Free Shooting Dirty by Jill Sorenson

gained a little weight, but the customers loved her large breasts. Instead of insulting Tiffany in return, like usual, Desiree went pale. She headed for the nearest trashcan and vomited quietly.
    “Oh my God,” Tiffany said. “Are you pregnant?”
    “Shut up,” Desiree moaned.
    “Is it Kevin’s?”
    Desiree wiped her mouth with a napkin, grimacing.
    Janelle felt a pang of sympathy for her, despite their rivalry. Kevin was married, and a worthless asshole. If Desiree was knocked up, her days were numbered. She couldn’t work here with a baby bump, and Kevin probably wouldn’t support her.
    Tiffany pulled Janelle through the curtains and they headed toward the VIP room. Janelle pushed aside the drama and put on a smiling face. Lap dances were yet another downside to working at Vixen. Onstage, she was a star. In the VIP room, she was just another writhing body, a combination of eye-pleasing female parts.
    The customer who’d paid for a double didn’t look much older than a high school student, so that was awkward. Janelle grinded to the music, her mind elsewhere. A few weeks ago she’d heard two bachelor party guests snickering about her age. She wasn’t even thirty yet, and she was already over the hill.
    When the song was over, Janelle had several solo customers lined up. So did Tiffany. They went their separate ways, performing on the stage at regular intervals. It was a typical weeknight. Janelle hustled baby-faced college students and gray-haired grandfathers, peddling lap dances and overpriced drinks.
    At closing time, she paid out a percentage of her tips to the bartender and bouncer. Then she donned her street clothes, gathered her tote bag, and met Tiffany at the exit. They always walked out together for safety reasons. As Janelle approached her car, Tiffany held up two bottles of beer, obviously snagged from the bar.
    “Care for a nightcap?”
    Janelle nodded gratefully. It had been a hell of a week already. She climbed into the passenger seat of Tiffany’s Jeep and accepted the beer, taking a long drink. Then she reached for her pack of cigarettes. There was only one left. She lit it up with a shaking hand, inhaling as if the substance was lifesaving rather than life-taking.
    Tiffany had another vice: marijuana. She sparked a joint from her ashtray while the parking lot cleared.
    They sat side by side, indulging their addictions.
    “Jamie found out about my job,” Janelle said.
    “Oh shit,” Tiffany said, holding in the smoke. “What happened?”
    “He tried to defend me and got beat up by a group of older boys.”
    “How bad?”
    “Just scrapes and bruises,” Janelle said. “It might have been worse, but someone intervened.”
    “A neighbor?”
    She shook her head. “The guy who shot Shane.”
    “You’re kidding.”
    “No. His name is Ace.”
    Tiffany frowned at this news. She knew that Ace had fixed Janelle’s car window and left money in her mailbox. “What the fuck? Is he stalking you?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Did he act creepy?”
    “Not really.”
    “Not
really
?”
    Janelle wasn’t sure how to describe his behavior. “He acted interested. Whether that’s creepy or not, considering our history, is up for debate.”
    “I need more information,” Tiffany said, squinting into the darkness.
    Janelle stubbed out her cigarette and told Tiffany everything, from the interview at Loma Santa Fe to Ace leaving his business card.
    “You like him,” Tiffany said.
    Warmth suffused her cheeks. She was attracted to him—against her better judgment. “Do you think that’s messed up?”
    “Totally. You should fuck him.”
    She laughed at Tiffany’s suggestion.
    “He’s hot, right?”
    “He’s a criminal.”
    “Nobody’s perfect.”
    “Would you date a hired killer?”
    “How do you know that’s what he is? Maybe it was just a one-time thing.”
    Janelle finished her beer, contemplative. “He’s very calculated. You don’t get that way without practice.”
    “You