Free Wrong then Right (A Love Happens Novel Book 2) by Jodi Watters

lately.
    Looking at Bubba, who’d stood motionless the entire time, Marcia shrugged her shoulders and returned to her spot at the bar, not asking to see more skin.
    Did that mean she passed the test or not?
    “Okay, kid. You’re in. The rules are easy,” he chimed, ticking them off on his sausage-like fingers, “we’re a no touch club. That means customers don’t touch ya’. Anywhere, ever. No matter how much cash they flash ya’, which they’re gonna. Now, ya’ might be enticed to touch them. Don’t do it. We’re a no touch club. But,” he said, with a tilt of his head, “if ya’ do, your hands must remain above their waist or below their thighs. Never in between. And at no point will ya’ ever put your mouth on a customer. Anywhere, ever. Ya’ got me?”
    Hope nearly lost her day old bagel breakfast at the thought. “I got you.” Heard and understood.
    “And no alcohol before or durin’ your shift. No drugs, ever. No flashin’ your pussy. Them boys get the smell a’ tang in their noses and the next thing ya’ know, I got a riot on my hands and cops swarmin’ the place, lookin’ to shut me down. Ya’ show your pussy, I show ya’ the door. Your first shift starts tonight at six. Ends at two. If ya’ manage to make it ‘til then without cryin’ or runnin’ out the door, then ya’ got bigger balls than I think.”
    Rummaging around near the cash drawer, he held out a pale pink business card, the edges worn round. Whipped Cream Boutique was written in raised cursive script. “Go see Carla at this here underwear store an’ get fitted for your uniforms. Marcia’s the house mom here and she’ll take care of ya’. She’ll show ya’ ‘round the place, includin’ the dressin’ rooms tonight. I don’t go in there myself. There’s lady things happenin’ in there that I don’t want no part of. Hairspray and tampons, things a’ that nature. Ya’ make yourself at home, though.”
    Hope opened her mouth but hesitated, and he somehow read her mind. “I’ll cover the cost for ya’, honey. You can pay me back from your first check. Waitressin’ pays ten bucks an hour, once a week on Tuesday’s. Ya’ get to keep all your tips.” He nodded, signaling the end of the salary negotiations, and smiled genuinely. Something Hope hadn’t done in days. “You’re gonna do alright here, toots. Ya’ need to hide out from your real life for awhile? Ya’ need to make some fast money? Bubba’s got ya’ covered. If ya’ ever wanna try out the stage and work the pole once or twice, talk to Marcia here.”
    And with that, he went back to his cleaning, as if she wasn’t standing there with near abject fear written all over her pale face. Marcia was oblivious as well, engrossed in her dog-eared Vogue. Muttering her thanks, Hope turned on her heel and headed for the door, not sure if she’d have the guts to return. The fast food joint down the road was looking better and better.
    But she did return to the club, promptly at six that night, mentally cursing both the sorry state of her life and her ample chest as she wrestled her boobs into a sadistic leather contraption known as a bustier.
    Hope hadn’t cried that night as Bubba predicted, but she had thrown up. Twice she’d had to run into the employee bathrooms and upchuck her insides. Bridget held her hair while Marcia wet a washcloth, both of them assuring her this was standard operating procedure when a new girl started. They were too gracious to point out that it was usually after she shook her naked moneymakers in front of a hundred gawking customers and not when she merely served them a cocktail. Marcia suggested Hope have a cup of hot tea on her break. Bridget suggested Hope add a shot of blackberry brandy to it, poo-poo’ing Marcia when she’d flashed the platinum blonde a warning glare. Yes, the fresh faced bombshell wearing a gold sequined thong and matching star-shaped pasties over her nipples had actually said the word poo-poo .
    When