Chapter 3
3
Cecely
We settle into a new routine. It’s not perfect, but it works.
Lili calls or texts when she can, her messages sometimes short, sometimes rambling, depending on how her day goes. Harvey and I fall into an unspoken rhythm, taking turns caring for Raquel. Diaper changes, feedings, late-night fussing. It all blurs together, but somehow we keep everything from falling apart. Somehow, we make it work.
I stroll into the living room, my mind half on autopilot, digging through my bag as I walk. My fingers brush against loose receipts, a stray tube of lip balm, a crumpled dollar bill. Where the hell is my key fob?
I pause mid-step, shifting my bag to my other hand, frustration flickering as I rummage deeper.
“What in the heck are you wearing?”
I snort, spinning for Harvey.
“It’s a theme night at the club.”
“You’re wearing a Halloween costume.”
“Well, yeah. That’s where the theme part comes in.”
“Do I even want to know why you’re dressed like a sexy, scary clown?” He shudders, as if saying those words creeped him out.
“Because my boss went with a horror theme, and I think I make a pretty sexy Art.”
“If you say so.” He adjusts a sleeping Raquel to his other shoulder. “Get out of here before she wakes up and you traumatize her forever.”
I dig for my keys one last time, finally finding them, and I’m laughing as I leave the apartment.
The club is already buzzing when I arrive, the neon lights spilling onto the pavement like liquid electricity. Music thrums through the walls, a steady bass that pulses beneath my skin.
I don’t miss the sleek black sedan parked in the VIP spot—polished to perfection, windows tinted like secrets. High rollers in the house? Good. That means tips might be insane tonight.
Slipping through the side door, I barely have time to adjust before I collide with something warm, soft, and unnervingly purple. Laughter bubbles out of me as I take a step back, eyes trailing up to take in the sight. A sexy purple dinosaur.
“I thought we were doing horror films,” I tease Jade.
She huffs. “There was a mix-up at the shop, and this was all they had. You, on the other hand, look hot.”
She reaches out, fingers grazing the ruffled white collar of my clown costume.
I have to admit…I nailed this look. Instead of a traditional, full-length clown suit, I went for something bold. A black and white mesh bodysuit, hugging my curves, with two oversized, squishy buttons down the front, round and playful-like juggling balls.
Underneath, I’ve kept things minimal. Strategically placed black Xs cover my nipples, paired with a sleek black thong. Because I’m a curvy girl, I opted for black pantyhose, smoothing over the soft dimples in my thick thighs, giving the whole look a polished, sultry edge. The black boots? Stolen straight from Lili’s closet. She has good taste, I’ll give her that.
My face is painted stark white, a dramatic contrast against the exaggerated black makeup encircling my eyes, stretching up over my brows and down to the corners of my mouth, twisted into something playful… yet eerie. I let my blonde hair flow freely, but a tiny black top hat perches at an angle on my head, the final touch to a look that’s equal parts seductive, strange, and unforgettable.
I say to Jade, “Maybe you can carry a plastic knife and say you’re a killer dinosaur?”
She laughs. “Maybe. The odd thing is I’ve already made nearly a grand tonight in tips.”
“I noticed the car in the VIP spot. Any idea who he is?”
“No idea, and the tips weren’t from him.” Jade leans in and whispers, “He’s wearing a Ghostface mask and is totally playing up to the whole vibe tonight. Super sexy.”
I snort. “If you say.”
“You’ll see what I mean. He’s at the center VIP table.”
“Has he gone into a champagne room with anyone?”
Because that’s where the real money is made.
“Nope.” She gestures to me. “Maybe he’s waiting for a sexy clown.”
“Girl, I think the fumes from that purple paint on your face are going to your head.”
“We’ll see,” she says. “You’re up in two sets.”
“Guess I better drop my song choice with the DJ.”
“Good luck. It’s Nick tonight.”
I groan, because DJ Nick tends to ‘free style’ the music instead of going with the songs the dancers want to use.
