CALL ME WHAT YOU WANT 𓆩♡𓆪
(Book #1 of the Hellfire Gentlemen's Club series)
𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐔 18+ plz
strip club owner!eddie x fem!exotic dancer!hargrove!reader
Chapter 002: Wing Man
You start your first night of work. Eddie requests a private show. But not for him; for his friend — a rich and lonely bachelor who can’t seem to get over his ex.
* = somewhat smut
** = smut
↳ chapters: 001, 002*, 003** , 004**, 005 , 006 , 007* , 008**, 009, 010, 011, 012* , 013**, 014**, 015, 016**, 017, 018, 019, 020
word count: 7.2k words
NSFW — lap dance, steve creaming his pants, abusive relationships, talks of trauma, steve and reader trauma dumping lol
pairing: lonely bachelor!steve x fem!exoticdancer!hargrove! reader (and lowkey eddie)
author’s note: yes we get with steve before we get with eddie, but we will get there okay??? 🫣🫣🫦 also don’t tell me you guys wouldn’t homie hop in hawkins because these men are SO FINE
tags: @changemunson , @the-fairy-anon , @ali-r3n
“Let me see you dance I love to watch you dance. Take you down another level, and get you dancing with the Devil” -Wicked Games by The Weeknd
♡
A sultry black set.
A hot pink set with bows. Caribbean blue. Army green for the military men. Some cuffs. Personal wet wipes. Sanitizer. And lastly, a stethoscope to play the part.
“I can’t believe you accepted a caregiving job,” Max scoffs as you both make your way out of Scrubs 4 Less. “Do you even have healthcare experience?”
Your stepsister loved to mask her prying with carefully crafted screening questions. Even if they sounded pessimistic.
“Sure I do,” you shrug. “Remember that summer I cared for Great-Aunt Dotty when she had Parkinson’s? Figured maybe it’d be similar.”
“I guess.”
You take it upon yourself to remind Max that you are certified in CPR. And with that cert, you saved numerous people from drowning as a lifeguard. Of course that was for one year during high school, but it was experience nonetheless.
"Well, what about the heavy lifting?"
"Easy. All in the legs." you pat your thighs. Despite being calm on the outside, you are getting nervous now. About everything.
"Takes a lot of core strength too. And upper body."
It's like she knows what you actually will be going to be doing. However, there are parallels between both professions, and you made sure you made a choice like that so you wouldn't have to lie as much about the physicality of things.
"You seemed to have gotten the job pretty fast,” Max notes.
"Nursing homes are really short staffed. Especially with the pandemic and everyone leaving from all the burnout, they’ll take anybody who qualifies."
"Did they even determine if you do?"
"Are you questioning my ability to take care of people?”
You know you’re being manipulative. You can spot a manipulator from a mile away. But this little white lie is for you and Max’s own good. Even if it means selling her a fake story. Even if it means lying. Living a double life.
“An abusive home life and all-timers isn’t comparable.”
“Have you considered that some people with Alzheimer’s are combative as well?”
“And you had to accept the graveyard shift?” she pries further, ignoring all your valid points.
“It pays more,” you answer sharply, readily. “Two dollar shift differential.”
“Oh my god, we’re practically millionaires.”
The sudden change in Max's behavior is really catching you off guard. She was optimistic on her birthday. A little withdrawn when the weekend was approaching. Now the pain is evident it is almost unbearable. Sure, Billy isn't a problem anymore, but with all of his chaos, Max has found solace in using her hobbies as coping mechanisms. Her body needs that adrenaline, and now you have cut off access to all of it.
Max can't go surf. She can't run around freely just yet because she doesn't know good routes and trails. She doesn't have friends in the area besides you, Robin, and Vicky. She misses Donovan.
Max is hurt. You know she is, but you don't blame her. Still, you’ve had it.
“Hey.” you snap.
Max halts. She knows she went too far.
“I know it's sucky... the situation we're in right now," you sigh. "But I'm doing this for us, remember? It’s temporary. We just need a soft place to land, and this is paving the way towards that.”
At least that’s something you didn’t have to lie about: It’s a sacrifice you were making for her.
———————𓆩♡𓆪—————-
Orientation day comes in a blink of an eye.
Eddie is giving you a tour of Hellfire while discussing how his particular ‘system’ works. You’ve got to give him credit. His system makes sense.
“I don’t ask my girls to pay to dance here,” he explains. “I just think that’s bogus. Also, it’s Hawkins. Not that many competitors, so if I let you dance here, you’re automatically staff.”
