school, and homework.”
“You’ll be back.” He looks extremely smug. “Just in time, cause I’m going to buy my own club. Latino shows every night. Muy caliente. I’m gonna call it Hot Sauce.”
“That’s the dumbest name I’ve ever heard for a club. And we work at the freaking Meow Club.” I roll my eyes and wave him off. “Now fuck off. I need to study.”
“You’re too pretty for a desk job. Never gonna work, man. Never gonna work.” He leans against the booth, watching Sebastian work it on stage. He’s one of our newer dancers, and he’s still a little shy. That’ll leave soon enough, and it’s kind of cute compared to all the cocky guys who’ve been here for years. Also, I bet he makes good money with the shy bit.
“When the paparazzi gig gets old, I’ll hire you as our token white guy for the Hot Sauce.”
“Duly noted.” I try to focus on the paper I should be writing, but now Emilio is trying to sneak a drink of tequila from my bar, and I have to stop typing to slap his hand away.
Why is nothing ever easy? This is the theme of my life lately.
“Dude, I’m trying to study, and you’re up in five minutes. Shouldn’t you be oiling up, or applying body glitter, or… hot sauce?”
Emilio waggles his brows at me and thrusts in the air. “Now that’s a spicy plan!”
I slam my book shut. He’s impossible. Even if I am laughing. Is he really dumb enough to put hot sauce on his manhood? I dearly hope to find out. It would really make my lost study time worth it.
“Make my entrance music extra loud!” Emilio calls as he walks towards the stage, and I salute in response.
“Everyone, enjoy the eminent eeeeendulations of Emilioooooo!” I yell into the mic as I cue up Pitbull. Extra loud, as ordered. And yes, I do know undulation starts with a ‘u’, but I think I made it work. There are only so many ways to keep things interesting around here.
I lean over my laptop and grab the soda gun. As I slurp down my umpteenth Pepsi of the evening, I try and calculate my caffeine-to-word-count ratio. If I can chug this now and then type at my optimum 80 words-per-minute for the duration of Emilio’s dance…
Well, I’ll have another three paragraphs done on my paper. Looks like I’ll be pulling an all-nighter. I can’t complain; I really can’t. My all-nighter will come with a massive cash bonus for pulling these extra hours, and the end is truly in sight.
After a handful of papers and a final project, I’ll be the proud owner of a degree and with any luck—a day job. Or at least a paid internship. Or an unpaid soul-sucking internship. Point being, I’ll be graduated.
I sigh longingly, and suck down the last of my soda as the sugar rush starts to hit.
The door cracks open, shooting a rogue burst of sunlight into our darkened lair. In walks my beautiful Meredith, holding a manila folder and boosting red cheeks. It’s so cute how she’s embarrassed to be here during the daytime hours. I get it, it’s not exactly the classiest establishment, but it’s not like we’ve got demons climbing out of the floor. Well, not now that Emilio’s on the stage anyways.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite photographer.” I hold up a bottle of Fireball in case she needs some liquid courage, but she waves it off even as she licks those luscious lips of hers. Immediately, I’m transported back to the other night in the back seat of her car, my tongue devouring her sweet pussy. Excellent second date material. I’d kill to do it again. “Are those Pete’s pictures?”
Meredith nods and eyes the bottle longingly. “I picked up the prints this morning.”
“Grab a seat while I go get him. If that guy on stage gets near you, tell him you’re my girlfriend and he’ll back off.” I hope.
“I’m not your girlfriend.”
Right, right. Not yet, that is. “Just trying to keep you from getting spiced up, is all. Nothing more. Nothing more.”
Totally something more. This is a rumor I would
“You’ll be back.” He looks extremely smug. “Just in time, cause I’m going to buy my own club. Latino shows every night. Muy caliente. I’m gonna call it Hot Sauce.”
“That’s the dumbest name I’ve ever heard for a club. And we work at the freaking Meow Club.” I roll my eyes and wave him off. “Now fuck off. I need to study.”
“You’re too pretty for a desk job. Never gonna work, man. Never gonna work.” He leans against the booth, watching Sebastian work it on stage. He’s one of our newer dancers, and he’s still a little shy. That’ll leave soon enough, and it’s kind of cute compared to all the cocky guys who’ve been here for years. Also, I bet he makes good money with the shy bit.
“When the paparazzi gig gets old, I’ll hire you as our token white guy for the Hot Sauce.”
“Duly noted.” I try to focus on the paper I should be writing, but now Emilio is trying to sneak a drink of tequila from my bar, and I have to stop typing to slap his hand away.
Why is nothing ever easy? This is the theme of my life lately.
“Dude, I’m trying to study, and you’re up in five minutes. Shouldn’t you be oiling up, or applying body glitter, or… hot sauce?”
Emilio waggles his brows at me and thrusts in the air. “Now that’s a spicy plan!”
I slam my book shut. He’s impossible. Even if I am laughing. Is he really dumb enough to put hot sauce on his manhood? I dearly hope to find out. It would really make my lost study time worth it.
“Make my entrance music extra loud!” Emilio calls as he walks towards the stage, and I salute in response.
“Everyone, enjoy the eminent eeeeendulations of Emilioooooo!” I yell into the mic as I cue up Pitbull. Extra loud, as ordered. And yes, I do know undulation starts with a ‘u’, but I think I made it work. There are only so many ways to keep things interesting around here.
I lean over my laptop and grab the soda gun. As I slurp down my umpteenth Pepsi of the evening, I try and calculate my caffeine-to-word-count ratio. If I can chug this now and then type at my optimum 80 words-per-minute for the duration of Emilio’s dance…
Well, I’ll have another three paragraphs done on my paper. Looks like I’ll be pulling an all-nighter. I can’t complain; I really can’t. My all-nighter will come with a massive cash bonus for pulling these extra hours, and the end is truly in sight.
After a handful of papers and a final project, I’ll be the proud owner of a degree and with any luck—a day job. Or at least a paid internship. Or an unpaid soul-sucking internship. Point being, I’ll be graduated.
I sigh longingly, and suck down the last of my soda as the sugar rush starts to hit.
The door cracks open, shooting a rogue burst of sunlight into our darkened lair. In walks my beautiful Meredith, holding a manila folder and boosting red cheeks. It’s so cute how she’s embarrassed to be here during the daytime hours. I get it, it’s not exactly the classiest establishment, but it’s not like we’ve got demons climbing out of the floor. Well, not now that Emilio’s on the stage anyways.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite photographer.” I hold up a bottle of Fireball in case she needs some liquid courage, but she waves it off even as she licks those luscious lips of hers. Immediately, I’m transported back to the other night in the back seat of her car, my tongue devouring her sweet pussy. Excellent second date material. I’d kill to do it again. “Are those Pete’s pictures?”
Meredith nods and eyes the bottle longingly. “I picked up the prints this morning.”
“Grab a seat while I go get him. If that guy on stage gets near you, tell him you’re my girlfriend and he’ll back off.” I hope.
“I’m not your girlfriend.”
Right, right. Not yet, that is. “Just trying to keep you from getting spiced up, is all. Nothing more. Nothing more.”
Totally something more. This is a rumor I would
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