Mallory
It always starts in a bar. Usually. In my case, a strip club. You see someone and you know that it's him, the one. For me it's different. I saw the man not too much older than me, and I knew something. It wasn't that he was my soul mate. No, it was that by his cocky smirk I knew he'd tip well.
I sauntered towards him, trying to catch his eye. I was revealing a lot of skin, showing my lack of curves. Guys these days liked skinny girls. Most of them. I hoped he was one of those guys. I never had to worry about dieting because you had to have money to buy food and I was dirt poor. I had to fuck my landlord in order to stay in my shitty den that is a house. A terrifying experience, but worth it in the end. I wondered what I would have to do to get air conditioning and heating.
It was a busy night. I already had a wad of bills slipped into my lingerie. Some were fives, which were nice, but most were ones. I could pay rent this time with money instead of service. The owner of the strip club, Paul, tried to make the club feel exotic with red pulsing lights and mist. The runway which I walked on was clear like ice, making it seem like the dancers were walking on nothing. I finally approached my pole, flickering my eyes seductively towards the man. I wrapped my legs around the pole, spinning erotically around it. I grinded, I danced, and I even grabbed my tits for the full effect. It wasn't until I was out of breath when I slid down the pole to end up sitting before him. I wrapped my legs around his neck, pulling him closer. I fell gracefully in his lap, grinning a grin that could break thousands of hearts.
"How are you doing tonight?" I asked in a low voice, fingering his collar. I found a button and opened it. Hair was smattered across his chest. It wasn't unappealing. It was sexy, manly. I ran my hand through it, down his chest, and back up again.
"Fine," he said in monotone. "Yourself?" Huh. So he wasn't interested. Thank you, dude, for creating a new goal for me. I felt his zipper pressed against my leg and nothing else. I decided it was all or nothing, so I leaned into his ear.
"I'm great. I'd be better if you came with me." I pointed to the back of the club. I pulled back from him to study his reaction. Instead of feeling pressure against my leg, I saw his face with the same bored expression. Bored, but still very beautiful. What was it with these New York guys his age? The early twenties ones were the best. He couldn't be more than twenty himself. I'd give him twenty-one because of the beer in his left hand. Then again, Paul never was one to check IDs. I should know since I started working at Paul's Peek at seventeen.
His expression changed and he looked up at me. That's when I saw his intense blue eyes as his brows crinkled. "How old are you?"
"Eighteen." I tried to keep my face straight, but I felt it falter. I was seventeen, soon to be eighteen. My birthday was coming up so I was glad I could tell a smidge of the truth.
"Please get off of me," he demanded. I panicked, removing myself off of him liked he asked, but I pushed his chest angrily.
"Asshole!" I cursed.
"Look, I never wanted to come. Aidan—my whore of a roomate—thought I deserved a night out."
"You're lying." I turned, walking off, ignoring that he basically called me a whore, too. I thought I'd get something from this dude, this fucktard who had no dick. Nothing. I wanted to get plenty of money, maybe treat myself at the diner after my shift was up.
"He's in the back where you want me to be," he called, then I turned towards his voice.
I gave him a pointed look. "You're still an asshole."
"Look. I'm sorry. Here." He pulled out his beat wallet and took out a twenty, proving that he really did think I was a cheap skank. Maybe I was. I searched for one of those black AmEx cards to see if he was rich. If he was from money, giving me some wouldn't mean a thing. However, I only spied an ID and a condom along with a few smaller bills. I snatched the bill out of his hands before he could change his mind and stuffed it in my bra. I wasn't greedy. I wasn't selfish. I was hungry.
"Thanks," I told him over the loud music that was playing in the background. I stepped closer to him to kiss his cheek. I wasn't wearing trampy red lipstick, but my gloss still left a mark.
He blinked rapidly after the kiss, breathing heavily. I smiled up at him, knowing the effect I could have on people like him. He shook his head as if he was in deep thought, then asked, "How old are you? Really?"
"How old do I look?" I retorted back to him.
"Sixteen. Maybe fifteen. You're small." He looked me over one last time. I felt, for the first time in a long time, that I should cover up.
"I'm not a kid. I'm eighteen," I said haughtily.
"You're, what, seventeen then?" he guessed. When I looked down at my feet he said, "Caught you."
"Are you an undercover cop or some shit? Jesus." My eyes widened and I started backing away.
"I'm not a cop. I don't think I'm mentally qualified to carry a gun."
"Then who are you?" Something in his smolder told me to trust him. He didn't look like the asshole I had called him; he looked genuinely concerned for my well being.
"Tyler." He held out his hand.
I shook reluctantly. "Mallory."
"Is that your real name?"
That was when I walked away for good.