You two walk down the hall. Eddie shows you where you would clock in and out, promising you your punch-in code by the end of the week. You learn that everyone gets paid out every Friday, because in Eddie’s words, “fuck that biweekly shit”. Tips go home with you every night, but you are expected to help tip out staff members patrons don’t really see or interact with. Therefore: Jonathan’s girlfriend Nancy whose House Mom, Henry, and Argyle. The boys make their money from bussing and serving. Jonathan earns tips from POTIONS.
“I figured as much.”
You graze your hand along the kukris on the wall as Eddie talks. He stops to take note of it and gives you a boastful smile.
“You like ‘em?”
“Yeah, they’re pretty cool.”
“That’s the perk of owning your own business,” Eddie says exuding a lazy stretch to graze the kukris himself. “You choose where the money goes, when it goes, how it goes.”
He ponders for a while longer.
“Most of the time at least.”
Clearly a majority of the money also went to the chicken wings.
Eddie leads you to back of the house where he then proudly showcases his wing menu to you. There’s the Hawkins Hot Chick for Nashville inspired hot chicken. Chicken Strippers for the picky eaters. And the ‘Hot As Cluck’ buffalo wings with spice scales named after Metallica songs: Fuel (mild), Fight Fire with Fire (medium), Creeping Death (hot), and The Unforgiven (Extremely hot). All are served with one’s choice of carrots and celery or crinkle cut fries on the side.
“Crinkle cut fries are the best kind of fries,” Eddie states. “Ain’t that right, chef?”
“Ay ay!”
One chef. For the entire back of the house. Though that seems like the textbook definition of a staff shortage, the friendly Latino man with long, black hair that he concealed with a hairnet and baseball cap most likely had it covered. He flashes you a kind grin with kind, hooded eyes to match, quite possibly revealing to you that he’s likely stoned out of his mind. But if it helps him through the shift…
“Argyle’s the man,” Eddie explains. “Pitched the chicken wing idea to me when we were both blasted.”
Suspicions confirmed.
“Is it just Argyle?” you inquire waving hello to him.
“Sometimes Eds helps out back here too,” Argyle answers for him. “Like when we’re really fucking shlammed, he’ll come back here and help cook.”
Argyle turns to you. You smile at him.
“But most of the time I got it,” he says. “That man’s got enough on his plate.”
“Yeah, Argyle’s a beast,” Eddie confirms. “Don’t know what I’d do without him.”
While Eddie tidies up back of the house, you and Argyle converse with one another. He’s 28, produces music on the side, and learned how to cook from his mom at the age of three. California native as well. By observing the mini station he has set up, you notice that Argyle keeps a stash of Yerba Mate with him at all times, and some bud in his mini gym bag. You also learn that he and Eddie often take breaks together, hot boxing one another’s vans as if it were some sort of competition. But, as Argyle had mentioned, with how much Eddie currently has on his plate, those joint breaks (no pun intended) have been pushed to the backburner.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Hargrove,” Argyle concludes. “Excited to have you on our team.”
“Likewise!” you shake his hand with a smile. “Looking forward to bugging you for chicken wings.”
“You bug me all you want, mamas,” he insists. “I’ll make you allll the chicken wings in the world.”
“You a flats girl or a drumstick girl?” Eddie questions.
“Flats,” you respond instantly.
You receive a distraught gasp from the cook while Eddie cackles.
“Atta girl,” Eddie smirks patting your back. “I knew I liked you.”
“BLAS.PHE.MY!” Argyle screams. “Drumsticks are where it’s at bro.”
The three of you argue back and forth about chicken for the next couple of minutes, Eddie sticking beside you through and through. Though play-fighting with your new coworkers seems meniscal in the grand scheme of things, you reveled in it. It’s the first time in a while you felt a sense of community outside your sister. You wanted to savor it, especially since you know that this is temporary.
“You’re a red flag, Hargrove,” Argyle jokes, clutching his chest. “You were perfect in my eyes until you said you were a flats girl.”
“Well it’s a good thing she’s mine and not yours,” Eddie jeers.
Your heart flutters. Eddie and chicken wings. You’ve GOT to be in heaven.
“Alright, word,” Argyle calls after Eddie as he pulls you away from the kitchen. “Word. I’m still gonna spoil her with food like she’s mine though.”
“He’s such a flirt,” Eddie says to you once you’re both out of earshot. “Endearing and endangering at the same time.”
“All in good nature right?”
“‘Course!” he exclaims. “We’re all about respecting women at Hellfire. Everything’s lighthearted banter.”
