Page 1 of Ride Hard
Sloane
There weretwo things that pissed me off inlife.
Money and assholes.In no particularorder.
People needed money to pay for things like rent and food, and, in my case, college. It was the greatest evil the world had ever seen. Little shiny coins and bits of paper stood between us and our nextmeal.
That’s where the assholes came in. To get the money, you had to go through a wall of smelly, opinionated orifices. Everyone had a butthole just like they all had anopinion.
Teasers Gentlemen’s Club was one of those openings. While I should’ve aimed a little higher, at least I was paid more than a job flipping burgers at the local ‘Golden Arches.’ It wasn’t so bad even if I had to watch a six-hour rotation of pole dancing from behind thebar.
Pouring whiskey and beers for minimum wage and crappy tips wasn’t how I wanted to spend my Friday nights, especially with the sleazeballs who frequented the place, but I had to earn a living somehow. I’d lost count of how many variations of ‘show us your tits’ I’d heard over the last year. If I were lucky, they were called breasts and not the lower class names of cans or jugs. Still, they could never tip me enough to coax my T-shirt up and my bradown.
Glancing across the club, I narrowed my eyes as a scantily clad woman swung around on a pole. Her stilettoed feet pointed into the air as her tits bobbed up and down. When she approached a row of men watching from the side of the stage, she bent over and gave them a good gawp at her slit before kneeling for the goods. Money was shoved down her garter belt, and off she wentagain.
Knowing how often those poles got disinfected—which was never—I always wondered if the strippers rubbed STDs on one another. At least they could all save a little cash by handing around their topical cream backstage. Sharingwascaring.
Shit, I couldn’t really say anything about how they supported themselves. I was part of the problem. Alcohol and lap dances went together like sunshine andrainbows.
“Hey, Sloane,” a voice said behind me. “How’s itgoing?”
Turning away from the glitzy exploitation of the female form, I smiled as my one and only friendapproached.
Every time I saw Yvette, I died a little inside from jealousy. She was a tall, busty blonde with big blue eyes, who got all the tips and then some. The other night, she was slipped a hundred for little more than fluttering her long eyelashes. No boobsrequired.
There were two requirements for getting a job at Teasers Gentlemen’s Club. Being pretty and having a great rack. Yvette had both in spades. The slimy manager had tried to convince her to ‘dance,’ but she’d declined, saying she wanted to set an example for her daughter. She was a single mother trying to earn enough to keep a roof over her little girl’s head and send her to school. It was cliché, but after her boyfriend found out she was up the duff and bolted, she had nochoice.
Yeah, not everyone here was living on the same rung that was the sleazy ladder of life. I should learn not to be so judgmental. Call it a character flaw, which was hypocritical considering where I’d come from. I’d sprung from the loins of a careercriminal.
“It goes,” I replied. “Same shit, differentday.”
“How’s the depth?” She flashed me awink.
“Above the flood marker. Worst in fifty years, theysay.”
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic.” She tied a knot in the bottom of her T-shirt so she could show off her trim midriff. “It isn’t that bad. Hector pays us and doesn’t keep the tipjar.”
“Yay,” I drawled. “At least there’s always thejar.”
“What have you done to your hair, girl?” Reaching out, she grabbed the long braid that’d fallen forward over my shoulder and tuggedit.
“Ow! That hurts, youknow.”
“Do that again. I’ll give you five bucks,” a man called out from the other end of thebar.
Flipping him the bird, I cursed and complained as Yvette undid my hair. Once it was loose, she combed her fingers through my long chocolate brown locks, fluffing themup.
“There,” she said. “Much better. The braid has given it a sexykink.”
“That’s what she said,” Ideclared.
“You’re much prettier if you wear your hair out,” Yvette continued. “You should put a little gloss on your lips, too.” She grabbed me again and tied the hem of my T-shirt into a knot like hers. The material rode up, exposing my stomach, and Iflushed.
“Yvette,” Icomplained.
“There.” She stood back and gave me the once-over. “You’ve got a hot bod, Sloane. That’s so much better. Your tips will be, too.” She eyed me and tried to fight a smile from pulling at her lips. “Sayit.”
I rolled my eyes and slumped my shoulders. “Thanks, Yvette, for the extradollar.”
