Her legs glistened. The glitter sparkled. The music blared. And he lit up his second cigarette.
"No, smoking," she purred, bringing her body down to his level, swinging on the pole as she did so.
He blew the smoke away from her, smirking. "I think my smoke is the last thing you should worry about, Angel."
She smiled. "And what should I be worrying about…Dr. Cooper." Her tone was flirty and sensual as she took off another layer of her already scant attire.
He sat up ad ran a large hand up her skinny leg. It was his usual visit to the Champagne Room with his usual girl, Angel.
"You should worry about bad men." It looked like he was answering to her panties, rather than her.
"Oh, I think I can fend for myself," she responded, pushing his body away with her foot on his shoulder. He sat back with a light thud, taking another drag from his cigarette.
"Tell me your name," he called to her. She always refused before, but he didn't give up asking.
She leaned all the way down giving him court side view of her ass. From this position, she turned her head as her blonde hair cascaded down. "Angel."
"Your real name." He continued to smoke, but soon put his cigarette out.
She stood straight, looking at him over her shoulder. "What do you want it to be?"
He reached up and pulled her hand, causing her jump off the podium. "I want it to be whatever was put on your birth certificate."
She straddled him as he got out a large bill, tucking it into one of the strings that hung on her body.
"Penny," she whispered against his lips, gyrating her body against his and raising her hips. Her hands pressed against her breasts.
Dr. Cooper ghosted his hands over her body, very aware of the no-groping rule though Angel—Penny—often let his small touches slide. Sometimes more. He was too good a tipper.
"Penny," he whispered, his whole body smelling like cigarette smoke and cologne. "What will it take for you to agree to dinner with me?"
His deep blue eyes met her with an intensity that caused the exotic dancer to look away. "A lot." She returned her gaze to him. "And I'm surprised a plastic surgeon smokes. You know what the does to your appearance?"
"Oh, I only smoke when I'm here."
"Lucky me."
She pulled down the strap on her shoulder and he leaned his head down, letting his lips barely graze the skin. He lifted his head again, his hands now heavy on her thighs. "One dinner."
She got up, pulling her straps up with her. She turned away from him, adjusting her skimpy clothes. "Time's almost up, Doc."
"Yes, it is. So, give me that answer. And it better be a 'yes.'"
She turned, her eyes sparkling and her hair flowing down her bare back. "I'm an expensive date."
His response was to sit back on the velvet couch, his arms outstretched behind him, an arrogant look on his face.