2 Aubie
I SPOT STEPH AND JEROME waiting for me near the entrance when I swing the AMG into the front parking lot of the club. Guess I’m fashionably late, as usual.
Steph grabs me in a tight hug, planting a light kiss on my lips. “You look fabulous, as always, sweetheart. The coat slays.”
“You like? It’s Furrocious Furr.”
“I’m stealing it when you get tired of it.” She looks around. “I can’t believe it’s taken you this long to invite us here.”
“You’re the one who’s always tied up with school.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me. Medical school is so demanding. You would not believe my days.”
To look at her, you’d never guess she’s going to be a surgeon.
A petite frame topped with too much eyeliner and spiky blonde hair striped with fuchsia doesn’t exactly scream bedside manner, but don’t let the party girl exterior fool you.
She’s actually smarter than anyone I know.
Of our little group, she’s the only one who took on graduate school.
For me the whole college thing was a means to an end. Four years of dicking and partying, all of which I could have gotten elsewhere for a lot less hassle. I only went because it was expected of me.
I glance around her to Jerome, who flashes his blinding smile.
The man is a study in perfection–chiseled body, sultry eyes, smooth caramel skin I want to lick like a lollipop.
A stage actor paying his dues, I know he’s going to hit it big someday.
Someone that pretty deserves to be on Broadway.
We hooked up a couple of times in college and while the sex was great, we decided we worked better as friends.
“Can’t believe you’ve stuck with this as long as you have,” he says.
I drape my arm around his shoulder and give his cheek a pinch. “I’m not bored yet.”
He chuckles. “A ringing endorsement, if ever I’ve heard one.”
“Stick around, lover. I still have hearts to break tonight.”
The door opens and those words die in my throat. The man who appears is tall, dark, and flirting with dangerous. A panther’s grace with attitude for miles. Like he believes the air he breathes isn’t the same as what the rest of us lowly mortals inhale.
He looks up from his phone and notices me, his espresso eyes immediately narrowing. If hate had a temperature, I’d feel it rolling off him.
Cutter Knight.
Head of security.
A total dick.
He could suck the fun out of Mardi Gras. My usual way of dealing with people like him is to ignore them, but Cutter has a way of getting under my skin. Is it possible to hate someone and want to fuck their brains out at the same time?
“Aubie.” The voice is deep and rich and kind of makes me hate him even more. “This isn’t one of your usual nights.”
I ignore my twitching dick and flash him my most salacious grin. “Just here to spectate and appreciate tonight. You might want to warn the clientele.”
He sighs and shakes his head. “Don’t cause a scene in my club.”
Your club? I know you’re friends with Daryl, but get over yourself.
Yeah, you’re big and bad. A crime scene waiting to happen.
And I may or may not want to climb on the back of that big bike of yours and let you take me apart while the engine rumbles love songs under us.
But then, my dick never was very discerning.
“Oh, Cutter,” I tsk. “I am a scene.”
And to really piss him off, I blow him a kiss before guiding my friends toward the door.
Steph leans over to me. “Where can I get one of those?”
I slide a backward glance at Cutter, who’s gone back to studying his phone. “Trust me, girl, that’s a mountain you don’t want to climb.”
She doesn’t look deterred. “He’s hot.”
“And a dick.”
“I like dick.”
“There’s plenty more inside,” I promise as we sink into the lush interior of Club Eros.
My current employer.
Every time I say that in my head I nearly laugh out loud. Imagine that. Me–Aubert Pierre Gauthier, black sheep heir to the Gauthier fortune.
Working.
And having a hell of a good time doing it.
I suspect my father knows by now because he’s been blowing up my phone more frequently the last month. My voicemail box is full of his unheard opinions. It’s probably driving him crazy that he can’t leave more.
It’s not like I’m stripping at a roadside dive.
Club Eros is an exclusive, members only adult club located in a gated mansion north of the city.
Every inch of it drips with hedonistic sophistication.
Not a hint of flashing nudie signs or gaudy lights.
You can’t even find it unless you know where you’re going.
That doesn’t mean the crowds aren’t rowdy enough to get me off. I measure my act’s success by how loud things get. But then, that’s how I measure all the best things. If you aren’t screaming my name, I’m obviously slacking.
The club itself offers all-male entertainment, and it’s bare to the bone.
That’s what drew me to it when my friend Jimi told me he’d scored a job here as head bartender.