And you’ll revel in that too. Especially since ‘respect’ and ‘lighthearted banter’ weren’t things you were able to experience at home.
“Also!” Eddie adds. “Respectfully… Wear something simple but classy on Friday.”
“Ooh,” you chime. “Simple and classy?”
“Yeah, I’m talking neutral tones. Red lipstick also preferred but you can do whatever you want. I’ve got something I need you to do for me on your very first day.”
I’ll do anything for you, Eddie. Your intrusive thoughts are starting to take over.
———————𓆩♡𓆪—————-
It’s Friday night now and everyone is in their respective stations preparing for the rush. Argyle is prepping the fryer while Chrissy flirts with him for nachos. She waves at you with her fingers and gestures that you can have some too. You smile and mouth a, “thank you” to her.
You really like Chrissy. Of all the dancers you’ve seen so far, she is the most memorable. She is charming and sweet, soft but firm with her boundaries. She has regulars lining up for her daily, all with different types of quirks and interests. But Chrissy somehow fits all of their molds, just by how fast she can switch from doe to siren depending on her audience. You want to be just like her.
You and Eddie stop by the kitchen before heading off to finish orientation. There are chicken wings — flats only, of course — on the line waiting for you with a note scribbled on the back of an old ticket order.
“Shy Girl<3”
“Eat up, mamas,” Argyle encourages you. “Gonna need the energy for tonight.”
“Yeah!” Chrissy cheers. “It’s Fridaaay!”
You thank them before heading out with Eddie once again. Eddie steals a flat from you and flashes a thumbs up to the cook before you two leave.
“Mm,” he approves. “Fight Fire with Fire Buffalo.”
You are just about done with wrapping up orientation training and ready to start the first night on your own. That is until Mike Wheeler, Nancy’s younger brother and bus boy, comes along and interrupts Eddie’s train of thought. You walk with Eddie in silence, munching on your food while Mike relentlessly hounds him about bringing his girlfriend into the club. She is 18 but Eddie is refusing.
“But but-” Mike stammers. “The club is already eighteen plu-”
“But nothing,” Eddie interrupts. “This is Hellfire Club. Not babysitting club.”
“Well I’m 19 and you let me work here. Why does it matter if she’s 18?”
“Because you’re a dude, Wheeler,” Eddie hisses in return. “It’s different for the ladies.”
Not willing to risk any liabilities, he leaves Mike with just that. You follow Eddie, fiddling nervously with your hands as you watch him tsk and shake his head in disapproval.
“I can’t have teenage girls in here,” Eddie mutters. “That’s just blatantly obvious right? Or have I lost it?”
“No, right. Totally!” you agree.
Eddie has another rule. No strippers under the age of 20. Anyone under, including ages of 18 and 19 are children to him. He admits that he gets squeamish when guys bring their younger looking girlfriends into the club. You assume it pertained to his colleague’s girlfriends too.
You walk past the bar with Eddie, waving hi to Jonathan as you did so. Dustin is at the bar as well but is too busy to say hello. You manage to glance over and watch him fix his hair, trying to look his absolute best while FaceTiming his Mormon e-girl from Utah, Suzie. After eavesdropping for the past couple of days, you pick up that she insists on video chatting with Dustin every time he is at Hellfire to ensure his fidelity. Suzie wanted to be his “only wifey” to which ‘Dusty Bun’ assures her that she is.
“Uh oh,” comes a voice ever so soft it sounds eerie when it echoes through the club. “Someone’s in a bad mood today.”
Slithering into your periphery is the same tall, lean guy that you ran into earlier last week. Today he's sporting a white tank top that revealed a couple small tattoos scattered around his body, black pants that were tight enough to be yours, a loose wallet chain belt, and chunky work docs. His gorgeous blonde hair looks attainably messy by what you suspect is mousse. He smells of beer and cigarettes tonight, his tired eyes a precursor to his lust-filled gaze. A poster boy for all the men you wouldn’t want to bring home to your parents is none other than,
“Henry Creel,” Eddie says. “Mike’s just picking a bone with me. Have you met Hargrove? She’s our newest dancer.”
It’s seemingly Henry’s first day back. From the first day of orientation to now, you’ve only had run-ins with Jim, the older gentleman who is also a bouncer. Jim spent years with the Hawkins PD, but after a scandal that only Eddie and his peers seem to know about, Jim found a home protecting young women at the Hellfire Gentlemen’s Club. The only place that gave him a chance.
You like Jim. You like everyone here. You are also ecstatic to see Henry again, this time as a dancer. You can see the excitement blooming in his eyes, with a steady increase in his pupil size by the second.
