2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Christian

“Hey, Christian. Could you cover my table?”

“Which one?” I ask Noel, adjusting the skimpy-ass booty shorts that are trying to ride up my ass.

“Ten?”

I look over at the table of rowdy men my friend-slash-coworker is talking about and groan. “Noel…”

“I know, I know. But please?” he says, hands held together beneath his chin. “You’re so much better with them than I am.”

I capitulate easily, knowing it’s not Noel’s fault he got stuck with the group. Some customers are going to be trouble; you just know it. And Noel, well… He’s not the best at fending off trouble.

“I got it,” I assure him, giving his shoulder a pat as I pass. Pasting on a big smile, I approach the men in business wear.

As a club that boasts the finest boys on The Strip , you don’t come to Knee Highs for the music. You come to ogle half- naked men dancing in cages or those serving overpriced drinks. Tonight? I’m the latter.

“Hey, boys,” I greet, cocking a hip as I reach the table. “What can I get for ya?”

The guy closest to me eyes me up and down. “Well, shit. How about one of you?”

The rest snicker, and it’s all I can do not to roll my eyes. “Sorry. Not on the menu. How about a hurricane? The bartender makes it strong.”

The guy isn’t deterred. “Aw, c’mon now, sweet thing. Give us a twirl?”

“If you want to see the back of me,” I reply shortly, grin in place, “that can be arranged. But then you’ll be left without a server. Order or not. Your choice.”

He huffs but asks for a bourbon. I go around the table, nodding at each drink order, not bothering to write them down. I have a weirdly good memory for these sorts of things. Mission accomplished, I turn to go.

I wish I could say the slap to my ass is a surprise. It’s not.

Spinning, I grab Asshole Number One’s wrist, applying enough pressure that he leans forward to reduce the strain.

“You touch without permission again, and you’ll meet the bottom of my boot,” I tell him, flashing my pointy heel his way before dropping his arm.

He rubs his wrist, laughing it off. “Oh, this one has claws.”

“And teeth,” I say, snapping them together before turning and walking away. Fucking alphahole.

“Shit, you okay?” Noel asks as soon as I reach the bar.

“Fine,” I tell him, waving off his concern as I start inputting orders. Unfortunately, that sort of behavior isn’t uncommon here. Even worse is that our boss turns a blind eye to the way his employees are treated inside this club. Another alphahole , if I do say so myself.

Max, my favorite bartender, catches my eye and lifts a brow. He’s a good guy, and I know he’d gladly step in if needed, but I shake my head. I can handle it.

Finished at the touchpad, I give Noel’s arm a squeeze and get back to work. Most of my tables tonight are polite. They’re here for the show and to enjoy drinks with their friends, and they don’t give me any trouble. Table ten, though…

“Another beer, pretty?” That was Asshole Number Three.

“ Pretty moody is more like it,” Number One says.

I flash a toothy smile. “A beer. You got it. Anything else?”

A couple other guys place orders, attention shifting between the dance cages and Asshole Number One, who just looks like he’s biding his time for another crack at me. I try to edge away before he has the chance, but his hand whips out, grabbing my arm.

I blow out a slow breath. Violence was not on the agenda today.

“Come on,” he cajoles. “What would it take to get a real smile out of you?”

He tugs me closer, forcing me to take a step lest I lose my balance.

So much for peace .

I give the guy a real smile as I tip up his chin. And then I hitch my leg over his lap and plant the heel of my boot at his crotch. His eyes widen, and his Adam’s apple bobs.

“I did warn you,” I say sweetly.

“Christian!”

Ah, hell .

I drop my leg and take a step back as my boss comes storming over, a firm set to his jaw I’ve seen a time or two. Or ten .

“My office. Now,” he says.

I don’t wait to hear whatever apology and free drink offer he gives the table. I just walk away, shaking my head when I catch Noel’s worried gaze and heading for the boss’s office. He catches up before long, face a little red.

The door hasn’t even clicked shut when he says, “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking I’d had enough of that guy manhandling me.”

