Now or Never: A Last Chance Romance (Part 1) by Logan Belle

Author:Logan Belle [Belle, Logan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC005000, FIC027010, FIC027020
ISBN: 9780988835566
Goodreads: 18621272
Publisher: Moxie Books
Published: 2013-09-30T23:00:00+00:00

*** ***

The building on South Street is impossible to miss, shining with an obnoxious pink neon sign that says Private Eyes, along with a silhouette of a naked woman with tiny hips and enormous breasts.

“How…welcoming,” I say sarcastically.

“Don’t be a hater.”

I’m uncomfortable walking inside, as if I’m doing something illegal. A burly man checks my ID. I can’t help but smile; it’s been a long time since that’s happened.

Inside, the music is heavy metal — old stuff. Scorpions, “No One Like You.”

The room isn’t that large. It smells slightly musty, and has a worn, shabby feel to it. I don’t want to touch anything.

Justin leads me to a seat at the side of the stage. It’s long, like a runway in a fashion show, with a square broad part at the end.

“What are you drinking, sweetheart?” The cocktail waitress directs the question to me. Clearly there’s no question if we’re drinking — just what.

“Two Ketels on the rocks,” Justin says.

At the tail end of the stage is a metal pole going up to the ceiling. On this pole is a young, beautiful woman with waist-length brown hair streaked with blond, wearing only a thong and six-inch clear heels.

A couple sits a few seats away from us, closer to the end of the runway. The man has his hand at the base of the woman’s back, and moves it down, disappearing into her jeans. As if sensing my stare, he turns to look right at me. He winks.

I turn quickly away, refocusing on the stripper.

Her back is to the pole, and she slides to the floor, then slowly back up. Her body is long and lean, thin without being skinny. Her breasts are large in proportion to her slender hips but somehow not cartoonish. In other words, her body is perfect.

Our drinks appear. Justin tips the waitress. I hold the tall, narrow glass, happy to have something to do with my hands. This whole scene is really embarrassing. I’m uncomfortable, but I don’t want to be a poor sport and tell him I want to leave already.

The dancer turns to face the pole, holds it with one hand, then leans back, swinging around it like a kid in a playground. She has a tattoo of a gun on one shoulder, and a bunch of writing I can’t read on the other.

Then, in a feat of acrobatics beyond my grasp of basic physics, she pulls herself up the pole and hangs upside down, holding on with only her thighs. Her long hair sweeps the floor, and the men throw more cash at her. Literally at her. I notice a few of them ball the bills so they make contact with her body instead of just wafting to the stage floor.

She grasps the pole with both hands and scissors her legs into a split, then pulls herself around so her legs are in position so she can glide back to the ground, her feet on the floor.

The song ends. My heart is pounding.

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