33. June
JUNE
I swear, all of the roads in The Drift are riddled with potholes, but none are this bad. My fingers dig into the worn seats as Violet drives us along a barren road on the far side of town until we finally reach The Body Shop.
I’ve never been. Obviously. The place is somehow exactly what I would’ve expected, yet nothing like it at all. There aren’t any flashing lights or billboards. Just a discreet building with blacked-out glass doors, preventing anyone from peeking inside.
As we walk up to the front, Lexie calls, “Hey, Ray,” to the man in front of the main doors.
Is he the doorman or bodyguard? I’m not sure which title is more fitting.
The guy looks like a gorilla, with arms the size of my thighs with an earpiece that would make anyone think he’s an undercover agent in a spy movie.
As we approach him, I cross my arms in hopes of blocking some of my cleavage from view.
Not just his view, but you know, everyone’s.
It doesn’t help that if you look really close, you might even catch a lingering bruise or two from my little rendezvous with Ford last weekend.
Yeah, finding my chest covered in hickies when I was getting ready for a shower that night was quite the surprise, thank you very much.
At least the majority have faded now. If only my memories from that night would do the same, but I’m not that lucky.
“Hey, Lex.” He opens the door for us, then follows us inside. “You’re late.”
She turns around to face him while continuing to walk backward and further into the building. “I’ll be out in five!”
“Where’s your outfit?” he calls.
“It’s in my locker. I gotta change.”
“Your uncle’s not gonna be happy.”
“He’ll be fine.” She wiggles her fingers. “Take care of my friends, will you?”
As she disappears around a corner I assume leads to the dressing room, Ray scrubs his hand over his face and plops down into a folding chair set up next to the entrance.
It’s like he’s an elderly father who’s too exhausted to keep his teenager in line, so he lets her get away with murder.
My mouth lifts at the thought. Yeah, he doesn’t seem so bad.
Cigarette smoke and vanilla perfume fill my nostrils as I take a look around the establishment.
Neon signs light up against black-painted walls.
The combination is stark and eye-catching, but not enough to distract from the dancer on the main stage, where a girl in a baby pink teddy and eight-inch heels spins around a pole.
“You Lexie’s friends?” Ray questions, distracting me from my initial assessment of the club. He takes us in with the same bored expression when his attention halts on my best friend. “Violet?”
“Hey, Ray,” Violet says.
“Violet.” The bodyguard clamors off his folding chair and pulls her into a hug. “Been a while.”
“It has,” she agrees. Giving him one final squeeze, she lets him go. “This is June.”
I give him an awkward wave. “Hi.”
“Nice to meet you, June,” he offers. “You dance?”
Is he serious? The idea alone is enough to leave my palms sweaty and my heart in my throat. I tighten my folded arms around me, willing the exposed skin to miraculously grow a layer of fabric because I knew this top was too scandalous! “Oh, I, uh—”
“Only at home when no one’s watching,” Violet says, coming to my defense. “Right, June?”
I gulp but don’t answer. And here I thought he didn’t seem so bad. Way to put me on the spot, Ray.
“Mind if we set up camp at the bar?” Violet asks him.
He motions to it. “Just make sure I can see you at all times, you hear?”
Make sure he can see us at all times?
I don’t know what it is, but the way he says it, the subtle inflection, leaves me on edge. I look around the club, half-expecting the boogie man to jump out and grab me through the dark ambiance. Why would we need to make sure he can see us at all times?
“Sure thing,” Violet answers. “Good to see you again, Ray.”
“You, too, Vi.” The folding chair creaks as he collapses into it again and crosses one ankle over the other.
Resting his meaty arms on his round belly, he opens up a magazine with a fancy car printed on the front with the same bored expression.
I wonder if his presence is enough to keep people in line.
It would be for me. I’m pretty sure he could squish my skull in one hand while he uses the other to cover his yawn without even breaking a sweat. I shiver.
Hooking her arm through mine, Violet guides me to the bar on the right, where an older woman with pink hair is serving drinks. “Hey, Jill,” Violet greets her.
The woman sets down a couple of beers in front of another patron, then looks us up and down, her eyes narrowing on my roommate. “Well, I’ll be damned. If it ain’t my little Violet. Come here, girl.” Leaning over the bar, she gives Violet a quick squeeze. “What can I get ya?”
“Jack and Coke, please,” Violet orders. She gives me a patient, almost encouraging look. It reminds me of when I was little, and my mom would urge me to step out of my comfort zone. Like ask a host where the bathroom is located or tell a doctor my basic information.
