I knew it made me sound like a horny teenager who’d never seen actual tits outside of porn before. I knew it made me sound like some quick draw douchebag who couldn’t hold his nut long enough to get his girl off first.
But I’d wanted to see her bare breasts more than I’d wanted to fucking breathe.
They were quite possibly the most perfect pair I’d ever laid eyes on in my life. And not to sound like a complete tool, but I’d seen my fair share of beautiful racks. But my dumbass brothers had burst into the room before she’d been able to untie her skimpy little top.
I was convinced that was the only reason why I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. Because I was fixated on her tits, and I’d be like a dog with a bone until I got to see all of them.
Fucking juvenile and pathetic, Rossetti.
So, I’d gone back to the club.
Twice.
Both times she had been serving drinks and working private rooms, but was never up onstage, which I thought was interesting. Girls could make damn good money in the private rooms, especially if they did what wasn’t supposed to go on back there but oftentimes did. Christ, I hope she doesn’t partake in that action.
But they could pull in some serious bank on the stage.
I’d always assumed the draw for most women who became strippers was the money. Obviously, it came with sacrifices, but money was money. Some may do it for the attention, because of daddy issues, or because they had no other marketable skills. No judgment here. Her body, her choice.
But what was her deal?
If she needed money, why didn’t she dance onstage?
For some reason I had yet to identify, I hadn’t paid for another private dance from her either of those nights. I’d simply watched her like a fucking stalker—a theme that seemed to run with the men in my family—and took note of everything she did. Thanks to my military and special ops training, I used a lot of observation techniques that allowed me to see things most people would never notice with the naked eye.
For instance, my girl had manners.
An odd observation, perhaps, but a genuinely sweet, polite girl kind of stuck out in a rowdy strip club. The dancers were generally flirtatious and brazen with customers, always working for more tips. But instead of being seductive and trying to upsell, my girl was courteous and kind to everyone she interacted with.
Even the gropey, drunken assholes that I’d itched to send to the ER in fucking body casts.
She’d also been hyper alert.
Her eyes had constantly darted all over the room, everywhere she went, tracking all the action around her. Frankly, I think the only thing she hadn’t noticed was me sitting in the very back corner, in another waitress’s section. Now, any smart woman in her job would stay on her guard throughout her entire shift. Basic common sense.
But this girl’s attentiveness seemed to almost run to…survival instincts.
In addition to her seemingly sweet disposition, my girl seemed to have a sense of humor about her. She’d made a lot of her customers laugh out loud, and it hadn’t been faked or a way of ingratiating herself to them. I could tell the difference.
And like an asshole, I’d been desperate to hear what she’d been saying to those other men. What jokes she’d graced them with. I’d wanted her to hit me with those punchlines.
Jesus Christ.
What a fucking sap I was turning out to be. I needed someone to hit me all right, but in a much different way.
But the shiniest observation of all had obviously been her body.
It wasn’t something I could have ignored. Not in those tiny shorts that had only partially covered her ass and the crop top that had laughably attempted to conceal her generous chest. The girl wasn’t just naturally fit and thin. With that kind of muscle tone and definition, she regularly worked out. That couldn’t have all been from working the pole because she didn’t even seem to work it. Her glossy, raven hair had reached her lower back and was so black it had looked almost blue. With her dark skin and shorter height, I was guessing a Latina heritage.
Putting all of that together, I’d discerned that she had a higher than average intelligence, some level of street smarts, and a charming, gregarious nature.