He works his jaw, looking unimpressed. “I’ve tried, Christian. But enough is enough. You’re done here.”

I scoff, unable to help it. “Because I defended myself?”

“Because you have a history of being antagonistic with the customers,” he spits back, circling his desk and plopping into his seat. I bite my tongue, hard , as he glances at the screens along one side of the wall that broadcast the goings-on inside the club. “I’ve given you too many chances here, but you’re bad for business. You’re fired.”

I almost open my mouth. Almost tell him it’s not my fault some people are assholes who don’t know how to keep their hands to themselves. Almost tell him there’s this thing called respecting a person’s bodily autonomy, no matter their occupation or what they choose to wear, and hasn’t he heard of it ? Almost tell him he’s a total and utter prick.

But there’s no point. Me running my mouth— again —isn’t going to change his mind.

I give a nod before turning for the door.

“Leave your keycard with Max,” he says.

“You got it.”

I don’t slam the door. Don’t yell. I simply stop by the employee change room, grab my things—including the keycard that opens the back door—and walk through the club to the bar.

“Max,” I call out.

He eyes me, expression falling when he sees me holding my things. “He give you the boot?”

“Mhm. Here,” I say, handing over the card, certain my boss is watching me right now from inside his cushy office.

“Sorry, lovey.”

I shake my head. “Don’t. It’s not your fault. He’s a crap boss, Max. You know he is.”

“Yeah, well… The world is shit. Everywhere you go.”

“Maybe I refuse to accept that,” I say, my gaze landing on Noel at the edge of the room. My chest squeezes tight. “Do me a favor and watch out for him?”

Max’s eyes find Noel, his expression softening. “You know I will. Take care of yourself, Christian.”

I knock the bar top. “Always do.”

Noel catches up with me on my way to the door, looking downtrodden. “Christian, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

“It’s not,” I assure him. “You know he’s been looking for a reason to fire me.”

Noel winces, but he doesn’t refute it. “What will you do?” he asks, looking over his shoulder. The club is busy tonight, tables full. A guy named Jonah is shaking his ass inside one of the cages, drumming up tips from the onlookers nearby.

“Honestly? I don’t know,” I admit. “I’ll land somewhere, I’m sure.”

“I, uh…” Noel steps closer, speaking so low I nearly miss him over the music. “I know of somewhere that’s hiring. Remember my cousin Tanner?”

I rack my brain when it clicks. “The one that works at the porn studio? He does set design, right?”

Noel smiles a little sheepishly. “That’s the one. He, uh, said they’re looking for new… talent .”

My eyebrows pop up. “You mean porn stars.”

He groans but pulls out his phone. “I know it’s kind of out there, but look. The pay is ridiculously good, and they even have benefits and health insurance and stuff.”

“Seriously?” I ask as Noel shifts his phone screen my way. I skim the ad, curiosity piqued.

“Open auditions end tomorrow,” he tells me before looking over his shoulder again. Max gives him a hurried wave, and Noel curses, tucking his phone away. “Shit, gotta go. Let me know what you decide?”

“I will. And Noel? Be careful.”

He nods, but I don’t feel all that reassured as I watch my friend weave back through the crowded club. Heaving a sigh, I head out the door and into the vibrant bustle of the city. I didn’t bother changing out of my tiny shorts, so I get a few looks and even a catcall, but I ignore it all, taking the bus home.

My apartment’s heavy wooden door creaks when I push it open. I flick on the lights and drop my keys into the bowl under the switch. My mail sits atop the same table. An overdue bill. A statement from the nursing home.

I head past, stopping at the window inside my bedroom.

A smile curves my lips when I see my neighbor across the alleyway. He’s on his bed, a book out in front of him and a pad of paper beside it. His brown hair is a mess, telling me he’s been studying for a good while, and I have the most perfect view of his ass as he bounces his legs through the air behind him.

Unable to resist, I pull out my phone and fire off a text.

Me: Hey, Specs. Looking cozy.

