First Kiss by Kylie Adams Page B

stem. She glanced at the clock on the wall. By stripper standards, the night had only just begun. Danni might be down for the count, but this Tiffany Lynn person was probably getting warmed up to set the Champagne Room on fire.
    A wave of guilt rolled over Kiki. How could she even entertain the notion of leaving Danni alone in the hospital? Hmm. Well, when you really thought about the situation, it wasn't so terrible. Not like Danni's condition was life-threatening. Please. The girl was already yammering on about returning to work. And she was under a doctor's carea dead ringer for George Clooney, no less. By comparison, Danni was in better shape than Kiki!
    All guilt cast aside, Kiki commandeered Danni's cellular and scrolled through the stored numbers until she found a listing for club. That had to be it. She dialed.
    "Camisole," a female voice smacked while the driving bass of Usher's "Yeah" thundered in the background.
    "Is Tiffany Lynn working tonight?" Kiki asked.
    "Sure. Come party with her, honey. Get a private dance. Bring your man. He'll love it. Or just stop in alone if that's your thing."
    Kiki rolled her eyes. What a sales pitch. The girl had obviously been listening to too many Dale Carnegie tapes. "Thanks." And then she hung up, kissed Danni on the cheek, and dashed out.
     
    Luckily, the so-called gentlemen's club was on the East Side and only a short cab ride away. Why did they call these places gentlemen's clubs anyway? A better choice would be an oasis for pigs or haven for
    horny losers . Hmm. Maybe a subject worthy of tackling in her book.
    A thick bouncer with biceps for brains blocked the entrance and shook down Kiki for a thirty-dollar cover charge. "Hey, baby, what's up with the face? Is it Halloween? Nobody told me."
    "Nobody told you it was 2005, either," Kiki shot back. "Acid wash went out in the eighties."
    The already drunk Wall Street types filing in behind her cackled like high school boys who had just heard a good your-mama's-so-ugly joke.
    Camisole marketed itself with illusions of grandeur, using "The Manhattan man's first choice in upscale adult entertainment" as a positioning line. But at the end of the day, the parlance meant nothing.
    A strip club was a strip club. Music thrashed. Strobe lights flashed. Lasers scanned. Mirrors amplified. Smoke billowed. And herds of young executive maleshighly successful and highly stressedwere in great moods because hot girls were naked.
    Prince's hard-charging "D.M.S.R." exploded from the speakers. "Never mind your friends/Girl it ain't no sin/To strip right down to your underwear." Rock's diminutive royalty rasped the lyrics over a beat that tested the mettle of the state-of-the-art sound system.
    On the stage, two dancers walked slowly back and forth, looking bored. Basically, they were doing noth-ing. But the girls were nude. So in the great American pecking order of amazing routines, this ranked right up there with the best of David Copperfield at least with the crowd gathered here tonight.
    A fast-moving barmaid with an empty drink tray stopped to give Kiki a strange look. "Nice makeup. Very She-Hulk. Can I get you anything?"
    Kiki smiled, shaking her head. "I'm just looking for Tiffany Lynn."
    "She's up there," the waitress said, pointing at the stage. "The blond one."
    Kiki maneuvered her way to the lip of the performance platform. Up close, Tiffany Lynn was more than a dime-a-dozen exotic dancer. The girl was truly beautiful. Funny that the mention of Charlize Theron had only hours ago tripped off Fab's lips, because this woman could easily be her twin.
    Tiffany Lynn arched her back and popped a hip to one side in time with the Prince beat, sending impressive muscle ripples down her stomach. Then she pushed her perfect breasts forward, as if to prick the eyes of the men who wanted her.
    This move provoked a macho chorus of whoops and whistles from the crowd. But if Tiffany Lynn appreciated the reaction, it didn't show on her vacant face. She