A couple hours into the night, Cole felt tired and cranky. Someone spilled a drink on him earlier, and even though he wiped most of it off with wads of wet paper towels in the bathroom, he still felt sticky. Some nights, this whole place just made him feel sticky. Thankfully, he was not wearing much at the time, so his outfit was still clean. But these heels always made his ankles hurt, so the silver linings did not seem as bright.

All of this was just to say that Cole was not really in the mood. He wished he could just call it a night and go home to bed, but he needed a few more lap dances at least to cover his fee, or else he would end up owing instead of making money. Logan charged a flat rate per night, no matter how many dances he gave or hours he worked.

So even though laughing was the last thing he wanted to do, he crinkled his nose up and gave an amused little giggle. The man he was about to give a lap dance to waved a bill around and made a stupid face, lips pursed into an 'o', eyes all big, and brows lifted. Cole did not have much pride left, but he was not going to sit here and try to grab the last ten dollars while it kept getting snatched out of reach. He dropped his hand to his side.

"Guess you ain't fast enough, darling," the asshole guffawed. He did not have a wedding band on his finger, and Cole would bet that was not just because he had taken it off but because there was nobody waiting for him at home. The guy was hardly a catch with his gaunt face and rumpled clothes, but his attitude was the real problem.

"Guess you don't want a dance," Cole purred, taking his knee off the seat and holding the twenty the guy already gave him over his lap like he was going to drop it.

"Aw, you ain't gonna give up so easy, are you?" the man grabbed his wrist.

Cole immediately dropped the twenty and tore his arm away, ready to stand up and holler at one of the bouncers to get over here and drag this guy out by his ear. But someone else grabbed his arm first, and the words died in his throat as he turned in shock. It was just another dancer who had pretty gold eyeliner on his lids that matched his curly blonde hair and made his blue eyes pop.

He was taller than Cole by a mile, so he had to duck down to murmur in his ear. "A guy wants you for a private dance. The blue room."

He slid his hands down Cole's arm to push him gently out of the way so he could put one hand on the back of the asshole's chair and lean over him.

"Sorry, honey," he smiled, all boyish charm and Greek Adonis wrapped up into one. "Looks like you're stuck with me. Is that alright?"

The asshole dropped the ten beside the twenty and spread his arms wide, inviting the other dancer to take the money from his groin. Cole huffed and turned away. He rubbed his wrist as he waded through the tables and chairs, trying to get rid of the sensation of the man's sweaty palm. Before he could reach the blue room, his arm was grabbed yet again.

He rolled his eyes as he was pulled into the shadowy doorway behind the bar and pressed against the wall. Cole looked down at the hand on his arm and then raised his brows. "You need something?"

The owner of the club, Logan, was a tall man who looked like your average next-door neighbor. He had a nice, kind face that was attractive enough, and was fit from going to the gym but not overly bulky. He kept his hair styled and wore nice clothes. There was something about his eyes that made him seem earnest and trustworthy to everyone he encountered until they got to know him behind closed doors.

"The man in the blue room gets whatever he wants. Rate's already been negotiated." Logan said, the shadow in the hallway falling across his eyes. "Understand?"

Oh, Cole understood. Logan may run a tight ship on the floor - bouncers everywhere with their big arms crossed to show off their bulging muscles that may as well have been a big neon sign flashing above everyone's head saying, No Funny Business - but for a certain clientele, behind the curtains of the private rooms and sometimes beyond the doors of the club, it was all funny business.

"Gotcha," Cole winked and broke away to keep heading toward this very VIP client. He rubbed his arm where Logan's grubby fingers dug into his skin and took a deep breath.

The blue room was aptly decorated with blue-upholstered couches, blue drapes everywhere, and blue doily hearts pasted to the walls. Opposite the door, a man sat with his legs spread and arms resting wide across the back of the couch. When Cole walked in, the pole in the center of the room split him cleanly in two. He wrapped a hand on the pole and swung slowly until he hovered between the man's legs.

"Hello."

The man looked at him with no expression on his handsome face whatsoever. And it certainly was a handsome face. He has a straight nose, gorgeous eyes, and a sculpted jaw with aggressive stubble that Cole could honestly admit he wanted to rub his thighs against. It was a bit off-putting that he looked bored, not even running his eyes over Cole's mostly bare body, but Cole could appreciate a challenge when the guy was not being an asshole about it.

"I'm Nikki." He released the pole to stand in the v of the man's legs, flexing his stomach and arching his back to show off the long line of his torso where it was at eye level. The man's eyes finally dropped to his body.

"You look a little tense. Can I help you relax?"

The man gave him absolutely nothing to work with, eyes still hovering somewhere around Cole's belly button. Cole fought the urge to sigh with frustration, reminded himself it was his job to do the work, and sank to his knees so he could meet the man's lowered eyes. He smiled a little bit. Carefully telegraphing his movements, he placed his palms on the man's jean-clad thighs and rubbed back and forth.

