“You’ll have to dumb things down for me, sweetness. Not everyone in the room is as smart as you.”
“All right. Take your profession, for example.”
“Construction?”
“That wasn’t the one I meant, but my point will actually work for both of them.” Jane leans forward, her elbows resting on the tops of her thighs. She’s getting excited discussing the subject, and it’s cool to watch her become more animated. Makes me want to ask more questions, even if I don’t necessarily understand the answers. “When someone mentions the word ‘stripper,’ nine times out of ten they’re going to picture a woman. Just like if they hear ‘construction worker,’ they’re most likely to picture a man.
“Go to Google Images and type ‘stripper’ or even ‘exotic dancer’ into the search field. Ninety-eight percent of the pictures that come up are women. Now, type in ‘doctor’ or ‘lawyer,’ and the images are predominantly men, proving that our perception of women in society hasn’t changed as much as we’d like to think.”
“Those are points well made, Jane,” I say honestly. “So, how much longer before you’re done with it?”
“Well, let’s see, I’ve been working on it for about two years, and at the rate I’ve been going lately…” She squints up at the ceiling and moves her lips as she mentally calculates. I take a swig of my Corona—she’d bought a sixer to have on hand after I’d mentioned in passing that it’s my favorite beer—and wait for the verdict. Jane finally levels a serious look in my direction. “I figure I’ll be done with it sometime in 2035, give or take.”
I almost spray instead of swallow, nearly giving her a beer shower in the process. “I’m not sure whether I’m more stunned by the insane time frame, or the fact you made a joke.”
“Hey, I make jokes all the time.” She sits up straight, throws her shoulders back, and hitches a perfectly arched eyebrow at me. “I’m actually very funny once you get to know me.”
I lean back into the couch then lewdly grab my junk and say, “I think I’ve gotten to know you pretty intimately.” I can’t help the chuckle that escapes when her cheeks flush pink, and she balls up her napkin and tosses it at my head. “You opened yourself up for that one, sweetness. Okay, so why won’t you finish your thesis until you’re eighty?”
“Forty-five.”
“Whatever.”
“Because I’m missing an element to tie it all together, and I can’t figure out what it is. I’m stuck.”
“Too bad the Playboys 4 Hire are all dudes.” I finish off the rest of my beer and set the bottle on the table. “You could have interviewed our employees about what it’s like to be objectified for a living.”
“That’s sweet of you to offer, but I’ve already interviewed girls from the Admiral, so I’ve got that base cov—” Jane’s eyes open wide and she slaps the back of the couch, almost startling me. “Wait a minute, that’s it.”
“What’s it?”
“Chance, are you serious about that? Because I just realized what could tie everything together. I can do an opposite case study with men who are objectified every bit as much as women, even though society doesn’t automatically view them as such.”
Damn, she looks fucking cute when she gets excited about her psych shit. I’d be a total asshole to not help her out. The trick would be getting our guys on board.
Playboys 4 Hire is made up of men who are either college students, or have daytime careers. They do it for the money, the pussy, or the rush of dancing and being treated like sex toys, but no matter what their reason, they all had one thing in common: none of them want others to know they’re doing it, so we do what we can to make sure their secret is safe.
“As long as you can promise anonymity to those who want it, I don’t see why it’d be a problem.” The guys might be reluctant, but I’m sure I can talk them into it.
Jane lights up, and she lets out a little squeal as she hops into my lap, straddling me. “Oh my God, Chance, thank you so much!”
Grabbing my face, she kisses me smack on the lips then pulls away, giving me the most radiant smile I’ve ever seen, and yep, there it is—a dimple drilled into her cheek. I was right; her full smile is pretty fucking great, and it definitely tips the scale toward her innocent side.
Too bad the way her pussy is molding to my cock through the sheer purple panties she’d put on is making me want to tip that scale in the other direction. I slip my hands under her robe, palm her ass cheeks, and squeeze. “I’m afraid there’s a price to pay for my help, though.”