“Well, well,” Henry smirks. “Look who decided to join us.”
You two shake hands again.
“Henry’s my other bouncer,” Eddie explains, but you already knew that. “He’s my right hand man. He’s tiny but mighty. Could snap bones in an instant.”
You peer over at Henry with shocked eyes, to which Henry acknowledges with a dramatic bow.
“You’ll see it,” Eddie hovers a hand over your back. “I sure hope not anytime soon, but there’s always that one douchebag.”
“And they always underestimate me too,” Henry says. “I get a nice kick out of it. It’s a win-win.”
Henry is certainly not beefy, but judging by his muscle tone and sharp upright demeanor, he can put up a fight. Dude seems like he does a lot of the dirty work for Eddie. He can get away with it too.
After bidding ‘see you later’ to Henry, you continue walking with Eddie.
“So,” he starts. “Did you put together a cute simple outfit for tonight?”
“Mhm,” you nod.
“Good,” Eddie says. “I can tell it’s gonna look amazing. I dig the red lipstick and the choker.”
Eddie wanted classy so you gave him classy. Underneath the cloak, you are sporting a lacy black set with a matching black choker and classic red lipstick. Your hair is straightened tonight since beach waves are your signature.
“You want a sneak peak?” you smirk.
Eddie quirks up. “Oh man, do I? Let me at it.”
You take off your cloak to reveal what you have underneath.
Eddie stops in his tracks, taking in the sight in front of him. His gaze is both soft, yet lout. Delicate in the brows, yet carnivorous in the eyes. Slowly, his jaw lowers, uttering a silent gasp as he fully processes the sight of the vixen — you — in front of him.
“Jeez…” he strains. “You look…”
You blush. Electricity whirls through you as Eddie continues to relish in your beauty.
“Showstopping,” Eddie finishes.
He reaches his arms out and you take them, letting yourself fall into his chest as he pulls you to him. During the embrace, he sets his lips beside your cheek, brushing against them delicately as he gives you a verbal kiss.
“Mwah!” he exclaims, leaving you longing for a stronger peck. You feel like you’re on a cloud when he spins you to get a full 360 of your look. “I was expecting like a light color, or pastel…but black — black is your color.”
“Yeah?” you reply. “It’s not too edgy? Choker and all?”
“A lil rough around the edges won’t hurt,” the club owner approves. “He’s gonna love it.”
You follow closely behind. “He?”
Your first client. You had a feeling that’s what Eddie had planned for you today, but reality didn’t sit in until right now.
"Ever given a lap dance before?" Eddie inquires.
"Yeah, but not in this setting."
He seems amused with your answer. Eddie smirks as he gives you a nudge. "Perfect."
You two are walking down the corridor now, down to an isolated room at the end masked by a beaded curtain. You’re unsure if the goosebumps that form on your skin is because of the slight chilliness of the club or because you were walking into a seductive hideout with the boss you had the hots for.
You two stop just a yard short of the curtain. Eddie turns to face you.
"I've got a buddy named Steve. Not short for anything, his parents just... loved the 80s." he chuckles. “You’re giving him a private show tonight. One hour.”
Eddie’s buddy. The pressure is on. The name rings a bell, you believe Dustin was talking about him the first day you set foot in Hellfire.
“Oh,” you say. “I think I heard your friend Dustin talking about him last week.”
As if it were some inside joke, Eddie sighs and rolls his eyes.
“Oh, yeah,” Eddie mutters. “Don’t even get me started on those two.”
Eddie motions you forward, extending his arm to signal an “after you” gesture as you proceed into the private show room. The beads of the curtain carelessly clash into one another as Eddie saunters in.
"Anyway, Steve has been going through it lately. His lady left him for another dude, he lost his job because the city wanted another basic coffee shop instead of a place to rent cheesy B movies…and the last time he worked in the food industry he had to wear a sailor’s uniform, so he’s since opted out.”
You wander around what was going to be your office for the next hour as Eddie aimlessly takes his own path and furthers his lay-down.
“His folks want nothing to do with him because he doesn't wanna be nepotized by them. When he’s not working, he’s babysitting — you guessed it — Dustin and the rest of the boys when they’re not here or playing D&D with me. Oh yeah, and on the topic of girlfriend, he hasn't gotten laid in a fat minute.”
Eddie pauses.
"It's kinda depressing,” he says. “Now that I say it all out loud.”
He makes a sharp turn and walks toward the boombox he kept in the corner of the room.
"That is depressing," you mumble nonchalantly, as if you yourself had not been laid in a fat minute… contrary to your obnoxious brother’s popular belief.
