Page 52 of Frozen Hearts
A dark mahogany bar with a long, golden-framed mirror lines one wall, and I make a beeline toward it. Following me, Logan claps a hand on my shoulder. “Try not to look like a raccoon pissed in your cereal, yeah?” My nose scrunches in disgust and he barks out a laugh. The energy emanating from him is exhausting. He’s still high from the adrenaline of his wins this weekend and the incredible season his team is having, and I’m hoping one of the performers will catch his attention or he’ll get distracted texting his little tutor friend so I can have some peace. “This is supposed to be a celebration,” he reminds me.
“Yeah, for some rookie on your team that we don’t know,” Royce gripes, as pumped to be at a club as I am. I don’t want to be here because I’m an antisocial bastard, but it’s probably taking everything within Royce to remain inside the building. He hates these things, with good reason. “What nineteen-year-old comes to a burlesque club?” he continues to gripe. “Shouldn’t he be at a strip club in Springview or something?”
Logan simply shrugs, too busy casting his eyes around the room. The club only opened during the summer. However, it has become immensely popular, especially with the rich Halston U students. It’s classier than a typical bar or club, and less sleazy than your standard strip club—although I’ve heard, if you talk to the manager, you can avail of the same services here. While most people probably come for the performances and the atmosphere, others will be seeking the more private, intimate services the club provides on ahush-hushbasis.
“Have a drink, bro,” Logan says, nudging Royce’s shoulder. “Let some girl wiggle her tits in your face and go blow your load in the bathroom. Might help loosen that rod you’ve got lodged in your ass.”
“Fuck off, asshole,” Royce growls, grabbing Logan in a chokehold before the two of them proceed to act like idiots in the middle of a crowded club.
Shaking my head, I increase my strides as I close in on the bar. Once I reach it, I hold my hand up to gain the bartender's attention and order myself a whiskey. As soon as he slides the glass my way, I knock it back, instantly feeling the tightness in my chest loosen.
Even getting blind drunk won’t be enough to obliterate the weight on my shoulders, but a few drinks will help, for a while at least. It’s not as though my problems are going anywhere. They’ll be there waiting for me tomorrow, alongside my hangover. And most likely a barked phone call of orders from my father.
So much to look forward to.
The other two order their drinks before the three of us wind our way through the room, searching for Logan’s teammates.
It’s impossible to miss a crowd of hockey players. They stick out like sore thumbs with their height and broad shoulders, so it’s surprising when we don’t immediately spot them.
“Yo, bro! Over here!” Gavin, one of Logan’s teammates, calls, waving us over to a portion of the club sectioned off behind thick, red velvet ropes.
“VIP. Nice one,” Logan mutters as we step into the exclusive area currently occupied by the entire Halston U ice hockey team, all of whom are sprawled across various booths and chairs.
There is a second, smaller stage, where a performer is putting on a solo show, garnering the attention of most of the team.
“Hey,” Logan greets, giving some of the guys a chin lift in greeting as we walk past. “Happy birthday!” He reaches over to fist-bump the birthday boy while I move to the side of the cordoned-off area and lower myself onto one of the plush booths.
From here, I can look out over the entire club, my gaze landing on the main stage as I watch the performers sway their hips, teasing the audience with the silver sequin pasties covering their nipples.
I’m distracted by red-painted nails as they stroke along my shoulder, and a woman wearing a red and black stripe corset with frilly black lace around the edges and a short, black, tulle skirt that most likely shows her panties when she bends over as she moves to stand in front of me.
“Can I get you a drink?” she asks in a low, seductive voice that implies she’s offering a lot more than a drink. I rake my eyes appreciatively over her body before lifting my gaze to her face as I mull over my answer.
Fuck, when was the last time I got laid?
A no-strings-attached blow job would probably be a better stress reliever than alcohol. Despite that, I settle for a scotch—for now.
Nodding, she saunters off and I go back to watching the main stage as the next performance gets underway. This time, it’s a sole performer. She strides confidently into the center of the stage where she stands with her head lowered, legs hip-width apart, dressed in a shimmering, ruby-red corset adorned with black lace and sequins that glitter beneath the bright stage lights. Long, elegant gloves reach up her arms which are held out at her sides as the first sultry note drifts into the air.
She begins to move, and I stare, captivated. With a flick of her wrist, she expertly removes her gloves, letting them slide down her arms and fall gracefully on the floor. The move gains the attention of every red-blooded male in the room, and my dick twitches in my pants as the music intensifies and she sways her hips in time to the rhythm, teasing the audience with each subtle movement.
From this angle, I can’t see her face, and I find myself mentally demanding that she look this way. I’m so caught up in her performance that I don’t notice the red-nailed woman has returned until she pushes my drink into my hand.
“Who’s that?” I ask, indicating the dancer on the stage.
The waitress follows my line of sight before answering, “Aurora Noir.”
“Aurora Noir,” I repeat, liking the way her name rolls off my tongue. It’s a stage name, obviously—one that has my blood heating with a desire I haven’t felt in a long time.
“She’s aperformer,” the waitress states, emphasizing the wordperformer. The subtle implication isn’t lost on me—sheonlyperforms on stage. I can’t say I’m disappointed. Though as my attention drifts back to the stage, I decide that for now I’m happy to sit and watch my enchantress lure every man in the room into her web.
Huffing under her breath, the waitress moves to step away, but I snap out a hand and ensnare her wrist. Wrenching my eyes from the stage, I trail them over her body. It’s not the one I want, but should the need arise, it would do. “Stay close. I might have use for you later.”
She gives me a coy smirk, nodding before I let go of her wrist and turn back to the stage as the performance reaches its climax. Aurora unhooks her garter, sliding it down her leg before hooking it over her heel and tossing it into the audience. The hypnotic display results in a moment of silence as the music ends, before the room erupts into thunderous applause.
“Fucking hell, that was way hotter than it should be,” Royce mutters, momentarily startling me. I hadn’t even realized he’d joined me.
Ignoring him, I lean forward in my seat as the woman on the stage bows, before lifting her head to bid the crowd farewell.
