Page 46 of The Biker and the Professor
However, at the start of the break, when I began to feel sorely deprived of Nero’s face, I chose to forgive her, because she’s the closest I’ll ever get to him. To a small degree, being around her soothed the ache and longing inside me.
Turns out it'sherbirthday this time around and she's throwing herself a big bash at her club. Just like that, I’m thinking about Nero, whose birthday is in two weeks.
“Oh my God, I didn’t know!” I exclaim, wrapping her into a well-wishing hug. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Eh.” She sips amber liquid from a glass. “Don’t really care for birthdays. It’s just a reminder that I’m getting old.”
“Then why are you throwing a bash?”
She looks at me as if I’m dippy. “To make money, of course. The bar makes five times as much when there’s a bash.”
“Ah.”
She regards me as she takes another sip of liver-damning alcohol. “You should come.”
I stretch cling wrap across a batch of brownies. “Uh, strip clubs aren’t really my scene.”
“It’s a birthday bash,” she reminds me. “Mybirthday bash.”
Yeah, inside a strip club.
“If you’re worried about Nero being there, it’s not necessary,” she adds. “He’s not hung-up on you anymore. He’s completely moved on.”
I’m sure she thought she was doing me a favor by telling me that, but instead, what she’sreallydone is murdered my heart with a machine gun. I may not want to be with him, but I don't want him tonotwant to be with me. I don't want him to move on from me. I don't want him tonotbe hung up on me. Because I will never stop wanting him. I’ve only chosen not tobewith him.
Selfish of me, I know. But I can’t help it.
My deep hurt must have been showing on my face, because Cookie swears, “Shit. I’m sorry. I thought that's what you wanted.”
“It is,” I lie, avoiding eye contact. “Is he... Is he happy?”
“Seems that way. But by the looks of it,you'renot.” Then she sighs. “I’ve clearly just messed up again. Forget about the bash. You don't have to come.”
“No, it's fine.” I'm unable to stymie the traitorous tear that leaks from my eye. “I'll come.”
~
Once again, thanks to Cookie, I find myself in an environment where I’m well out of my element and comfort zone. Although I’ve heard a lot about Cookie’s club, I’ve never been inside hers, or any other strip club before.
I was expecting a dark, icky, den of debauchery, but “Cookie’s Creme” is nothing like that. This is no dusty, smoky, dim-lit hole in a wall. For one, it's larger than I would’ve ever imagined. Two floors. Clean, modern, and sharp with an artistic kaleidoscope of lights everywhere. In the center of the club, there’s one main stage with three poles, then one smaller, circular stage closer to the right.
On both sides of the club are two winding sets of metal stairs that lead to the second level, where the floor glows with neon-green light. From the ceiling hangs three levitated glass boxes with writhing, topless women inside them.
To say I'm impressed by Cookie’s establishment is an understatement. Never would I imagine myself beingimpressedby a strip club. But I am.
Also, I seemed to have missed the dress code memo, because I’m one of the very few people who aren’t wearing white. The bikers are easily distinguished, seeing as they aren’t following the dress code either, all in black, gray, or denim.
Nero usually wears a white T-shirt under his leather jacket, but I don't see him.
A tall, modelesque woman emerges from the crowd and tugs at my arm. “Hey, you need to come with me.”
“What? Why?” I ask. “Who are you?”
“Oh, sorry, I’m a hostess here. Kacey. The owner told me to come and get you.”
I allow the woman to lead me upstairs, and we walk across the glowing neon-green floors to a roped-off section. VIP, I assume. Cookie is seated beyond the ropes with Onyx. She waves me in.
As the bouncer unhooks the velveted red rope to give me passage, the hostess asks me, “What are you drinking?”