“How do you sleep at night knowing you’re a fucking slut?” Billy’s voice haunts you.
You’ve only had one real boyfriend and Billy knew that. And that boyfriend, shortly after he left you for the girl he told you not to worry about, admitted that you were simply a placeholder for him. They’re happily married now and it tortures you knowing that being the first choice was never in the cards. Billy knew that too and used that backstory to fuel your insecurities. Billy knew you hated feeling used, yet brought it up every chance he got. Making his victims feel small, that was the source of his power. You shudder it off.
You watch as Eddie plays around with the boombox, ensuring that the aux chord was working along with all its other components.
"Tell you what," Eddie begins to barter. "You give him a good show, you can keep a hundred percent of your tips tonight. Consider it a sign on bonus."
“Wow, Eddie really?” you exclaim. “That…helps me out a lot. Thanks so much.
“Of course, doll,” Eddie grins. “Happy to help.”
Eddie finishes up tidying the room before walking back over to you.
“I can’t get over how amazing you look,” he adds one last time. “You’re gonna knock his socks off.”
“Thank you, Eddie,” you thank him one last time.
“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”
He lingers for a while longer before going outside to look for Steve. Meanwhile, heart’s-a-fluttering you try to acquaint yourself with the place, choosing a seductive song of your liking before getting prepped.
Wicked Games by The Weeknd.
More ruckus sounds from outside of the show room. You assume your client has arrived.
“That’s the boy,” Eddie confirms. “BRB-right back.”
You excuse your boss as he makes his way over to his friend. While you wait, your mind begins to race. Does your outfit look okay? Does your breath smell? Do you smell? Despite all the wardrobe and wellness checks you’ve done, your mind is insistent that something else was off. To calm your nerves, you decide to take a quick gulp of Bombay Sapphire, a gin Eddie had provided for the room, before Steve walks in.
Liquid courage. May help with the performance too.
“There he is,” Eddie cheers as the two men greet each other outside. “What took you so long?”
“There was uh, traffic,” a softer voice responds.
“I call bull.”
The two talk a bit more, voices too quiet for you to make out what they’re saying. That, or the sound of your heart pounding against your chest drowned out their conversation. Steve sounds friendly. Timid, but friendly nonetheless.
You listen in on Eddie’s spiel about you. He called you stunning, explained that you just moved from California, and that you are exactly Steve’s type. Whatever that could possibly mean. You then hear Eddie go over the rules. No touching you without consent. No verbal or physical harassment. No sexual intercourse. And to tip generously.
“She sounds lovely. Thanks for the run down, Eds.”
“‘Course. She’s all yours, Big Boy.”
The beaded curtains clash once more.
In walks a man around Eddie’s age, late 20s, early 30s with sleek mahogany hair and slight puffy eyes. He’s sporting a gray North Face sleeveless jacket with a plain black shirt underneath and denim blue Levi’s. He’s a lot more preppy than you thought he would be. Steve’s reaction to you was similar to that of Eddie, despite how different they seem from each other.
“Hi,” he greets you.
“Hi,” you smile. “You’re Steve?”
He nods shyly. “You’re who they call Shy Girl?”
“That’s meee.”
It doesn’t take a body language analyst to see that Steve is guarded. It takes another fragile, sullen demeanor to know one.
“Are you one of Eddie’s shy friends?”
The comment earns a laugh from Steve. “You think I’m shy?”
“Just a little.”
He attempts to mask a gulp. “I’ve just never gotten a lap dance before.”
“You think I’m supposed to believe that?”
You stalk towards him and rest a hand on his chest when proximity and Steve himself grants you permission. You sink your palm in deeper when you pick up he’s receptive to it.
Oh yeah, that’s all gin.
“With your handsome self?”
Steve’s blushing now. “Yeah…strip clubs are kinda not my thing. They’re starting to be though, cuz I always come and support Eddie.”
“What a nice boyfriend,” you joke.
“Eddie and I do have a budding bromance,” he admits with a laugh.
“Boy I’d love to be in the middle of that,” you tease him honestly.
Steve is left stunned and speechless while you grab his hand and lead him to the futon in the middle of the room. He attempts to relax, exhaling the tension out of his shoulders and manspreading as he watches you encompass him. You walked in a slow circle around Steve as the music starts and he peers up at you with curious eyes. Alas, you stop in front of him, cupping his face softly in your hands and synchronizing your hip movements to the rhythm of the song.
Relate to your customers. Talk to them. Build a connection with them, you think to yourself.
“So how’s your day been?”