A one-off on open stage night morphed into exposing myself to my adoring public three nights a week.
And not to ring my own bell, but I always leave them satisfied.
Or, more likely, needing satisfaction.
The lobby gives off old gentleman’s club slash French bordello vibes. It’s a whole entertainment complex, with an intimate hookup lounge, a theater where they show erotic films from around the world and live nude performances two nights a week, and the main house where the magic happens.
It’s like an adult candy store that I couldn’t have dreamed up in my most fevered fantasies. The fact that it was the brainchild of a man like Daryl Hart makes him that much more intriguing. The man obviously has hidden depths.
“Aubie!” I turn as Claire, the hostess, throws her arms around me. “I didn’t know you were dancing tonight.”
I peck her on both cheeks and nod toward my friends. “Just here for fun tonight, gorgeous, and I brought friends. Say hello to Steph and Jerome. I’ll need a guest pass for them.”
She smiles at them then flips the guest book toward me. “Sign them in. Saturday night cover is a little steep.”
I pull out my wallet and hand her my card. Once the formalities are taken care of, she turns to Steph and Jerome and goes into her hostess spiel.
“No recording of any kind. That includes pictures and video. If you’re caught, your device will be confiscated and you’ll be banned from the club. Other than that, have fun.” She punctuates this last with another bright smile.
I wrap my arms around my friends. “In other words, nobody wants to get famous here.”
I should be at the top of that list, but I can’t find it in me to care what my family may find out about my activities. I’m sure it’s no worse than what they expect.
“Don’t worry about me,” Steph says. “They monitor our socials at school. I’d hate for them to think I was morally unfit to be a doctor.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet that worries you all the time,” Jerome quips.
“You know it, bitch,” she laughs.
The door to the house swings open and a bass-heavy thump pours out. Someone is on stage.
“Let’s go get horny,” I announce as I lead them inside.
Mario is in the middle of his act, doing what he does best. He’s got the dark Latin looks and languid moves that drive both the women and men crazy.
He’s part of the male revue but does solo acts on the weekends.
And judging by the hungry looks in the audience, he’s on his game tonight.
Mario flirts almost as shamelessly as I do.
We find an open table near the back of the room and Steph and Jerome settle in to enjoy the show.
“I’m going to go say hi to Jimi and grab us some drinks,” I tell them before winding my way toward the bar.
Not all the entertainment is on stage. Jimi is must-see action behind the bar, pouring drinks with the flourish of a maestro.
Like all the staff in the club, he works topless, showing off his sculpted, olive-skinned perfection.
A black bowtie rings his neck like a satin collar.
Every time I see him in it, I want to rip it off him with my teeth.
He makes it all look effortless, but I know for a fact he spends hours working on that body and those moves. I’m not ashamed to admit I have a major crush on him. Purely lust, swear to God. Lucky for me we’re fuckbuddies, hooking up whenever we hit a dry spell.
His eyes light up when he spots me. “I almost didn’t recognize you with your clothes on.”
“I can remedy that,” I murmur, then let my gaze drop pointedly before wandering to the man standing next to me. Jimi sets a drink in front of him and smiles at me. “Tease,” he mouths.
The man reaches for his drink then looks at me. I see it when recognition sparks in his eyes.
“You’re Chaton.”
That’s my stage name. French for kitten and I live up to the billing. “In the flesh.” Guess by the way his eyes are undressing me he’s a fan. I lean closer, dropping my voice just for his ears. “Though tonight I’m incognito.”
His blue eyes spark and he flashes an easy grin. Definitely rocking the Boy Next Door vibe, though it’s too early in the evening to make a claim on anything. “Enjoy the show,” I tell him with a wink before turning back to my friend.
“So what are you really doing here tonight?” Jimi asks as he pours six shots and sets them on a tray for the server. “Can’t stay away?”
I shrug and grab a cherry from the garnish caddy on the bar and suck it in my mouth, twirling the stem between my fingers. “I’m here as a free agent.”
He snorts. “How many of them are you going to pop tonight?”
I bat my eyes at him. “The only cherries in here are in the drinks.”
“I’ve never known that to stop you.”
He’s got me there. “Does that mean you’re not happy to see me?”
He grins. “I’m always happy to see you, Aubie. I’m just concerned with the aftermath of your presence.”
“I’m never a disappointment.”