Instantly, her pupils swallow the brown of her eyes, and her breathing grows shallow. I fucking love the effect I have on her. I don’t even have to touch her. My words and tone alone get her wet. She’s perfect.
Slipping into her role, she responds, her voice smoky with the carnal lust that already has her dripping cunt making a damp spot on my underwear. “I really want to finish my thesis. Please, I’ll do anything you ask.”
I raise a dubious brow. “Anything?”
“Yes, sir,” she says, lifting up to stroke my hardening cock with her slender fingers. “Anything.”
“I think we might be able to work something out.”
Unable to stall any longer, I pull her in by the back of her neck and take her mouth as surely as I plan on taking the rest of her at least once more before the night is over.
Chapter Fifteen
Jane
I’ve never seen so many hot guys in one place at one time. Not even when I went to the strip club years ago did I find so many of the entertainers attractive. But the men of Playboys 4 Hire all rate high on the stunning scale. If there was ever a time I felt out of my depth, it’s right here, right now, in this room.
The meeting is being held on a Tuesday night—not many requests for strip shows on a Tuesday—at Chance’s place. His gorgeous, completely remodeled, two-story home in Lake Forest. I don’t know what I expected his living quarters to be, but a house in the suburbs was not it. We’re all in the basement, which is set up like a man cave with a bar, pool table, electronic darts, and theater seating in front of a wall holding three flat-screen TVs. The one in the middle is huge, with the ones flanking it about half its size.
Currently, the big one is showing a PowerPoint cued up from Roman’s laptop. Never in a million years would I have pictured a room full of male strippers gathered around a PowerPoint presentation, but the three owners of Playboys 4 Hire—Chance plus Roman and Austin, the friends who were with him in IHOP—conduct the meeting every bit as professionally as the board meeting of a large corporation.
Roman had spoken first with a few slides under the heading “Legal and Financial,” and Austin’s area of expertise had been “New Business and New Recruits.” Who knew a company where men took their clothes off for money would have so many mundane things to attend to?
As I’m musing about this, Austin lets out a battle cry from his place in front of the group and crushes a beer can on his forehead, making the entire room go wild.
Okay, so maybe it’s not exactly like a board meeting. I cover my mouth as I laugh at the antics from where I’m sitting off to the side by the dartboard.
Something soft and furry rubs against my hand, and I look down to see a gray tiger cat, completely unaffected by the chaos and looking for love from the only calm person in the joint. Chance introduced me to Romeo when I’d arrived earlier. No, I’m not making this shit up. The tough-guy bachelor has a cat and named him after the famous hero of a romantic tragedy. Contradictory much? Chance, thy name is dichotomy.
Mr. Dichotomy holds his hands up and talks loud enough to be heard over the din of the room. “All right, assholes, settle down so we can get to the last topic of the evening.” Roman pushes a button on his Mac and a new slide appears on the TV. “Business retention and customer satisfaction.”
As the words “customer satisfaction” flash on the screen, the P4H employees whistle, cheer, high-five their buddies, and some even start gyrating their hips, demonstrating how they
personally satisfy the customers. Eventually Chance gets them under control and moves through the rest of the slides fairly quickly before Roman takes over to announce upcoming events and work out who’ll be doing what.
Watching Chance take command of the room reminds me of all the times he’s taken command of me, and I have to cross my legs to relieve some of the ache between my thighs. As though he’s mentally tuned into my sex drive’s frequency, Chance swings his gaze to meet mine, his eyes a molten navy blue, and the way he’s looking at me makes me swear I forgot to get dressed today.
My breath hitches, and his cocky smirk confirms that I’m blushing. I think he keeps track of how many times a day he can make my cheeks flush. He’s even taken to texting me vile (fricking hot), detailed descriptions of what he wants to do to me, then he demands that I send him selfies so he can see the effect his words have on me. The man is a complete nuisance.
And I’ve never been happier—a fact I try not to look too hard at, because if I do, I’ll start thinking relationship-y thoughts, and that can’t happen. There is no universe in which a guy like Chance wants the responsibility of an actual relationship. So, this is me, not wanting a relationship with a guy like Chance.