Steve cracks a faint smile. "Good, how's yours?"
"Good," you chime as you slowly lower yourself onto his lap.
Steve sharply inhales, sucking the tension he had just released right back into his body. You shake your head in disapproval and stroke his face calmly.
“No, no,” you coo. “Just sit back, relax. You’re safe with me.”
“I’m safe with you, huh?” he responds in an is-that-so kind of fashion. “You seem like pure danger to me.”
“Oh, please,” you snarkily disregard his comment. “I’m an angel.”
“In a place called Hellfire?” he challenges you. “I find that hard to believe.”
Steve wants to touch you. So bad. But he refrains. You feel it in his levitating palms, resting just inches away from the small of your back. You start to lightly ride his thigh, hoping to catch his palm in passing as you move your hips about. Instead you’re met with something hard at the base of his pants, an outline and protrusion that wasn’t there before.
Steve looks down and acknowledges it with a shrug.
"Sorry," he chuckles. "It has a mind of its own."
You laugh faintly in return. "It's okay. I'd say it's responding appropriately."
"Yeah?"
"Given the circumstances," you say as you grind slower, deeper. "Yeah."
"Well, that's a relief."
Steve is cute. And a polite man who values your consent was sure to receive it. You two lock gazes before one of you dared to speak again. It all feels like a blind date, and you’re two giddy young adults.
"You..." you start. “You can touch me if you’d like.”
"Really?" Steve asks. "Usually dancers don't let you do that."
"It depends who you ask," you smile. "Consent is subjective...and you have mine. C'mon."
He obliges and starts to graze your ass softly with his hands. You run his hands through his hair, then along his neck without lifting them. A muffled moan is slowly released from his mouth.
"Shit," he sputters. "Feels really good."
He tosses his head back.
"You make me feel so good."
"Aww," you grin. "Me?"
"Yeah you," his voice is deeper now. Huskier. "All because of you."
His hand moves upwards towards your bra and he begins to fiddle with the straps, and then the clasps. You continue your steady grinding, rolling your hips to the beat of the music, tossing your head back for the full effect while Steve holds back the urge to cup your perfect breasts in his kneady hands.
A whimper escapes Steve’s mouth when you find the sweet place to roll, resting a palm over his abdomen for leverage.
“Needy, are we?” you tease him. “Needy for me, Stevie?”
“So fucking needy,” he breathes, a nervous gulp swallowing another sneaky groan. “You’re gonna be the death of me, woman.”
I’ve got my heart right here, I’ve got my scars right here.
Suddenly, you cease the grinding, going from cowgirl to reverse. Grabbing a hold of both his knees with the back of both your hands, you sink down to the floor, knees bent, slightly out turned. Your hands move from his knees to encompass his elbows, accommodating the playful headlock he abruptly decided to have you in, watching you squat down beneath him.
“Mmm,” he hums. “You’re so fucking pretty, baby.”
His arms creep from the sides of your face to the front of your face. You crane your head upwards, peering up at him and refrain from shivering when he brings an arm across your neck. His other hand rests on your face, stroking it tenderly.
“Get up here and, ride my thighs again, please.” he pleads. “It was feeling so good.”
“Okay,” you oblige before standing back up.
“Before you do though, let me get a good look at your ass.”
You stand there for him, bending down ever so slightly so he could run his hands across your back. He grabs a fist full of your hair gently with one hand and strokes your ass cheek with the other.
"Wow," Steve hums as he runs his fingers along the birth mark on your lower back. "I like this birthmark."
"Yeah?" you say. "Some people have said it looks like a tramp stamp."
"It's cute," Steve insists, pulling you onto his lap. “It kinda looks like a bat."
He points to where the wings would be and the fangs and you laugh. No one's admired your tramp stamp-esque birthmark the way Steve did.
"Thanks," you reply. "My brother has a matching one."
You pause.
"Sorry, that didn't sound all that sexy."
Steve tosses his head back and chuckles, hand resting firmly on your ass again. "You look sexy talking regardless, so I don’t mind.”
The chemistry between you and Steve feels so natural. You know if your nurturing heart felt like this with all clients you would be in big trouble. This profession isn’t for everyone and you realize that. But you decide to realize everything else later. Meanwhile, your focus right now is pleasing Steve.
You resume the thigh riding per his request, and chase your own subtle high as you did so. Steve whimpers and whines, seeming to long for you even more with every stroke of his hair, every brush against his cheek, every steady and calculated grind against his—
"Woah, are you okay?"
Suddenly you’re cut off by Steve abruptly pushing you off his lap. When you peer over at him, his face has gone completely red.