After locking my bag in my locker, I head to the door that goes to the DJ Booth. Nick is in it, a joint in his hand.
“Ruby, doll. It’s good to see you.”
“You, too, Nick.” I grab the playlist sheet and write my song down. “Think you’re feeling this tonight?”
He looks at the song. “Sure thing.”
Which means he’s going to pick something else.
Good thing I thrive under pressure. Or, in this case, dance under pressure.
Leaving the booth, I weave through the club, the energy buzzing around me. The bass thrums beneath my boots, bodies moving in a hypnotic rhythm under flashing lights on stages around the room. I head toward the backstage seating area, where a few of the girls are lounging between sets, counting cash, sipping drinks, and trading stories.
Barbie spots me first, her perfectly glossed lips curling into a smirk. She waves a fistful of cash, fanning herself dramatically.
“Have you seen the hottie in the center VIP?” she asks, eyes glittering with mischief.
“Not yet.”
“I’m hoping when I go out to make my rounds that he asks for a private dance or even go to the champagne room.”
I nod, because honestly, what can I even say?
First off, it’s hilarious how everyone is freaking out over a guy whose face is completely covered by a mask. Like, how do they even know he’s hot? What if he’s a troll under there?
Second, if he hasn’t grabbed Jade for a private dance yet, I doubt he’s going to pick anyone. Especially for the champagne room. That alone tells me he’s not just another guy looking to throw money around for attention.
Still, by the time my turn rolls around, I have to admit that I’m curious. The last two girls who went on before me wouldn’t shut up about his big dick energy.
I saunter toward the pole at the center of the stage, pressing my body against the cool metal, waiting for the music to start.
And then much to my surprise… The song I actually picked starts playing through the speakers. Not a generic remix. Not some overplayed club track. My song. A slow smile tugs at my lips as I close my eyes, letting the familiar beat wash over me. The music pulses, the bass sinking into my bones, and I let myself go. And then I dance.
It’s not until the last moments of my set that I finally look out into the audience.
A lone man sits at the center VIP table. His presence is impossible to ignore. He’s watching me with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine, his hand wrapped around a glass of whisky, fingers white-knuckled against the glass.
I choke down a laugh. God. Listen to me. I sound ridiculous. For all I know, he could be half-asleep, just drunk and zoning out.
But deep down, I know better.
His gaze tracks my every movement, never wavering, never breaking. My body reacts instinctively, heat pooling low in my stomach. I can’t deny it. I’m turned on.
And then the money starts to rain.
Bills flutter through the air, landing at my feet as I finish my set. I’m about to step offstage when the VIP gets up.
I pause, waiting.
What’s he going to do?
He moves toward the stage with slow, deliberate steps, his suit jacket shifting as he reaches inside. For a second, an absurd thought flickers through my head. What if this is some mobster shit?
But then he pulls out a thick stack of cash.
And tosses it onto the stage.
I meet his masked gaze, tilting my head slightly before flashing him a slow, knowing wink. Then, without another glance, I turn and walk away.
I know what he expected.
He expected me to bend down and pick up the money, to acknowledge him like every other girl probably would.
Which is exactly why I don’t.
The stage attendant will handle collecting the money. I’m not worried about that. But leaving it there? That sends a message. A challenge.
Let’s see how Ghosty handles that.
The second I step backstage, Jade is on me, grabbing my arm and shaking it in pure excitement.
“Oh my god! I taught you so well!”
I laugh and take the hand towel she’s offering to dab my forehead and neck.
“Let me guess. You were in the DJ booth?”
“Sure was.” She shakes my arm again. “You have him hooked! Hurry and get out there! I want to see what happens.”
“Let me touch up my make-up.”
She shakes her head, laughing. “The student has officially become the teacher.”
“Let’s not get crazy. He might see it as a dig that I didn’t pick up the cash.”
“You didn’t see the way he watched you walk away. He stood there until you disappeared behind the curtain. Girl, you have him hooked.”