A guy who makes me laugh, who asks me how my day was (post-hot-sex, because priorities) and makes sure I eat because half the time I forget or don’t have time to fix myself something. A guy who brings me a bag of soothing lozenges when I mentioned my throat is hurting.
Granted, he waves off his consideration by claiming he can’t have one of his favorite places to stick his dick out of commission, but that brings me back to the part about making me laugh. Call me immature, but I like his crass humor.
Yeah, okay. I would like to date a guy like him. But that’s not where this thing is headed, so I’m determined to enjoy what we have while we have it. Full stop.
“Then, if there aren’t any more questions,” Roman says, “feel free to finish your beer and pizza and then get the hell out of Chance’s house.”
“Hold up. One last thing.” Chance steps forward and everyone groans as they take their spots again. “Don’t get your panties in a twist; this’ll only take a second. I’m sure you’ve all noticed the lovely Ms. Wendall, who sat in on our meeting tonight. She’s working on her thesis about what it’s like to be viewed as sex symbols and be objectified—”
“It’s fucking awesome,” says a handsome ginger, to a chorus of laughter and agreement.
Chance crosses his arms and arches a brow in the ginger’s direction. “Glad you think so, O’Donnell. You can be Jane’s first interview of the night, then.”
The humor falls from the jokester’s face. “I can’t be interviewed about this shit, man. My old man would stop paying for college if he ever found out what I do.”
The room fills with murmurs of similar concerns, accompanied by the shaking of heads. I stand and clutch my notebook to my chest. “I know that the appeal of working at Playboys 4 Hire is how careful they are about keeping your true identities under wraps. I’m not looking to out you in any way. The paper will be accessible online, but you can choose to be listed as an anonymous case study.”
O’Donnell tilts his head as though thinking about it, then says, “But if you’re using us as case studies, aren’t you going to want to know about our backgrounds, and what we do when we’re not doing this job, things like that?”
I nod. “Yes, that will be part of it.”
A swarthy Latino sitting in one of the leather theater chairs chuffs. “Those kinds of details can be just as damning as giving you our names.”
More assent and head shaking from the group. It seems this won’t work in my favor after all. Looking over at Chance, I give him a shrug and half smile to tell him it’s okay and thanks for trying. I watch as his eyes narrow and determination sets in his hard jaw. I know that look. It’s the one he gets when I playfully push back against a command. The one that says he’s taking offense and accepting a challenge.
Crossing his arms, he scans the crowd and raises his voice. “I’ll give a five-hundred-dollar bonus to anyone who participates.”
The room is silent for three whole seconds as they stare at Chance in surprise. Then they explode like someone just told them their favorite football team won the Super Bowl, and suddenly I have a line of strippers wanting to answer my questions.
My smile is so big that my cheeks hurt, and something in my chest gets tight. I peer around the gathering men and find Chance. He grins and gives me a wink then turns to talk with Roman and Austin. Oh, shit. I think that tightness in my chest might be my heart swelling. Not good. I need to lock that down right now, before my romantic girly side starts taking over.
Back to business, Janey. Focus on your work.
Sitting down, I lift Romeo from where he’s lounging on the chair next to me and gesture for O’Donnell—the first one in line—to have a seat. I hold my hand out. “Thank you so much for doing this.”
He accepts my hand, but turns it over and kisses the back of it. “I’m Liam, and spending time with you will be my pleasure.”
Another smooth operator, this one, but then I suppose it’s a common trait among people whose job it is to seduce. If I’d met sexy Liam a month ago and he’d done the same thing, I would have swooned like a proper female. But since he’s not a Thor lookalike who makes me wet every time he pins me with his deep blue eyes…nada.
“Great,” I say, taking my hand back. “Then, let’s get started.”
Chapter Sixteen
Chance
“It’s a damn good thing looks don’t kill, or we’d be looking for a whole new fleet of dancers.”
