Poles Apart (SAMPLE ONLY!)

Chapter 1

Copyright © 2014 Kirsty Moseley

All rights reserved.

The right of Kirsty Moseley to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All characters in this publication are fictional and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

Poles Apart

 

By Kirsty Moseley

Chapter One

Tired did not begin to explain how I felt as I stood at the bar waiting for my order to be filled. My feet were hurting in the stupid ‘uniform’ they provided for me – the cheap, white plastic shoes with the four-inch heels. The tiny, black booty-shorts, which barely covered to the bottom of my butt cheeks, were slowly creeping higher and higher, making me shift on my feet uncomfortably. I glanced at my watch. 10:24p.m.

Great, only another three and a half hours to go!

The only good thing about today: tomorrow was Sunday, and I had the night off for a change.

The door opened and a cool breeze blew through from the foyer, moving around some of the stuffy air in the club. A group of lads stepped in, and I felt the smile creep onto my lips.

Scratch that, there were two good things about today now. Carson Matthews was here.

Without my permission, my eyes dragged down his body as he laughed with one of his friends. He looked so incredibly hot tonight in nicely fitted blue jeans and a white short-sleeve shirt, undone teasingly low. It exposed his throat and part of the incredible chest I knew was hidden under the material. Forcing my gaze back to his face, I swallowed the desire rising in my throat. His light-brown hair was styled to perfection, as usual. His face was flawless, his deliciously full lips made my finger long to reach out and trace them. The air left my body in one long, breathy, needy sigh.

When his head turned in the direction of the bar where I was standing, a sexy little smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Lover boy’s here,” the bar manager, Jason, teased, pushing the tray of drinks toward me. “Table five.”

I nodded but didn’t say anything. What was there to say? He knew how I felt about Carson so there was no point in denying it; it was clear on my face, I’d bet. I picked up the tray of drinks and turned to deliver them to the waiting clients, attempting to look sexy as I strutted across the room in my four-inch plastic stilettos. The music started up, the lights went down and the next ‘performer’ stuck her leg out of the curtain. She began teasingly running her hand up the bare skin as the men all started howling and crowding around the stage, waiting for the big reveal.

That’s right. I work in a strip club. Of course, probably like everyone who did this job, I didn’t want to do it. It was more like I had to. There are things people have to do to avoid sleeping on the streets. Waiting tables in cheap shoes, booty shorts and a figure-hugging vest top is one of those things for me. My job included nightly lap dances to clients and the occasional pole dance on stage, but thankfully, that didn’t happen particularly often. We had proper performers for stage shows. Not many people would request me over someone who looked like a glamour model. Not that I had a horrible figure. In fact, I was happy with my body, but I was real, and most guys didn’t like real. They also didn’t like average size. Instead, the men who came to this club usually abide by the rule ‘the bigger the better’ – hence me waiting tables and barely bringing in enough money to pay the rent, pay for my university fees, and feed the two other people I was responsible for.