I grin, because I can’t deny it. Jade isn’t wrong. I felt it. I know it sounds crazy. The guy was wearing a mask, for crying out loud. But even with his face hidden, the heat between us was undeniable.
Maybe that’s why I take my time backstage, fluffing my hair, carefully reapplying my clown makeup. Ridiculous? Absolutely. Even so, I smooth out every exaggerated black line around my eyes, sharpen the angles, perfect it. I even spritz on a little perfume—just a touch, something subtle, something that lingers.
By the time I step out onto the main floor, I know exactly what I’m doing. The whole point of making rounds is to get noticed. To entice someone enough that they ask for a lap dance, or even better, a private dance. And if I really play my cards right? An invitation to the champagne room.
But tonight?
I don’t want just anyone to stop me.
I want him.
As I move through the club, I let my body sway just a little more, my steps slow, deliberate, confident. The lights catch the shimmer of my stockings, the soft sway of my hair. I walk right past his table, close enough that he can see me, smell me, feel the deliberate brush of my presence.
And then his hand shoots out.
Strong fingers wrap around my wrist, firm, commanding, sending a jolt of electricity straight through me.
I stop.
Slowly, I turn to face him, tilting my chin up just enough to meet his masked gaze.
Gotcha.
“That was quite a performance you put on, Ruby.”
I bat my eyes at him.
“You think?” I lean in, letting my hair drape against his arm. “Personally, I think I could have done better.”
His head tilts slightly, the movement slow, measured. “Oh? Could you show me here?”
He gestures to his lap, and that’s when I really notice just how big he is. Not just tall, but built, too. His thighs alone look like they could crush a watermelon. And Jesus, help me, because now I’m imagining things I absolutely shouldn’t.
I smile, keeping my composure. “Sure, I can.”
His hand moves with deliberate ease, sliding a crisp bill into the open neckline of my bodysuit. His calloused fingers graze against my bare skin, sending an unexpected jolt straight through me. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop the moan threatening to spill out.
Jesus.
Focus.
I inhale, steadying myself before I move. This is where stripping becomes an art form. It’s not just about the dance. It’s about making him believe that, for these few minutes, he’s the only man I have eyes for. That I want him. That I can’t get enough of him.
Sometimes, that illusion is hard to maintain. A few nights ago, I had a client who smelled like Cheetos. No exaggeration. And when he tipped me? His money had orange powder stains on it. Disgusting. But I still smiled, still moved like he was the most interesting man in the room. He never had a clue.
But this man?
This man makes it easy.
His scent is driving me crazy. Bergamot and sandalwood, two of my absolute weaknesses. It’s masculine, rich, the kind of smell that lingers long after someone’s gone. And then there’s the way he watches me.
Not touching. Not reaching.
He just sits back, like a king on his throne, his gaze heavy with quiet intensity, drinking in every movement like he owns the whole damn place.
And the way it makes me feel?
Dangerous.
“What brings you in tonight?”
He snorts, the deep, rumbling sound sending an unexpected shiver down my spine. My nipples take notice, too.
“Who could resist dressing up for Halloween in May?” he muses, voice laced with amusement.
I laugh, the tension breaking just a little. “Right? But it’s been kind of fun.” I tilt my head, curiosity sparking. “So, why Ghostface?”
His masked gaze holds mine for a beat before he counters, “Why a clown?”
Touché.
I smirk, shrugging. “I love the movie.”
A pause. Then, “Same.”
“Does that mean you’re going to ask me what my favorite scary movie is?”
“Maybe it means I’m going to chase you with my knife.”
I laugh again. “That wouldn’t be a long chase.”
“Oh?”
“My boobs make it hard to run.”
Even though he has a mask on, I swear his gaze goes to my chest.
“What a lovely sight that would be. Your big tits bouncing as you run from me.” He leans in. “Almost as lovely as what they would look like if I fucked you from behind.”
