are as big as bottle bottoms as she implores me to get my shit together and play it cool.
We have rules about crap like this: running into customers outside of the club when they’re with their significant other. The rule is we act like they’re total strangers.
I take a deep breath, throw on a mask of indifference, and advance toward them. Mason’s eyes eat me up from hair to heels until I squeeze in between his date and Angel to ensure there’s a buffer between us.
Sell the club and walk away. Simple.
“Hey, guys. Hope we’re not barging in on you.” My scowl is tight and aimed at Mason, whose baby blues are wide. “My name is Trix and this is Angel. We’re here passing out VIP cards to our club, Zeus’s Playground.” I chuck a card at Mason that hits him in the chest and falls to his lap. His date takes Angel’s proffered card and studies it. “Have you ever heard of it?” My question is directed to the cheating bastard to my left. He answers my question with a drop of his brows, and his full lips pull into a tight line.
“Oh, yeah!” His date holds up the card. “I’ve heard a lot about this place. You girls dance there?” God, why does she not only have to be pretty but also nice?
“We do.” Angel butts in and pushes out her double-Ds. “You guys should come by sometime; we do private dances for couples all the time.”
“Whoa . . . really?” The girl’s eyes dance with excitement and dart to Mason.
He stares at his beer, his eyebrows pinched, and his jaw hard. The image of them together, on a small couch in a private room at Zeus’s flashes through my head: a dancer straddling their laps, running her body along theirs as they suck on each other’s lips.
A low growl gargles in my chest. “What’s wrong, big guy? You don’t like strippers?” The word tastes sour on my tongue.
His glare slides up to mine, and as fierce as it seems, I don’t back down from it. “Trix . . .” My name is said on an angry rumble that I feel deep in my belly.
I prop an elbow on the table and lean toward him. “Are we offending you? Breaking up your date?”
“Cut it out.” His jaw is clenched, teeth bared.
“Cut what out? I’m just here doing my job. What exactly are you doing?”
The beautiful blonde holds up her hand and looks curiously between us. “Wait, am I missing something?”
I turn my head toward her and the anger dissolves. She’s really pretty and clean looking. Not fake in any way. Natural light hair that probably doesn’t reek of hair bleach, highlights from the sun rather than streaks of candy-color, little makeup rather than the fake eyelashes and lip-plumping gloss slathered all over my face. She’s perfect for him. Better for him than me.
Disappointment crushes my lungs. “No, you’re not missing anything.” I push back from the table. “Sorry to bother you.”
I turn on my heel and head toward the door, needing to get the hell out of there with or without Angel. I hear Mason call my name from behind me, but embarrassment pushes me forward. I’m weaving in and out of clusters of bar patrons until I finally exit into the warm desert air.
“Holy shit!” Angel is right behind me. “What was that?”
“Nothing, it was . . .” God, I’m such an idiot. “I’m done for the night.”
She nods, a small smile on her face. “Yeah, I gathered that.” Her eyes narrow. “Oh my God . . . you like Mason.”
The door swings open so hard it hits the brick wall behind it, and Mason comes barreling out. His eyes hit me, and I curse my damn shoes because if I run in them he’ll surely catch up to me.
“Trix . . .” There’s softness in his voice, a pleading that reeks of guilt. He eyes Angel. “Hey, could you give us a second?”
Her gaze slides to mine, one eyebrow lifted. “I’ll be in the car.”
“I’ll take her home,” Mason says.
“You will not!” I jut out my chin. “Who will you take home first, huh? Me or your date? Oh . . . let me guess. You’ll take her home first so you can fuck me after, right?”
His expression darkens. “Stop it.”
“’Cause good girls like that don’t put out like we do.”
“Hey!” Angel stomps a foot. “I don’t—”
“Right?” I ignore Angel’s offense. “You wine and dine the