Allison? For a free and open exchange of ideas?”
He looked like butter wouldn’t
melt in his mouth, but the sniggering around him intensified.
Oscar-level actors, his minions were not.
I knew it was a trap. It couldn’t
be more obvious if he had painted the words ‘IT’S A TRAP’
all over it. But he’d maneuvered me into place, and I couldn’t
afford to back down without coming across as a fun-hating bitch and
looking bad in front of Hunter, who was probably already regretting
hiring me after the ass I’d made of myself last night.
“Sure,” I said, my smile as
fake as a spray tan.
“Wonderful,” Chuck said. He
tossed his keys to Harry. “If you’d do us the honor of
leading us to the Galenorn Gentleman’s Club?”
Shit.
#
“No, I do not want a lap dance!”
The Douchebros roared with more
laughter than if I had been a professional comedian as I fended off
an enthusiastic stripper in a g-string and pink sequined pasties.
I tried to avoid getting an eyeful as
she sauntered off, offended, but there was nowhere safe to look. It
was butts, boobs, and poorly conceived costumes as far as the eye
could see. And while I’m certainly comfortable with the human
body, I’m most definitely not the kind of person who wants to
spend a night watching tastelessly outfitted strippers exploit
themselves for cash. I could kill Chuck.
I mumbled something about needing to
use the restroom and shrank backwards into the clouds of cigarette
smoke. I needn’t have bothered; the whole crowd of them forgot
me instantly in favor of drooling over a barely legal girl in a
loincloth and an Egyptian headdress that was totally not historically
accurate, with a fake rubber snake curled around her neck.
I rolled my eyes so hard I was
surprised they didn’t alter the orbit of the moon.
Hunter sidled up next to me. I braced
myself for some double entendre, but he just looked at me
sympathetically. “Not into it, huh?” he asked dryly.
It was the cigarette smoke making my
eyes water, not the unexpected kindness. I covered with snark.
“That’s not even the right outfit for an Egyptian theme.
Even a temple prostitute would be more clothed than she is. And she
definitely wouldn’t be wearing a Mayan belt, that’s
completely the wrong continent.”
Shock flitted across Hunter’s
face, and then he grinned. “Well, aren’t you full of
surprises.”
I shrugged. “Hey, a semester of
historical costuming stays with you.”
“Your school did something other
than Civil War reenactment costumes?”
I gave him a Look, capital L. “Don’t
tell me you did those.”
“Okay, I won’t.” He
put his hands up defensively when my Look intensified. “Hey,
it’s a great place to pick up chicks. You die a dramatic death
throwing yourself in front of some fake musket fire, clutch their
hands, look deep into their eyes…a winner every time.”
I snorted. “Don’t tell my
mom. She’ll have me in hoop skirts before you can say Robert E.
Lee.”
He raised an eyebrow. “The
matchmaking sort?”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
“My mom could get that way too,
sometimes.” He shifted his eyes away, but not before I caught a
flash of deep sadness in them.
I tried to distract him by joking about
the costume of the next girl set to go on. “What’s she
supposed to be, a Playboy bunny or the Easter bunny?”
He smiled, shaking his head at me. “I
think she’s supposed to be a sexy cavewoman.”
“Ah, yes, that well-known trope,”
I said sarcastically. “Uuuurgh. You Tarzan. Me Jane. Lap dance
twenty mammoth, private room extra.”
Hunter snorted, and reached over to
take my hand, pulling me closer. It was probably only to make sure he
could be heard over the pounding music, but my heart still stopped as
his breath tickled over my ear.
“Want to head home? I can’t
wait to get out of here either.”
My hand fit into his like they were
made for each other. I squeezed his hand, and looked up into his
golden
He looked like butter wouldn’t
melt in his mouth, but the sniggering around him intensified.
Oscar-level actors, his minions were not.
I knew it was a trap. It couldn’t
be more obvious if he had painted the words ‘IT’S A TRAP’
all over it. But he’d maneuvered me into place, and I couldn’t
afford to back down without coming across as a fun-hating bitch and
looking bad in front of Hunter, who was probably already regretting
hiring me after the ass I’d made of myself last night.
“Sure,” I said, my smile as
fake as a spray tan.
“Wonderful,” Chuck said. He
tossed his keys to Harry. “If you’d do us the honor of
leading us to the Galenorn Gentleman’s Club?”
Shit.
#
“No, I do not want a lap dance!”
The Douchebros roared with more
laughter than if I had been a professional comedian as I fended off
an enthusiastic stripper in a g-string and pink sequined pasties.
I tried to avoid getting an eyeful as
she sauntered off, offended, but there was nowhere safe to look. It
was butts, boobs, and poorly conceived costumes as far as the eye
could see. And while I’m certainly comfortable with the human
body, I’m most definitely not the kind of person who wants to
spend a night watching tastelessly outfitted strippers exploit
themselves for cash. I could kill Chuck.
I mumbled something about needing to
use the restroom and shrank backwards into the clouds of cigarette
smoke. I needn’t have bothered; the whole crowd of them forgot
me instantly in favor of drooling over a barely legal girl in a
loincloth and an Egyptian headdress that was totally not historically
accurate, with a fake rubber snake curled around her neck.
I rolled my eyes so hard I was
surprised they didn’t alter the orbit of the moon.
Hunter sidled up next to me. I braced
myself for some double entendre, but he just looked at me
sympathetically. “Not into it, huh?” he asked dryly.
It was the cigarette smoke making my
eyes water, not the unexpected kindness. I covered with snark.
“That’s not even the right outfit for an Egyptian theme.
Even a temple prostitute would be more clothed than she is. And she
definitely wouldn’t be wearing a Mayan belt, that’s
completely the wrong continent.”
Shock flitted across Hunter’s
face, and then he grinned. “Well, aren’t you full of
surprises.”
I shrugged. “Hey, a semester of
historical costuming stays with you.”
“Your school did something other
than Civil War reenactment costumes?”
I gave him a Look, capital L. “Don’t
tell me you did those.”
“Okay, I won’t.” He
put his hands up defensively when my Look intensified. “Hey,
it’s a great place to pick up chicks. You die a dramatic death
throwing yourself in front of some fake musket fire, clutch their
hands, look deep into their eyes…a winner every time.”
I snorted. “Don’t tell my
mom. She’ll have me in hoop skirts before you can say Robert E.
Lee.”
He raised an eyebrow. “The
matchmaking sort?”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
“My mom could get that way too,
sometimes.” He shifted his eyes away, but not before I caught a
flash of deep sadness in them.
I tried to distract him by joking about
the costume of the next girl set to go on. “What’s she
supposed to be, a Playboy bunny or the Easter bunny?”
He smiled, shaking his head at me. “I
think she’s supposed to be a sexy cavewoman.”
“Ah, yes, that well-known trope,”
I said sarcastically. “Uuuurgh. You Tarzan. Me Jane. Lap dance
twenty mammoth, private room extra.”
Hunter snorted, and reached over to
take my hand, pulling me closer. It was probably only to make sure he
could be heard over the pounding music, but my heart still stopped as
his breath tickled over my ear.
“Want to head home? I can’t
wait to get out of here either.”
My hand fit into his like they were
made for each other. I squeezed his hand, and looked up into his
golden
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