Holy. Shit.
“So, Ruby. Want to tell me your real name?”
I’m not one of those girls who doesn’t want people to know my name. I mean, it’s not like I’m going to run into him outside of this club.
“It’s Cecely.”
The DJ speaks, cutting off my words.
“Cecily?”
“Not Sis-uh-lee.” I lean in. “Ses-lee.”
“Cecely,” he says it the correct way, making goosebumps lift on my skin.
“That’s it. Cecely with an e and not an i.”
“Tell me Cecely with an e and not an i, how much to go to the champagne room with you?”
“You can’t afford me.”
“Try me, mama.”
Holy cow.
“Five hundred.”
His head dips. “Done.”
There’s always a moment when you give a client a number where you wished you’d gone higher. Would he have paid more? Six? Seven? Eight hundred? The funny thing is I would have gone lower if he had said no.
It’s why I should tell him I’ve changed my mind.
I’m in too deep. I?—
His hand goes to my hip, pulling me from my thought. “Are you ready, Cecely?”
“Sure am.” I hold out my hand. “This way.”
When his large hand closes around mine, I feel a jolt that goes right to my core. This man is a walking red flag and yet I’m not sure I could stop this even if I wanted.
I lead him from the main floor, weaving through the crowd, the pulse of the music fading slightly as we step into the dimly lit hallway. I stop in front of one of the so-called champagne rooms and push the door open.
Room. Ha! That’s a generous term.
It’s barely more than a glorified closet with just enough space for a single chair, the client, and me. The owner is too cheap to invest in anything more extravagant. No plush seating, no bottle service, no sultry lighting to set the mood. Just four walls, a chair, and the promise of privacy. All three “champagne rooms” look exactly the same.
If Jade were running this place, she’d turn it around in a heartbeat, giving it the ambiance, the luxury, the exclusivity it’s supposed to have. But unless a miracle happens, I don’t see that changing anytime soon.
He sits. His legs spread wide, that signature way men take up as much space as possible. He leans back into the chair, settling in like a king on his throne. Even though I can’t see his face behind the mask, I can feel it. The smirk.
He’s waiting. Watching. Testing me.
I don’t hesitate.
With a flick of my fingers, I press the button on the side of his chair. The music starts. The timer begins.
And then I move.
“How much time am I getting?”
“Three minutes,” I answer as I dance.
“That’s not long enough.”
I spin, grinding against him before I answer, “Then I guess you’ll be giving me more money.”
“Guess so.”
I arch against his crotch, making him grunt. Good. I need the upper hand in here.
“So, Cecely, what are the rules back here?”
I smile, even though my back is still toward him.
“First time at a strip club?” I wait a beat. “Out on the floor, there’s no touching. Same in a private dance.” I spin to face him. “In here, well, the rules are less strict.”
“So I can do this?”
He reaches around, cupping my ass with both of his large hands.
“Yup.”
“And this?”
One hand moves to my hip while the other skims between my legs.
“Uh huh.”
“And if I asked to touch you beneath your clothes?”
I smile. “That would be an extra grand.”
He grunts, his voice low and edged with something dark. “So, we’re up to two grand. What else can I get back here?”
I lean in, my breath ghosting against the side of his mask, wishing I could feel his skin beneath my lips. Damn this stupid mask. Instead of nipping at his ear like I want to, I shift tactics.
Slowly, deliberately, I straddle his lap, pressing my body flush against his. His hands find my hips, firm but not demanding, letting me set the pace.
I tilt my head, letting my lips hover near where his jaw would be. “That depends,” I murmur, rolling my hips ever so slightly. “How much are you willing to spend?”
His fingers tighten on me, a silent promise, a challenge. The air between us thickens, charged, and I can tell he’s the type who isn’t used to being denied. And yet, I hold all the power right now.
Giving him a small smirk, I reach down and pull the side of my suit aside. He wastes no time running his fingers through my heat.
“So wet. Is this all for me, Cecely?”