I offer the bartender an awkward smile. “Same,” I murmur. Pretty sure I’d choke on anything bigger than a single syllable.
We sit on the swivel barstools and wait for our drinks when the spotlight flickers toward the main stage.
“Everyone put your hands together for the one and only Electra!” the emcee announces.
A woman in six-inch heels saunters onto the stage with a swagger I can't help but envy. Seriously. The confidence with every sway of her hips should be bottled and sold. If it was, she’d make millions.
Nothing but purple lingerie and thigh-high stockings covers her perfect figure as she drags her finger along the polished pole in the center of the stage. She is gorgeous.
Jill sets a drink in front of me, and I flinch at the motion. Why do I feel like I was just caught doing something I shouldn’t? My drink. Right. I reach for the glass and take a long swallow. It’s official. I am way too innocent for this place.
“How are you doing?” Violet asks.
I try to keep my expression in check, but I doubt I look like anything other than a deer caught in headlights. I take another sip, hoping the alcohol will hit, and my awkwardness can finally take a backseat. “I’m great,” I choke out.
She bites back her amusement. “Sure you are.”
“Seriously,” I say. “I’m great. The drink is delicious, the environment is…” I look around the dimly lit space that looks straight out of a mobster movie, “super cool, and the only two workers I’ve met have been nothing but nice.”
“But,” Violet prods.
“No buts,” I tell her. “Honest.” Her eyes narrow like she doesn’t believe me. Then again, I doubt I sound very convincing. “It’s just…a little new,” I rattle on, “but there’s nothing wrong with trying new things.”
“Nothing at all,” she agrees. I don’t miss the smile peeking around her straw as she takes a sip of her own drink.
Darn you, Violet. You know me too well.
“So do you come here often?” I ask, hoping to keep the attention on anything and everything other than my inexperience. “It seems like everyone here knows you.”
“Not really.” Her glass clinks against the counter, and she swirls the straw until her ice begins to dance.
“Every once in a while, when Lexie had a shorter shift, and I still lived with my dad and didn’t want to go home, I’d hang out here at the bar and chat with Jill.
Sometimes I’d be in the back so I could do homework.
” She glances at the girl on stage. “Most of the girls are really nice.”
I follow her gaze. The girl’s top is missing, and she’s upside down on the pole, her long hair hanging toward the ground in a waterfall of black. “I mean, if they’re anything like Lexie, then I’m sure they’re awesome.”
Her nose wrinkles like she tasted something sour. “Most,” she clarifies. “Might want to keep your distance from a few of them, though.”
My eyes pop at her candor. “Good to know.”
The spotlight spins around the room before landing on the stage again while a steady beat pulses through the speakers.
Dang, she’s quick. Goodbye, pole, hello, kitten persona.
On her hands and knees, the girl on stage crawls toward a gentleman in a black suit standing at the edge.
Her gaze is so locked on him, part of me feels like I’m interrupting something.
Seriously, is it hot in here?
When he tucks a twenty into her g-string, I twist my barstool toward the bartender and give the stage my back in the process. Yup. Nope. Good for everyone else here, but this is not my cup of tea.
Drying a glass with a black dish towel, Jill looks me up and down with a grin. “This your first time?”
I swear my cheeks are on fire. Fighting the urge to touch them to confirm my suspicion, I reach for my drink again, and the straw swoops to the opposite side of the glass, making me feel like an idiot while probably looking like one, too.
Pinching the straw, I bring it to my mouth one more time and take a sip.
Be cool, be cool, be cool.
After swallowing the liquid, I ask, “How’d you know?”
She laughs. “All first-timers have a look to ‘em. You ever think of dancin’?”
My eyes bulge all over again. What is it with everyone in here asking if I dance? “No,” I answer. “W-why do you ask?”
Her gaze zeroes in on my boobs playing peekaboo through the big V of the shirt Lexie bought me.
I look down, confirming it’s too dark to see any remnants from Ford’s mouth.
“Bet men would pay a pretty penny for those,” Jill starts.
“Don’t scare her off too quickly,” Violet teases beside me. “She’s already stressed enough as it is.”
“Don’t worry, darlin’,” Jill says. “You see the bodyguard over there?” She points to the entrance. “Name’s Ray.”
“We met.”
“He’s nothin’ but a big ol’ sweetheart. He won’t let no one touch ya…without permission, anyways. ‘Sides, you’re Lexie’s friends. And Lexie? She’s the owner’s niece. Ain’t nothin’ gonna happen without the owner’s approval. Promise.”
“Who’s the owner?” I ask.