Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 87629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
I take a cab to the locale instead of the subway. Getting on the subway wearing the corset doesn’t feel right to me, but I’ve started watching my pennies. Having Jackson absent from my life made me realize just how many meals we share that he pays for. Consequently, I’ve been spending my cab money on food for the last month.
When I arrive at the club where the Long Island Playboys are performing, I pay the cabbie and hope I’ll be able to hitch a ride home with Frankie or one of the others.
Gigi and Isabella reserved a few tables up front. I walk toward them after telling the house that I’m with the bachelorette party.
“Mandy!” Frankie yells. “We weren’t sure you’d make it. The show’s about to start.”
“I’m here. No worries.”
Not that any of them were worried. I’m hardly the party animal they are.
A very good-looking and muscular waiter who’s wearing a bow tie but no shirt saunters up to me. “What can I get you to drink?”
“Sidecar, please.”
“You got it.” He winks.
He has several dollar bills shoved in the waistband of his pants. Is he one of the dancers? Probably not, but apparently some feel the need to tip him in his waistband for bringing them a drink.
Whatever.
Isabella and Gigi are counting out their dollar bills.
“We each brought a hundred,” Gigi says.
“A hundred?” I gasp.
“Yeah,” Frankie says. “You brought loose bills, didn’t you?”
“Uh…I didn’t, actually.”
“Mandy, don’t you know anything?”
“Sure I do. I’ve just been busy. I forgot.”
It’s not a lie. I did forget. And yes, I know you’re supposed to tip when you go to a male revue, but frankly, I can’t waste any money right now.
Frankie pushes a pile of money in front of me. “You can owe me.”
I roll my eyes. “No thanks.”
“Oh, forget it. It’s a gift, okay? You don’t owe me anything. This my bachelorette party, Mandy. Have some freaking fun, why don’t you?”
Fine. Fun.
When the hunk in the bowtie and no shirt comes back with my sidecar, I shove a dollar bill into his waistband, which is actually a lousy tip, because the drinks here are about fifteen bucks a pop. I should be giving him a three dollar tip at least.
Frankie told me ahead of time that the party was already paid for and that I could have as many drinks as I wanted. She’s being a little dense, telling me that, since Isabella, Gigi, and I paid for the whole thing.
Yeah, I’m pretty strapped this month.
I take a sip of my sidecar, savor the sour and sweet.
Then I nod to Hunky Waiter. “Another,” I say.
He nods and smiles. Shimmies his hips a little at me.
I’m going to need at least two drinks to get through this evening.
Chapter Forty-Six
Jackson
After more than a month of no communication with Mandy, I finally broke down. I called Pendleton Berry to find out if maybe he knew what was up with Mandy and Frankie.
Turns out tonight is Frankie’s bachelorette party.
And also Penn’s bachelor party, to which he granted me an impromptu invitation, which is how I find myself at The Lion’s Den, a strip club.
I’m expected to get turned on by women who gyrate their booties for cash.
This doesn’t turn me on.
I see naked women all the time at the club.
Of course…I haven’t been to the club in a month.
Seeing Ben at work is more than enough right now.
Do I miss it? In some ways. I miss being around people who understand me. But going to the club and finding a submissive to do a scene with? I just have no desire.
I don’t want to be with anyone right now, which is bizarre. I’ve thought of Mandy—a lot, actually—but each time, I consciously wipe her from my mind. My fears have come true. Our friendship has been ruined.
I’ve ruined it.
She hasn’t called me, and though I yearn to call her, I can’t. I won’t put her in the position of having to talk to me when she doesn’t want to.
What happened between us should never have happened. Frankie was wrong. Mandy’s not in love with me—a fact that scars me in my soul. Am I in love with her? I can’t even entertain the thought, not when I’ve ruined everything between us.
So here I am, sitting at a strip club with Penn, who I don’t even like very much, as he gets a lap dance from a dancer who looks kind of like Morticia Addams.
She holds out her fake tits, and he latches onto her nipple.
That’s a no-no. You’re not supposed to touch the strippers. They can touch you, but you don’t touch them.
However…many of them relax the rules when money is dangled in front of them.
Hey, no judgment. Everyone has to make a living. It’s not the stripper I’m judging. It’s Penn. He’s about to get married, and he’s sucking another woman’s tit. Not cool.