Did you do something wrong? Did you violate a boundary? Millions of thoughts race through your head. You can’t get fired on the first day of your new job…
"Y-yeah, I'm fine, I just..." Steve stammers, flushing a deeper red hue with every word. “I... uh, kinda came in my pants."
"Oh..." you begin.
"I am so sorry," Steve sighs. "Embarrassed is an understatement. I’m such a loser.”
You two start frantically talking over each other, one extremely apologetic, another sympathetic to the concerns. Again, it’s like you two are clumsy young adults on a blind date set up by your bold friends.
"It's been a while... so..." Steve stammers.
"Steve," you stop him.
"And..." he cuts out.
"It's okay," you reassure him. “It’s okay, Steve. If you need a break, we can stop.”
“Sounds good,” he agrees with a resigned sigh, the red colored flush migrating to his ears. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
You go to put your cloak back on again and strut towards the gin. Perhaps offering the man a drink would help loosen up his nerves.
"What should we do with the allotted time left?" Steve wonders eyes following you. He’s rubbing his knees anxiously with his palms. “Eddie has this room booked for an hour. He needs to think you're doing splits on my dick or something or else he won't be satisfied."
Laughter erupts from the deepest parts of your belly at Steve's comment. Steve can't help but laugh as well.
"Hm, we can wait a bit and I can give you another lap dance?” you suggest. “Or a strip tease?"
You weren't used to those words coming out of your mouth, so you attempted to make it sound as normal as possible. Wow, you really just gave a lap dance. And someone came from it.
"Do you think..." Steve inquires. "That we can just... talk?"
----
So you and Steve do exactly that. You talk about your families, and your aspirations, your deepest fears, and your core values. Steve Harrington isn’t the loser he thinks he is. He’s a really cool guy. But deeply misunderstood.
“So you and your brother have similar birthmarks?” Steve questions.
“Yeah,” you confirm. “Except his is on his belly. We literally took the term identical twins to a whole new level.”
He laughs.
“Your brother sounds cool.”
“He was.”
Steve gasps in astonishment.
“Oh, my god. I’m sorry. Is he…”
“He’s not dead. Just an asshole.”
The color returns to his face. He exhales steadily and shakes his head. You find his reaction funny, despite how twisted that made you sound.
“Dead to you though?”
“Pretty much,” you giggle. “Dead to me.”
You two do a cheers to that with your alcohol-filled glasses and take another painful sip. It burns.
“Tell me about yourself now,” you prompt him.
There’s a dramatic pause.
“Well,” Steve begins. “I’m an only child. So eyes have been on me for as long as I can remember. What’s Stevie up to? This is what we expect of him and this is what happens if he’s not what we make him out to be. It didn’t take til young adulthood to realize that I have been living in my parents’ shadow. I don’t even know what I like.”
Steve spurs on about how he has struggled with his identity, going back and forth between if what he was pursuing was a desire of his or his parents’.
“And for a while I thought I knew who Steve was. Until I lost myself again in a girl named Nancy.”
“Aw,” you pout.
“A girl,” Steve pauses waiting for you to catch on. “Named Nancy.”
Your eyes widen. “House Mom Nancy?!”
Steve nods as you slowly piece things together.
“So Jonathan’s girlfriend is your…”
“Ex girlfriend,” Steve confirms. “Small world, huh?”
You suppose it wasn’t good that Hawkins is so small. You’d hate for someone to recognize you when you’re taking a casual stroll outside.
Nonetheless, you push that concern to the side and continue your conversation with Steve.
“What happened?”
“Some petty high school shit,” he explains. “But it’s always been her. She made me a better me. The closest to Steve that I’ve ever felt.”
“Wow,” you say. “So you saw a future with her?”
“Marriage, kids, everything,” Steve confirms. “Then she decided I wasn’t what — who — she wanted.”
It’s silent for a while. Steve shakes his head bitterly and downs the rest of his drink. You slosh yours around waiting for him to speak again. Besides, if you did, you’d end up ugly crying about your ex. And no one wants their stripper trauma dumping on them when they’re supposed to be performing.
Thankfully, Steve is the first to speak again.
“Yeah, Nance. She looks… she looks happy,” he turns to you with dismal eyes. “I don’t ever wanna get in the way of that.”
“Do you ever see her here?”
He shakes his head. “Nah, she’s in the back being House Mom, making sure all the girls are taken care of and all that. And I’m sure she doesn’t come up front because she knows Eddie has been trying to play wingman.”
You chuckle. “With a stripper?”
