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Scarlett gave me a little wave and drifted off. Jade took her stool like she’d won it.
“Smart man,” she said. “She’s sweet. I’m fun.”
She was twenty-nine, she told me, and she’d been dancing for seven years, and she said both of those things like she was reading the small print of a contract. She ordered herself a drink without asking and put it on my tab. Fair enough. I’d have bought it anyway.
Up close she was all long legs and confidence. Olive skin, a gold chain round her waist, dark eyes lined like a cat’s. When she laughed she put her hand flat on my chest and left it there, feeling my heartbeat pick up.
“You’re nervous,” she said.
“First time.”
“I can tell. It’s adorable.” She slid her hand down my shirt, slowly, button by button, stopping at my belt. “Okay, first timer. Here’s how it works. You can sit right here and I’ll dance for you, and you can buy me drinks and we can be friends. Or,” she tipped her head toward the curtain at the back, “we go somewhere private and I show you what seven years of practice looks like.”
“How much is private?”
“Two hundred for half an hour.” She smiled. “Worth every penny. Ask anyone.”
She shifted on the stool, letting her knee press between my thighs, right up against my hard-on. She definitely felt it. She definitely meant to.