"Would you like a drink?"

Cole had started to get into his head that this guy must be shy. If he was in a private room with Cole, who had been instructed to provide whatever he asked for, no questions asked, then he was obviously a big name in certain circles or at least to Logan somehow. Or he had dizzying amounts of money. Those people did not tend to be shy. But maybe this guy had never been with another man before or something. That was what Cole had been starting to think until their eyes met, and the man smirked.

"Sure, baby. Make it two."

He was not shy. He was a big cat lurking, waiting for the right time to leap on its prey.

"What would you like?" Cole did not let the little smile falter and started teasing his pointer finger along the inseam of the man's jeans to distract himself from that gaze.

"Whatever you're having."

There was something cracked in Cole's head because he really should watch his mouth around a man like this, but the words came tumbling out anyway – the same line he always used to tease customers when they said shit like that. "Even if it's bright pink and fruity?"

Then again, sometimes dangerous guys like this enjoyed a bit of pushback. The smirk deepened. "Sure." 

Cole stood up, making sure it was all sensual grace, then went out to the bar. Alexis was not the one serving drinks at the moment, which was no fun, so he just tapped his fingers against the counter while he waited. When he returned, it was with two strawberry daiquiris in elegantly curved glasses, each with a strawberry and slice of lime on the rim. He held one out to the man.

"Do you want a dance?" Cole asked, fiddling with the straw of his drink. It was virgin, like all the cocktails made for dancers, although the club still charged full price. The pink drink in the man's hand was certainly not virgin. It looked so strange in his big hand, next to his black t-shirt, dark wash jeans, and dark hair.

"I liked you down between my legs."

Okay. Cole slithered back down to the ground between his legs. The floor in the private rooms was considerably nicer than out in the main room. There was carpet, which padded Cole's knees a bit, and Logan kept them impeccably clean. Instead of allowing for the sticky film that built up on the main floor between weekly polishing, these rooms got steam cleaned every morning. Making himself all small down on his knees was really no chore. Cole blinked up at the man through his eyelashes and, at a loss for what else to do since this guy was giving him nothing, sucked up his drink, practically giving himself a brain freeze. The man did not touch his.

Cole took his lips off the straw with a pop and then licked them. "Aren't you thirsty?"

The man hummed and ignored his question. "Why don't you come up on my lap, baby?"

Cole slunk his way up, one hand using the man's thigh for support while his other remained wrapped around his glass. The man did not move to help him, arms still spread across the back of the couch. It seemed like being small and coy did it for this guy, so Cole paused when he still had one foot on the ground so he could lean into the act a bit.

He looked over his shoulder toward the curtain, then looked back at the man and pulled his bottom lip between his teeth to worry it a bit. Sucking on the straw had already made them red and plump, but the extra attention could not hurt. Then he leaned in and murmured in a low voice, "There's a rule in this club...one foot has to stay on the ground at all times. But, uh..."

Slowly, so that the inside of his thigh dragged over the man's jeans, he lifted his other leg and scooted forward so both his knees framed the man's hips. Then he bit his straw and giggled a little.

The man's eyebrows lifted. He plucked the empty glass from Cole's hand and replaced it with his own drink. Cole's lips parted in surprise. He almost protested. They were not supposed to drink on the job, even though a lot of the dancers did, and the bartenders ended up smashed by closing every morning. But he stuck to the rule religiously because he had never been a particularly graceful drunk, and he was working for tips here. But Logan said to give this guy whatever he wanted.

"Oh, well," he let himself have a brief moment of protest as the man pressed the drink against his palm. "I'm a bit of a lightweight."

"You've never accepted a real drink from a customer before?"

Cole frowned because that implied that this guy knew very well there had been no alcohol in the one he just slurped down. They held eye contact for a few beats. The man did not look pushy or agitated. He was just waiting to see what Cole would do. Cole wrapped his fingers around the glass and stuck his tongue out to guide the straw between his lips.

"That's nice," the man said, eyes on Cole's lips. "What other rules am I allowed to break?"

Cole smiled around his straw. The next rule was the most obvious one – hanging above the curtain in soft blue neon strokes that proclaimed, No Touching! The man's hand was large in Cole's fingers when he pulled it from the back of the couch and guided it to his waist. It fit nicely into the curve, his pinkie brushing the top of where Cole's lacey shorts dug into the skin of his hip.

The man wasted no time in setting the empty glass aside and putting his other hand on Cole's waist so that he could feel the way his hips rolled ever so slightly down. Their crotches were not pressed together, but the man's fingers still dug in like he needed to hold on for the ride. They slid to cup Cole's ass where it was spread across his lap, the pads of his fingers stroking the skin just below where the short's hem met his skin.