I tear my gaze away from where Jane is interviewing Derrick, one of our newest recruits at P4H, and acknowledge my friend. “You got a point you’re trying to make, Reeves?”
Roman takes a pull from his beer, not intimidated in the least by my glare and threatening tone. But he and Austin know they can poke the bear without fear of the bear rearing up and taking a swipe. Anyone else would find themselves with a few new gaps in their smile, but these guys have immunity when it comes to my wrath.
“His point, brother,” Austin says with a shit-eating grin, “is that you’ve shot daggers at every guy who’s talked with our Janey there.”
“First of all, asshole, there’s no ‘our’ when it comes to Jane,” I grind out, making sure I keep my voice low enough so no one else hears me. “And second, if I’m giving anyone dirty looks, it’s because she’s here in a professional capacity, and every single one of them is flirting with her like she’s a goddamn client.”
Roman chuckles. “Give the guys a break, man. It’s in their nature to charm the panties off a woman, and last I checked, Jane has tits. Hell, I wouldn’t mind charming my way into her panties. Feel like sharing?”
Do not kill your best friend. Do not kill your best friend.
Balling my fists at my sides, I take a deep breath and let it out slowly as I level my gaze at Roman. “I think I’ll keep this one to myself, thanks.”
He shrugs with a smirk as Austin adds, “Okay, but if you change your mind, let us know, because I am definitely down for some ménage action with that one. Is it just me, or do those glasses actually make her look hotter?”
That’s it. They’re dead.
As I’m contemplating all the ways to hide their bodies, the guys start laughing. “Damn, bro, you’ve got it bad,” Roman says. “Why don’t you just admit that you like the girl? Stake your claim already, for fuck’s sake.”
“Yeah, man, lock that shit down before someone else does.” This from Austin. “A girl like that doesn’t come around every day.”
Don’t I fucking know it.
I look over at Jane just as she glances in my direction. She smiles at me, and it feels like the clouds have parted, allowing the warmth of the sun’s rays to bathe my face. I give her a wink and revel in the blush that steals across her cheeks. Every time I see it, I get a high I’ve never gotten from any
thing else. Not dancing, not stripping, not winning a huge bid… Not even sex. Except for sex with Jane. Because nothing feels better than that.
She clears her throat, tucks her chestnut hair behind one ear, and turns her attention back to Derrick and her notes. And just like that, the clouds converge and steal my sunshine.
Fuck. The woman has me waxing poetic, and it’s been years since that side of me has seen the light of day. You wouldn’t guess it knowing me now, but I used to be a pretty big romantic. The guys used to give me shit for it, and called me Romeo, which is where my stripper alias—and my cat’s name—comes from. I wasn’t all that crazy with the hearts and flowers shit. Really, I was just a thoughtful guy. But when you’re a decent guy in a sea of assholes, you come out smelling like a rose and branded “the best guy a girl could ask for.” Those were my ex-fiancée’s words, not mine.
But that only lasts so long before the subtle manipulation starts, the attempts to mold you into their definition of the perfect man. That’s when you either play along and sell your soul to the devil, or throw up your deuces and get the hell out of Dodge.
I’d chosen the latter and made a plan to never again put myself in a position where a woman thinks she has the right to ask me to change who or what I am, or what I do. The plan had been working out great…until I met Jane Wendall.
The woman has “win” written all over her. Sexually, we couldn’t be more compatible. I’ve never seen anyone more beautiful than Jane when she submits to me. It’s the biggest fucking turn-on to watch her slip into that headspace.
But beyond the bedroom, she has a quirky sense of humor that constantly takes me by surprise. Whether she’s wearing her IHOP uniform, her professional day-job clothes, or pajamas with pandas, I find her breathtakingly beautiful. And since we’ve started talking a lot more about things other than sex, I’ve realized how smart she is, and damn if I don’t find her brain just as sexy as her body.
She has the old, romantic me asking all kinds of crazy “what if” questions I’m not prepared to answer. And the douchebags I call my best friends are only encouraging him.