to take my advice? My cock twitches as the thought of her working that pole breezes through my mind.
I cup my hands into a megaphone. “Go Becky!”
Prissy throws her shoulders back. Her eyes lock on me. She walks tall, her nerves steadied. Determination sharpens her features. She might have the confidence of a stripper, but there’s zero chance she’s up there to dance. Becky Ball-Buster is on stage to live up to her name, and it’s clear exactly whose balls are in danger.
Mine.
3
Kneel Before the Queen Priscilla
The exit is blurry. I keep squeezing my eyes so tears won’t build up. He will not make me cry. He may have won his little stand-off back there,
