I once saw a guy—”
“Devon! Enough. And do you have any idea how unsanitary that is?”
“Dude. I’m not saying I’d smoke it again myself, just that it was a trip to watch.”
Blek. Adam would rather have a root canal. Not that he didn’t like naked women. But he liked them a little more wholesome than that. He wasn’t a fan of strippers and blatant womanly wiles. The whole scene was so far removed from his daily life, where most of the females he encountered wore either sweats, jeans or surgical scrubs—not fishnets or pasties.
Adam also didn’t care for most of the men who hung out at these clubs. They were generally either creeps or assholes. After they left the clubs, it wasn’t unusual for the former to use their fists to abuse themselves and the latter to use their fists to abuse others. Emergency rooms were full of bruised and bloody idiots who had limped out of bars.
“C’mon, c’mon,” Dev urged him. “You got ten minutes to grab a shower and pull yourself together.”
“I am together,” said Adam, looking at Devon’s spiky, product-laden hair and the chain around his neck. He looked like some kind of designer dog. “And at least I don’t have grease in my mop like some others I could mention. You’re the one who needs the shower. Also, if you’re going to wear a choke chain, where’s your rabies tag?”
“Grease? This is Pomade à l’Hommes, imported from Paris, and it costs a mint, thank you very much. I’m going to ignore your gratuitous comment about my—”
“Pomade a l’homosexual, more like,” Adam said, grinning.
“Dude. You know better. I scored with number three hundred and twenty-six last month. That’s a lot of women since age fourteen…”
“Yeah. It makes me wonder when your dick’s gonna fall off and what you’re trying to prove.” Adam disappeared into the bathroom, ignoring the insults Devon hurled at him through the door. Devon didn’t have a gay bone in his body, but it was fun to rile him.
The quick hot shower cleared Adam’s brain of fog and snapped him awake, since the anatomy text had had a sedative effect in spite of his legendary focus. He wrapped the hotel towel around his waist and shaved, though he didn’t know why he bothered.
Then he threw on his clothes, cracked his knuckles like a caveman and girded his decidedly not inflamed loins for the evening.
NIKKI FINE STARED AT the huge, hollow plywood cake on wheels in front of her. It was frosted with spackle and house-paint in unfortunate shades of peach and blue, and it had seen better days. Scuffs and footprints marred the once-festive surface, and a big chunk of icing had chipped off one side.
She shook her head. “I can’t get in there,” she said. “I’m claustrophobic and I’m afraid of the dark.” Nobody had told her she’d be wheeled into the bachelor party this way. The inside of the cake might as well be a coffin as far as she was concerned. And was that a spiderweb down there? She shivered involuntarily.
Nikki always kept a tiny light plugged in next to her nightstand. Rationally she knew that there were no monsters under her bed. She was an adult, after all. But somehow she’d never outgrown her fear of total blackness in a room. And lately she’d had recurring nightmares about being buried alive after seeing a news story on the modus operandi of a particularly charming serial killer.
She was not getting into that small round box. No way.
Her neighbor Yvonne Morales blinked at her, tossing her glossy dark mane over her shoulder. Then she laughed. “Get over it, chica. You’ve been hired. Climb into the damn cake.”
“I can’t,” Nikki said for the third time.
Not even in the name of paying off her crushing debt could she get in there.
“You want to lose this job in the first hour you have it? What about all that whinin’ you did about being broke and needing to pay the minimum on your credit cards? What’s your problem?”
Nikki gulped. Small, dark places. That’s my problem. And total fear that I’m going to make an idiot out of myself in front of a hundred guys. Who was I kidding? I can’t moonlight as a stripper. “Look,” she said to Yvonne. “I kind of exaggerated my dancing skills. I can’t dance at all. I didn’t even make pep squad in high school.” In fact, she’d been mocked by the mean girls for even attempting it.
Hey, Nikki, you’re so fine, you’re so fine, hey, Nikki!
She pushed aside the painful memory and the chorus line of the song they’d used to torment her. How she’d hated her name back then.
Yvonne laughed. “You don’t gotta dance. You pop the top off the cake and wiggle around. Then pop your own top. The dumb-asses in the bar are all drunk, anyway. They couldn’t tell the difference between you and Britney Spears out there. Just shake it and smile and lick your lips a lot.”
The more she thought about it, the more Nikki realized exactly how bad an idea this was. “What if someone I know recognizes me?”
“In ten pounds of stage makeup, false eyelashes and pasties? I really don’t think so. And believe me, they will not be focused on your face.”
No, they would be focused on her breasts and her booty. No secret there. She flushed with humiliation as she remembered her experience at Yvonne’s waxing place.
C’mon, honey, we got to get you a Brazilian before tomorrow if you’re goin’ onstage in a G-string.
Nikki had had to take off all clothing—all—below her waist. Then she’d been ordered onto a platform table and told to spread ’em while a strange woman had smacked noisily on her gum and stared at what Yvonne would call her “box.”
Not only had the strange woman stared at it, she’d snipped at it with small scissors and then spread hot wax in highly embarrassing places with a wooden tongue-depressor. Far worse, she’d pressed muslin strips into the wax and then—
“Oww!” Nikki had shrieked.
The woman snapped her gum and rolled her eyes as she tossed the strip into the trash. Then she grinned evilly and grasped another.
Approximately seventeen yelps later, her tormentor had made her roll over and assume an even more horrendous position…. Nikki closed her eyes simply thinking about it. She’d refused to speak to Yvonne once she emerged from the chamber of horrors, while her neighbor just laughed and laughed.
Nikki had raced home, submerged her lower half in a tub of cold water, clamped her knees and gulped a glass of wine without stopping to breathe. Then she’d poured another and popped four painkillers.
This morning the angry red bumps had faded to a nice pink blush, a perfect background for the tiny heart that now nestled at the apex of her legs. I am a fallen woman, Nikki thought. Now, do I really need to pop out of a cake and fall again? Right on my butt in front of a bunch of horny, drunken men?
No, I do not. Best to walk away from this cake and this terrible job and figure out a different way to pay my credit cards.
The balance on the cards haunted
