I swayed my hips as Britney’s sound beat through my body. I couldn’t help but move to the musical stylings of the pop goddess; she has some good jams. As I felt the beat through my veins, I delivered a round of grenades, New Orleans’ most popular way to get drunk off your ass, to a table of men, who tipped me by slipping cash right into the cup of my bra.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” the man said with a creepy-ass smile.

I smiled politely, but kept on walking.

Work Bitch, I repeated in my head.

I went back to the bar to get more drinks when I saw Lyla spread her legs for the world to see as she slid down the pole upside down. Her finely-toned muscles held her in place, as men practically chucked their cash at her. Lucky bitch.

“Goldie, a new table sat down over in the corner,” Carlos said, as he placed drinks on my tray. “After you drop these drinks off at eleven, make sure you take their orders.”

Carlos was a Guido to the max. If he didn’t sleep in a tanning bed at night, I’d be surprised. His muscles rippled under his black tank top, which was a staple in his wardrobe, as he worked around the bar. He had black slicked-back hair and barbell tattoos that wrapped around his biceps, which were such a cliché in my book, but he thought he was hot every time he flashed them off to girls. It was kind of embarrassing when he did it, but then again, he was practically my bodyguard when I got off my shift, so I never told him. If it wasn’t for the fact that the brawny man preferred a dick over a vagina, I probably would have found myself in his bed a couple of nights because he was kind of hot. Unfortunately, he wasn’t necessarily out of the closet, given the fact that he was a male stripper in his down-time and wanted the girls to fall head over heels in love with him. So, he kept his little secret to himself…for the most part. I understood his reasoning, but felt bad that he couldn’t live his life the way he should.

“Earth to Goldie, take the drinks. Come on, we’re busy tonight, girl.”

I snapped out of my thoughts, grabbed the ready tray and dropped the drinks off to a bunch of men who must have just gotten out of a business meeting because they were all wearing loose ties and their suit jackets were laid across the backs of their chairs.

“Here you go, gentlemen. Please remind me, who got the dry martini with two olives?”

“That would be me, sweetheart,” said the middle-aged man with a decent-sized erection poking through his trousers. Good job Lyla, I thought, as I handed him his drink with a smile and a show of my cleavage.

“Do you give lap dances, sweetheart?” asked the man next to him, who was slightly balding and had a nice case of rosacea scattered across his cheeks.

“I don’t, handsome, but I can get one of the girls to come over and give you exactly what you want,” I said, as bile threatened to come up my throat. I hated acting like I was the least bit interested in these disgusting men.

“What if I want you?”

“You’re going to have to take that up with my manager, then. If it was my choice, I’d be on your lap in a heartbeat,” I winked at him as I dropped off the last man’s drink and then headed toward the table in the corner to get their orders.

As I walked away, a strong hand wrapped around my waist and pulled me down onto a very excited lap. Cringing from the blatant chub that was poking me in the ass, I turned around and smiled at the red-faced creep and started to get up.

“Where you going, sweetheart? I just wanted a little dance from the hottest girl in the joint,” he said, as the garlic he had for dinner ran off his tongue and straight into my nose, singing off any nose hairs I might have had.

“You know, sir, as much as I would love to gyrate your dick to explosion, I’m going to have to ask you to let go of me so you can go to the bathroom to take care of that chunk of basil that is nestled between your teeth.” I tossed a toothpick from my miniscule apron on the table and got up.

The guy covered his mouth as the other men at the table slapped his back and laughed hysterically.

“Hey,” one of the guys called out to me, as red-face ran to the bathroom to take care of his revolting food chunk. He handed me a twenty dollar bill and said, “That’s for making my night. That actually made my week. That cocky SOB thinks he’s the shit and you put him in his place in a matter of seconds. Thank you.”

I smiled and said, “Anytime. If you boys need anything else, besides lap dances, let me know.” I gave them a wink, pocketed my twenty that I would have to split with the other whores and headed toward table eleven.

Table eleven was one of the exclusive tables that high-priority people usually got. Thanks to the lighting, you never really got a good look at who was sitting in the curved booth, but from their vantage point, they could see everything. It was one of the attractive things about Kitten’s Castle that businessmen appreciated. They could be total horn dogs in the back and never be seen…by anyone.

As I approached, all I saw were two dark shadows of men, one sitting taller than the other. They both had broad shoulders and what looked like full heads of hair. A vast difference from the men I usually got to take orders from.

“Hi, can I get you two something to drink?” I asked, while looking at two dark shadows, desperately trying to make out some features. I was always curious to find out who chose the blackout booths.

“I’ll take a Guinness,” came the voice on the right hand side. It was deep with a bit of a rasp. Just from the rasp alone that caressed his voice, I could tell he was packing a good-sized dick.

“Alright, and you sir?” I asked, while looking to the left of the booth.

“Bourbon, no ice. Your most expensive.”

At that moment, I was pretty sure I creamed my pants. The smooth voice of a southern gentleman erupted from the left side of the booth, making me feel weak in the damn knees. It was as if his voice injected itself into my veins and turned everything warm from the smooth timbre rolling off his tongue.

“Sounds good,” I responded weakly, “I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

I was just turning around when the voice dripping with sweet molasses spoke up. “Were those men bothering you?”

I turned around and looked into the dark, trying to catch a glimpse of any feature that matched that gorgeous voice, but no such luck.

“Nothing I haven’t come across before, but thanks for your concern.”

Not wanting to hear a response, I turned on my heels and went back to the bar to fulfill their order.

I leaned over the bar and got Carlos’ attention. “Hey handsome, did you see those two men walk into the bar?” I asked, while nodding toward the blackout booth I was just visiting.

“No, I didn’t. Marv just informed me they sat down. Why? Are they giving you trouble?”

“No. Just curious.”

I told Carlos their order and watched him pull down our top shelf bourbon and place a generous amount in a small glass for the dark and mysterious man in the corner, with a voice that literally melted my panties right off.

“You’re never curious about our customers, so why the interest?”

Blowing out an exasperated breath because I knew Carlos wouldn’t let my curiosity go, I said, “When he spoke to me, I think I climaxed on the spot. The man has a voice that will make your thing-a-ding grow to epic proportions.”

Carlos looked over my shoulder and tried to eye the mystery man. “Really? Well, now I’m intrigued. Maybe I should take them their drinks.”

Carlos started to move out from behind the bar, but I pushed him back. “Don’t even think about it! These men are mine.”

“Just as well…I bet you they have warts all over their faces.”

“You’re probably right,” I agreed.

I grabbed the drinks, placed them on my tray, and walked back to the blackout booth, while avoiding ass grabs by multiple men. I should be in some sort of waitressing Olympics, with the maneuvers I had to do in three-inch heels.