I rock against his fingers. “Maybe.”
He pulls back his hand, making me pout.
“So, for two grand I get six minutes, and I can pet your pussy. What else is on the table?”
The light flashes on the side of his chair, which means his time is almost up.
I answer, “Sadly, not much more than that.”
“What if I said I felt a connection with you?”
“God, please don’t be one of those guys. This is just a dance, Ghosty, nothing more than that.”
“You dripped your juices all over my hand. Do you do that for all of your clients?”
I stand, getting pissed off at the tone he’s using.
“One, that’s a fucked up thing to say to someone. Two, of course you’d assume it was all because of you.” I gesture toward him. “My dude, I can’t even see your face. Why on earth would I be turned on because of you?”
I turn to leave when he grabs my arm, spinning me toward him. The crazy thing is that I don’t feel fear. I feel excitement.
“I apologize. That was uncalled for.” His tone softens. “Can we start over? Please?”
“Sure we can, but it’s going to cost you another grand.”
He reaches into his jacket, pulling out a stack of cash.
“There’s ten grand there, Cecely. It’s all yours.”
“What’s the catch?”
“There's no catch. Promise.”
My eyebrow lifts and I'm silent as I think. Part of me knows I should turn around and walk away, but the other half is curious.
I say fine, “We can start over. But you better not try anymore shit.”
“Deal.” He waits a beat. “So, Cecely, how long have you been working here?”
“On and off for a few years. It helps pay for school.”
“Ah. The age-old dilemma of why one strips. I'm not judging by the way.”
“Thanks for clearing that up.” I smile. “And it might be stereotypical, but it's the truth. I'm also dancing because my friend needs help with his medical expenses.”
I don't know why I say this out loud. This guy doesn't know me and couldn't care less about Harvey and his medical issues.
He surprises me by saying, “I'm sorry to hear that. I'm sure that has to be hard for both of you.”
“Yeah. It really is. What about you? Did you really only come in tonight because of the theme?”
He's silent for a moment. “Partly. I also came in because I'm lonely.”
I don't know what possesses me to say, “I get off in an hour. Maybe we can grab a cup of coffee or something.”
There aren’t many places open when I leave after my shift at the club, but there is an all-night diner down the street that has amazing coffee. Picking a place like this lets him know that I’m not trying to take him back to my place or to a hotel. I don't want this guy to think that I’m trying to offer him something that I'm not willing to give up.
“That would be nice.”
I say, “Well, thanks for the 10 grand. It will help Harvey out a lot.”
He says, “Glad to help.”
I open the door and lead the way out. He follows close enough that I can feel the heat from his body. When we reach his table, I turned to face him.
“I'll see you soon.”
He dips his head as he sits down, pulling his phone out. It secretly pleases me that he's not watching the next performer on stage. Like I'm special or something.
When I get backstage, Jade is the first person to stop me.
“Oh my God! He took you to the champagne room! How was it?”
“It was good,” I say with a smile. “We're going for coffee when I get off.”
Jade grabs on my arm. “Just be careful, girl.”
I know what she means. While I made a comment about my client thinking it was more than just a dance earlier, it's a two-way street. It's just as easy for me to think that the guy is really into me and not just living out some kind of sick fantasy. I'm not saying that everybody that comes in here is bad or has ill intent, but I've definitely seen my share of entitled assholes.
“Want me to text you?”
I smile at Jade. “You know I do.”
Having her text me is a safety measure that she offers to any girl in the club that meets up with a client afterwards. She's usually at the club several hours after it closes. Even if she couldn’t physically help, it’s still someone that knows where I am and can call the cops for me if I sound the alarm. Luckily, I've never had to text her back for help. But it's good to have just in case.
I spend the last hour of my shift helping some of the newer girls with their makeup before they go on stage. Right before it's time to leave, I count the money that I made. On top of the ten thousand I made in the champagne room, I also made two thousand in tips from my dance on the stage. I'm sure most of that money came from Ghosty. And I'm not mad about it. That’s twelve thousand dollars that will help Harvey.