He glances at his phone, and then his head whips my way. I huff a laugh, grinning, even though I know he can’t make me out behind the blinds. Does he have any idea it was me he bumped into the other day outside the convenience store? I highly doubt it, considering he doesn’t even know what I look like. He’s never asked for details about who I am.

My heart sure had beat fast, though, a combination of surprise and awe at suddenly being face to face with the guy who outright invited me to watch him get off three months ago and who hasn’t closed his curtains once since. His light brown eyes were even wider in person behind those thick-framed glasses of his, and he was right there for the first time, so close I could touch.

But then his phone rang, he turned away, and my chance to say something— anything —was lost.

A ping breaks through my thoughts.

Specs: Hey. You’re home early.

I let out another sigh.

Me: Yeah. I got fired.

He jolts slightly.

Specs: Crap. I’m sorry.

Me: It is what it is. Can I ask you something?

Specs: Of course.

Heading to my dresser, I change out of my shorts and pull on something softer, more comfortable. Then I trade my tight shirt for a loose tee. When I get back to the window, I stop in front of my sewing table, letting my fingers drift over the familiar plastic of my Bernina sewing machine.

She was worth every exorbitant penny.

Taking a seat, I glance at Specs again. I don’t know why it’s always so easy to talk to him. Maybe because I consider him a friend, even if the circumstances that brought us together are admittedly a bit strange.

Me: Do you think we’re in charge of our own destinies?

It’s a question that’s been on my mind a lot lately. Sometimes I wonder if my path in life has already been set. If I’m destined to end up like those who came before me: stuck in jobs I have no passion for, with few friends and even fewer joys in life. I don’t want that. I want more. Better .

Specs reads my text, and from this distance, I can just make out the crease in his brow as he frowns. If I could—and if he’d let me—I’d smooth it away.

Specs: I don’t believe in destiny.

Me: No?

Specs: No. There’s so much that happens in life that’s completely out of our control. Existence is chaos. We’re just atoms bound together in evolutionarily advantageous bundles, and along the way, that led to neural networks and high-functioning brains. You can pick out patterns in people and guess at their actions, but you can’t truly control anyone but yourself. The diversity on our planet alone? No, I don’t think that has anything to do with divine intervention. I think it’s evidence of the tenacity of life.

My heart beats fast, breath whooshing out of me as a smile curls my lips.

Me: Damn. You’re sexy when you talk nerdy.

Specs ducks his head, trying to hide his smile, but the divot in his cheek gives him away. He nudges his glasses up before typing again.

Specs: To answer your original question… I don’t believe in destiny, and no, I don’t think we’re in control of every facet of our lives. But I do think we’re responsible for making the best out of the situations we find ourselves in.

I hum.

Me: How do we know if the choices we’re making are the right ones?

Specs: I think you just have to trust your gut.

Me: You’re very wise.

He shakes his head.

Specs: Not really.

I snort. Pretty sure the guy is a literal genius.

Me: Accept the compliment, Specs. You have a nice ass and a nice brain. Both great qualities.

He looks as if he’s chuckling.

Specs: Thanks, I guess.

Me: Better. And you’re welcome.

I spin my phone in my hand before opening up the website Noel showed me. Elite 8 Studios . There’s not much I can access without a subscription, but I find the ad for the casting call and read it over again.

Adult entertainer. Exclusive filming rights. Open auditions. Generous compensation.

Could I fuck for pay? The idea isn’t unappealing. If anything, I’m intrigued. Despite what my more handsy former patrons might have thought, I’m no prude. I enjoy sex quite a lot. I just also believe in respecting a person’s boundaries, and I expect my partners to do the same.

But when it comes to fucking… There’s empowerment in making another person come. In making them feel good, even if only for a little while. I’ve never done that in front of cameras, but it could be fun.

My gaze pings out the window again, and I huff a laugh. Pretty sure Specs would enjoy the hell out of that.

Switching over to Noel’s contact info, I shoot him a text asking for his cousin’s number. Surely it couldn’t hurt to find out more about this Elite 8 Studios.

Specs said to trust my gut.

And my gut is telling me I’m ready for something new.