“What?” I ask, yanking on my jeans.
“Youkisseda guest,” he says, disapproval clear in his voice. “Who is she? Your girlfriend?”
“Nope.” I grab a bottle of water and crack the lid, drinking half of it down in one long gulp.
“But you know her?” He insists.
“She lives in my building.” I grab my shirt and shrug it on, leaving it unbuttoned, then try to dodge past him out of the room. I don’t wanna leave Beth out there all alone at the bar.
Seth steps in front of me, blocking my path, and I grit my teeth. “We’re supposed to be selling a fantasy, Cyrus,” he berates.
“Yeah. Sorry.” I try to step past him. “Excuse me—”
“It kind of ruins the image if women come here, and you completely ignore them for some girl you’re crushing on,” he continues, not moving.
“I don’t think so,” Harry says cheerfully from his stool. He nicks some wipes off my station and starts cleaning glitter off his abs. “If anything, it’ll get them more wound up if they think we’re picking women out of the crowd to snog.”
“He missed half of the dance moves,” Seth points out, crossing his arms.
I shrug. “Felt weird to do them on her. Sorry, man. I messed up. Won’t do it again.” I nod to the dressing room door. “Can Ipleasego? I have somewhere to be.”
He sniffs. “I’m taking your tips for tonight.”
“Sure. Whatever.” I was so distracted, I probably don’t deserve them anyway. Dumping the rest of my shit in my locker, I grab my phone and head out.
The club is slowly emptying when I step back into the main room. The dance floor is still pretty full, but a lot of the girls have either moved onto the next club, or are headed home to bang the brains out of their boyfriends. I spot Beth hanging by the bar, nursing a Coke. She sticks out in the crowd of sweaty, loud clubgoers like she’s being picked out by a floodlight; her white skin glows against her bright red dress, and her fiery curls are all lit up around her face like a lion’s mane. For a second, I just stand still, taking in the sight of her. She’s easily the most beautiful girl in the room.
I still can’t believe that she’s okay with my job. I’ve literally never met a girl who was. It’s why I’ve learnt to stay away from romance. Women like the idea of fucking a stripper—but only once. They sure as Hell don’t want to get serious with one.
And Beth doesn’t seem to care at all.
As I watch, a guy ordering a drink next to her steps closer, saying something to her. Beth smiles, nodding then turning away. The creep apparently doesn’t get the message, dropping down into the stool on her left. Their legs brush as he leans in to talk some more. Beth shakes her head and edges off the side of her stool.
My teeth grit. I push through the crowd towards them both, pulling up right beside Beth and winding my arm around her waist. She looks up at me, her cheeks flushed pink, then leans closer, her soft hair brushing my chest. My heart jumps a beat.
I turn to the guy, who’s looking at me like a piece of dog shit he’s just stepped in.
“She’s not interested,” I say flatly. “Learn to read the body language, man.”
His eyebrows raise. “I’m sorry, what?”
I point at Beth. “See how she’s practically falling out of her stool to get away from you? She wants you to piss off.” I pause. “So piss off.”
The guy sputters, looking me up and down. For a second, I think he’s about to get rowdy — but luckily, he decides it’s not worth it, sliding off the stool and slinking away. I watch his back disappear into the crowd.
I hate guys like that. Guys who can tell a girl isn’t into them, but keep trying anyway. It’s gross. Why the Hell would you want toconvincesomeone to shag you?
Beth looks up at me. “Hey,” she says quietly. “You didn’t have to do that. He wasn’t really bothering me. He was just flirting.”
“Yeah, well, that bothers me.” I frown, looking around. “Where’s Tony?” I left her with him so he could keep an eye on her.
She points towards a dark corner of the room. I squint. Antonio is getting pinned against the wall by her tattooed friend, and they’re going at it like teenagers. “I wingwoman-ed him,” she says, sounding smug.
“Huh. Okay, then.” The DJ starts playing some souped-up, sexy Ariana Grande song, pumping up the bass so loud it’s vibrating through my teeth. Beth leans closer, dragging her hand down my arm.
“Why is your skin so soft?” She murmurs, squeezing my bicep.
“I oil myself up every night.”