Free Stirred Up by Isabel Morin

the entire room. Transfixed, he watched as she slid her bra
off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor, baring her lush,
perfect breasts to the hundreds of people crammed into the
club.
    He’d been lying awake at night, picturing
what it would be like to take her clothes off piece by piece,
slowly revealing her curves and glorious skin. He’d tortured
himself imagining the sighs and moans she’d make while he did it,
all the time holding out for when the semester was over and nothing
stood in their way.
    Now here he was, seeing all of it for the
price of admission. He felt stupid, and a little sick, and as
turned on as he’d ever been in his life.
    He held his breath as she lowered the zipper
of her skirt, teasing the crowd, killing him. When it finally fell
to the stage she stood before him in heels, a thong, and the
garters circling her thighs.
    He shouldn’t be seeing her like this. Even in
the midst of all the dark, irrational thoughts that spun through
his drink-addled brain, he knew it was wrong, knew it would kill
her if she knew. There was a reason she hadn’t told him.
    Billy Idol was yelling
more more
more
as she glided along the edge of the stage, making it easy
for the men crowded around to push money into her thong and
garters. She winked and laughed, flashing a smile that belonged to
another woman.
    He was watching a pro.
    “Give it up for Cherry,” the announcer called
over the sound system as she walked off the stage, and the whole
place went crazy again with drunken catcalls.
    Jason slumped back in his seat, too drunk to
think clearly, not drunk enough to be numb. The guys were laughing
and ordering more drinks, oblivious to Jason’s inner turmoil. He
ordered a scotch and took a deep slug as soon as it came, desperate
to stop his brain. Surely with enough whisky he’d stop seeing her
up there, her bare skin glowing, her hair like flames licking at
his soul.
    And then he did stop seeing her up there,
because when he looked up again, she was standing next to Kevin,
looking like the greatest temptation since Eve with her apple.
    Christ, he’d forgotten that they always came
around, working the floor, teasing the customers.
    Performing lap dances.
    Her hair was parted on the side, a gleaming
wing waving over one eye like a forties starlet. She must have
taken all the money out when she came off the stage, since there
was less there than when she’d finished, but a light fringe of
bills was once again lining her garters.
    She hadn’t seen him yet. He was sitting at
the far end of the second table they’d taken, and her attention was
on Kevin. The guys were requesting a lap dance for him, waving
fifty-dollar bills at her and telling her to make it the ride of
his life.
    “You up for it, hot stuff?” she asked Kevin,
her smoky voice teasing.
    “Hell, yeah, he’s up for it,” Brad said,
slapping Kevin on the back.
    Thank God Brad didn’t seem to recognize her.
If he had, there was no way he’d be keeping his mouth shut about
it.
    Kevin was looking uncomfortable. “Ah,
actually, I kind of promised Anne…”
    “That’s so sweet,” Cheryl said. “We wouldn’t
want you to break a promise. Maybe I can entertain one of you boys
instead.”
    She was smiling, her gaze moving over his
friends, assessing them, sizing them up.
    No. Hell no. He wasn’t going to make it
through this if he had to sit and watch her grind on one of his
friends, her breasts in his face, her ass on his crotch. He wasn’t
a violent man, or one known for extremes of temper, but tables were
gonna start flying if he had to watch that.
    He must have made a move, or started to stand
up. Her gaze locked on his and went blank with surprise right
before all the blood drained from her face. Falling back a step,
she looked at him with wide, horrified eyes.
    “Why don’t I leave you boys to think it
over,” she said, trying to sound lighthearted as she addressed Brad
and the guys again.
    Then she turned and practically ran