A simple rule but a valuable one.
The Castle is the most exclusive and illusive male strip club in the country. As dancers we're treasured like royalty and as clients, you're treated like it.
I'm the cocky, playful, green eyed dream boat whose body makes ladies hit high notes. Every man that walks out onto the stage is loved like a prince.
I'm Arik and this is my story.
Immediately I bite, “I'm not...That's...that's not even a thing.”
“It's a thing,” Chance corrects before downing his own bottle of water. “And you're on it.”
“It's cute,” Becca backs him.
“I'm not cute,” I gripe.
“Not when your forehead wrinkles like that.” Becca points as Chance laughs. “So, what's her name?”
“She doesn't have a name because there is no her.” When her mouth opens to argue, I snip, “You have a chair to be flipped around in. Are you done?”
Becca continues to tease me with a tap on the chest. “You must really like her.”
I do. I really fucking do. It's a growing problem. Part of me knows it'll pass. It always does. It's just....usually passed by now. That's gotta be what's throwing me off. I'll get over it and just enjoy fucking her rotten until I do. There's no need to pull my friends into something that's not gonna last longer than another week. And it won't. While I'm doing shit I don't normally do like cook dinner, give back rubs, and spend the night at her apartment, it doesn't mean it's not temporary. Why are you looking at me like I'm a moron?