Page 2 of Fighter

Tress looks at me like I’m crazy. “Bitch, you’re nuts. With that body? Those tits? Those lips? You’re gonna make more than I am as long as you don’t do something stupid like puke on a guy or toot in his face! Just keep your shit together, do as I told you, and don’t give any handjobs, no matter how much he offers you.”

We get out and head into the club through the back entrance and into the locker room, where a few other girls are getting ready. I’ve never seen so much skin in my life. Most of them don’t have tops on, and their bottoms are basically pieces of colored floss. I don’t even know where to look.

“Hey, bitches!” Tressa exclaims. God, I wish I had her personality. “This is Roxy. She’s my bff, so if any of you girls give her a hard time, I’ll put my foot so far up your vag that when you have your next kid, it’ll just fall out of your cervix. Got it?”

A few of the girls sneer and give us both the evil eye, but most of them just laugh. Tressa unlocks a locker and puts both of our purses inside, then takes me by the hand and leads me down the hallway to the main room. The music grows louder as we walk, but I barely notice it over the sound of my heart thudding in my ears.

I’ve never actually been inside the club. There are three stages, two small ones on the sides and one big one where a woman in her late 30s is dancing, dressed in assless chaps and a cowgirl hat. And God, does she know what she’s doing. How am I supposed to compete with that? I don’t even know if I’ll be able to get down to my lingerie without fainting.

“You’re nervous. It shows,” Tressa tells me, shouting in my ear over the music. “I’ll go find us guys. You wait here!”

Before I can say anything, she’s gone, threading her way through the sea of bodies. It’s mostly men of course, but there are some girls who seem to be having a good time. I stand there fidgeting as three men who look like lawyers in their 60s stop a few feet from me. Their eyes move across my body like coyotes eyeing their prey.

“Hey,” one of them barks. “What’s your name?”

But before I can answer, Tressa saves me. She comes racing back to my side, takes my hand and starts pulling me toward the bar. I almost fall in my five-inch heels. How do girls walk in these? Give me my flats any day.

“Oh my God, you lucked out, bitch. I found you a gorgeous guy. He’s playing all hard to get, saying he doesn’t want a lap dance, but when he sees you, he’ll change his mind.”

Yeah, unless he doesn’t, I think. I guess I should be grateful that my first customer is going to be good-looking, but now the pressure is on. I

’d almost rather dance for a creep with low expectations. I take a deep breath and stand up straight, doing my best to make my boobs look good. Tressa pulls me forward, and when I see him, all the air goes out of my lungs.

I’ve only ever seen men like him in magazines. He’s leaning against the bar in a tight t-shirt that looks like it’s ready to tear around his thick, strong arms. He’s got muscles I don’t even know the names of. He’s sitting, but I can tell he’s tall just by looking at him.

My nervousness reaches a whole new level and I pull against Tressa’s hand.

“Tressa! Tressa, no! No, I can’t!”

“Yes you can, bitch,” she hisses. “Stop making a scene!”

She practically drags me over to his side, where another two girls are doing their best to get his attention. But he’s completely ignoring them. His eyes are fixed right on me.

He has the face of a model. What’s a guy like him doing in a place like this? He should be in front of a camera somewhere, sweeping girls from Milan off their feet.

“Maximus, this is Roxy. Roxy, this is Maximus.”

Maximus? Did she really just say that?

The gorgeous man grunts out a laugh. “Call me Max…Roxy.”

“So…do you two want to get out of here?” Tressa asks. I feel like a show pony being put on display. I’m sweating. This is worse than when I sang for my 4th grade talent show. “Maybe go into the back for a dance? I know you said you didn’t want one, Max, but now that you see her—”

“Yes,” Maximus barks. He gets to his feet, towering over me, and steps so close that I can smell his sweat. Something stirs within me as he looks me up and down. “We are going to get out of here.” He nods.

“Great!” Tressa exclaims. “I’ll show you to the booths—”

“No,” he says firmly. “Not the booths. Out of here.”

Tressa glances nervously over at me and then back to him. “You mean…out of the club?”

Still keeping his eyes on me, Maximus shows the tiniest hint of a smile. His eyes flash, causing my heart to flutter. He nods. “You’re goddamn right I do.”

2

Maximus

Who is this little minx?

---