I’m smiling as I change into jean shorts, sandals, and a t-shirt. Taking off the clown make-up is a pain in the ass and leaves my face pink. I redo my ponytail, grab my bag, and then head out to the main floor. The lights are on, which always makes me laugh. It takes away the mystery of the club. All that’s left is trash on the floor and a few stragglers, like Ghosty.
“I figured you’d have taken off the mask by now.”
He answers, “And miss the chance to wear it a bit longer? I think not.”
I say, “I’m parked out back. Do you want to meet at the restaurant down the street?”
He’s silent for a moment. Maybe he’s having second thoughts or getting cold feet. It happens.
“What would you say if I didn’t want to grab coffee?”
“Hey, it’s okay.” I smile. “It was great meeting you, Ghosty.”
I turn to leave when he grabs my wrist, stopping me.
“You misunderstand. I still want to spend time with you tonight, but not at a restaurant.” He pauses. “Do you trust me?”
“I don’t even know you, so, no, not really.”
“I guess that's fair. What if I promise I'm not a serial killer?”
“Isn't that what every serial killer would say?”
“Guess you got me again.” He puts his hands in his pant pockets, cocking his head to the side. “Well, Cecely, guess this is good night, then.”
I don’t know what possesses me to ask, “Where did you want to go? Instead of the restaurant?”
“There’s a park nearby. It’ll be quiet. We can chat.”
“Which one is it?”
“Cedar Ridge Preserve. It’s about twenty minutes from here.”
I know the place he’s talking about. Secluded. Quiet. And this time of year? Absolutely gorgeous.
But that’s exactly what makes me hesitate.
I take a slow, steady inhale, hoping—praying—for my intuition to kick in, to tell me whether this is a terrible idea.
Unfortunately for me, my libido has joined the conversation. And let’s be real. It’s not exactly known for sound judgment.
Look at his big muscles.
He smells so damn good.
It’s been forever since you got laid.
That last one? That one gets me.
Before I even realize it, my spine straightens, my posture shifts like my body is suddenly remembering exactly how long it’s been. Damn it.
“Yeah. I know where it’s at.”
“Does that mean you’re going to come with me?”
“Yeah.” I pause. “But you better not, like, try to kill me or anything.”
“Scout’s honor.”
“Okay. Guess I’ll follow you there.”
“Smart girl.”
I snort. “That’s debatable. I’m in the blue Honda.”
“Noted.”
“See you in a few.”
I leave through the back door, but not before Jade gives me two thumbs up.
When I get in my car and pull around, he’s already in his, waiting. The windows are tinted, so I can’t see in very well, but I’m pretty sure he’s still wearing the mask. Weird, but whatever floats his boat.
He pulls out of the parking lot, taking a right. I follow him the entire way to the preserve. He goes past the main entrance, turning down a dirt road that I’ve never noticed before. My music plays loudly in my car as I follow him down the road that gets bumpier and bumpier with each passing moment. I’m just about to pull over and turn around when he comes to a stop next to a band of pine trees. I park next to him, bringing only my keys and phone.
He gets out of his car. Sure enough, he’s still wearing the mask. Before I can tease him about it, he opens his back door, pulling out a black duffel bag and a plaid blanket.
He turns to me and says, “Come on. There’s a perfect spot just through here where we can sit and chat.”
“You know, you’re not really doing much to help the whole serial killer vibe.” I gesture toward him. “Who carries a blanket and a mysterious black bag?”
“Like I said, I was a scout. I like to be prepared. And everyone should have a blanket in their car, especially living in Texas.”
I mean, he’s not wrong. The weather can be unpredictable in the spring and winter.
“Well, I suppose I’ll have to trust you.” I hold up my cell phone. “But don’t think I won’t call for help if needed.”
“Noted.”
I smile and take his outstretched hand. You only live once. Right?