Page 11 of The Biker and the Baker
There are about four different stages in various areas, that's how huge this place is. Too much awesomeness to take in all at once. Put simply, Cookie’s Crème is hella dope.
As we move deeper and deeper into the club, I notice the quality of patrons are next level. No stragglers, youths, thugs. All expensive suits, Rolex watches, and million-dollar smirks.
The cover charge makes sense now. It keeps out the stragglers and welcomes the high rollers.
Had it not been Lissa’s birthday, we would’ve also been stragglers who balked at the price and turned away at the door.
It’s not long before a gorgeous hostess intercepts us, introduces herself as Barbie, and offers to seat us. When Lissa inquired about the price for a VIP booth, she almost chokes when she hears it.
“We do have a cheaper section,” Barbie offers, realizing we’re losers. “Four club chairs. Roped off area. Three hundred dollars for two hours. But it’s self-contained, so no bottle service, no security, no priority.”
“Seriously?” Mira asks.
“We’ll take it!” Lissa blurts out. And before any of us can protest, she holds up a hand. “This one’s all on me guys. It’s my freakin’ birthday, I’ll do what I want and you aren’t allowed to say crap about it.”
Who’s to argue with the birthday girl?
Minutes later, Barbie has us set up in a not-quite-VIP section not too far from the bar, considering we have to get our own drinks.
I pick up the drinks list from the glowing glass table and scan it. “Holy guacamole.”
Mira peers at it over my shoulder. “Yep. This place is way above our pay range. We’re def not their target audience.”
“Oh, for crying out loud!” Lissa exclaims. “Could you all stop complaining about how much everything costs and just enjoy yourselves?”
“Sure,” I say, shrugging. “But after that cover charge, the only thing I’m able to afford off this list is a beer or a bottle of water.”
She comes over to grab the drinks list from my hand and scans it. “Damn. Twelve dollars for a beer? These people aren’t messing around.”
“Guess we’re gonna be drinking water all night,” Mira titters.
Lissa throws down the drinks list and shrugs. “Big whoop. Look at this place. It’s ah-freaking-mazing! Tell me you’ve been to a club in Denver that comes close to this one.”
We can’t, because we haven’t. Cookie’s Crème is on another level. It’s more than a gentleman’s club. It’s an experience. Even if we have to pay through our noses to have it.
“Well, hell.” I throw my hands up. “Let’s make the most of it. I’ll go get us some expensive ass beer.”
“Whoo!”
A handful of people stand in wait at the bar, as it would seem that everyone else can afford bottle service. The bartender takes my order for four beers.
"Fuckin’ A,” a deep male voice rumbles from behind me, “you've got more curves than a triple eight, beautiful."
"I know," I say with unbridled confidence. I mean, getting hit on in a club teeming with half-naked, model-figure women is a definite head-trip. "I'm a bombshe—"
My words dry up when I turn and see the face of my admirer, who appears to be just as surprised as I am.
Well, hell. I shouldn’t be surprised he’s here, it’s his aunt's club. Still, I can't stop my mouth from forming the words, accompanied by a scowl, "What areyoudoing here?"
"Could ask you the same thing." His lips tip up in a smirk as he folds his arms across his broad chest. "Didn't peg you as the boobs and booze type."
"And I didn't think you ever stopped to look at me long enough to 'peg' me as anything other than unsuitable," I snap back.
He frowns. "What?"
"Order up. Four beers." The bartender knocks his knuckles to the counter, and I turn around. "That'll be forty-eight."
I hand him a fifty and tell him to keep the change, but his expression conveys he thinks I'm a cheap ass for tipping two dollars. He should be grateful, because if I’d had the exact change, he would have gotten nothing.