“With anyone,” Steve chuckles. “God that sounds awful. I sound like a loser.”
“Would you stop saying that?” you snap. “You are not a loser, Steve.”
“I know I’m not a loser. Just feel like it sometimes. Especially when it dawns on you that you’ve been living life for other people.”
“I kinda know how you feel.”
You two lock eyes again. Steve rests a hand on top of yours, intertwining your fingers briefly before he begins playing with each of your fingers one by one.
"I guess…going back to the previous topic…” he proceeds. “If I could change anything about myself, I would've done more of what Steve wants to do. Not what Todd and Marsha want Steve to do. Or what Tommy H. and Carol want Steve to do. Because maybe then Nancy and I would’ve been endgame. Or maybe Allison. Possibly Tammy? Who knows? See? Everyone’s world but Steve’s.”
"Steve," you start. "I hope you realize that I have no idea who any of these people are. It’s kinda hard to keep up.”
"And that is such a relief to hear that," he sighs again, this time in exasperation. "I just feel so free talking about them to someone who doesn't know who they are. Hawkins is small, you know. And it’s good that the only bias you can form is in my favor since you only know of me."
You offer him a consoling pat atop the hand, to which he responds by leaning his head on your shoulder. With how tender everything has been with Steve, there’s a temptation to plant a delicate kiss on his forehead. But you stop yourself.
"I'd like to know you, know you, though,” you find yourself saying.
He gazes up at you. You two smile at each other.
“I’d like to know you more too, Shy Girl,” he answers. “If you’d let me.”
“Duh, it’s what I just said.”
He chuckles. “You’re not saying that for the tips?”
“No. Just human to human.”
You stroke his cheek longingly, running your hand along his stubble.
"It's also been a while since I've gotten laid too," you admit. "And I've got a lot of pent up stress I need to release. You seem like a trustworthy person to do that with.”
The energy changes. Steve’s grip on your hand tightens.
"Oh yeah?" He rubs your thumb with his and soon you find yourselves holding hands.
"Yeah.”
“Sounds like we have a deal then, Shy Girl.”
Before Steve gets any ideas, you interrupt him.
“I don't wanna have sex at work," you admit. "Especially not on the clock."
"Oh, yeah I didn’t think it’d be now. Some people do find that hot though.”
"It's my first day. I can’t disappoint Eddie this early in the game.”
"You're kidding."
You shake your head.
"Wow, I would've thought you've been doing this a while."
You blush. "Thank you. But nope, you’re my Guinea pig.”
Steve continues to gawk in amazement. Then he reaches for his wallet, grabbing a huge wad of Benjamin Franklins and handing it to you.
"Tell you what," Steve bargains. "You buy yourself something nice, get your bills paid, and come through in a couple days. The roomie won't be home so we'll have the place to ourselves. We can get takeout or something too. Whatever makes you comfortable, of course.”
You bite your lip. "I'd like that."
“Good. I’d like that too.”
———-
"So, how was it?" you hear Eddie ask Steve.
"Dude...I just about creamed my pants," he says as you hold back laughter. "You got yourself a good one."
"Nothing's ever too TMI for you, Harrington," Eddie says. "But thanks for the imagery."
"Yeah. I gotta get going now. I got laundry to put away at home. It's been piling so much I think it's going to tip over."
“Roger,” Eddie says before bidding him goodbye. “Oh, speaking of which, did you tip her good?”
“You bet I did. Woman like her needs to be spoiled rotten.”
————
You make your way back to the dressing room after saying bye to Steve and finishing the flats Argyle had specially made for you. At your locker, you subtly attempt to count the hundreds Steve gave you for his lap dance and talk session. The man left you 10 of them. A whole band.
You were stunned. What did King Steve do for a living anyways? It didn’t matter to you. You had enough for groceries, gas, and a portion of your rent, all earned in an hour’s work, and all yours to keep as Eddie insisted.
The realization makes your heart skip a beat. You and your sister were good for the next few weeks.
Knock, knock.
“Don’t freak out ladies, it’s just me!” Eddie shouts from the other side of the door. “Put your cloaks on I’m coming in!”
You watch as the girls scurry to get their covers back on. The amount of respect Eddie has for his dancers is insane. Perhaps it’s common decency but it was such a striking difference than what you were used to. It warmed your heart in a way, but also made you sad. You deserved this respect all your life.
When Eddie finds you, he starts towards you, a look of approval spread wide across his face. As deeply as you wanted it to be because he found you attractive, you infer that it’s because you’re bringing in good business — and that you’re good, given a small amount of experience with the pole.
You two are face to face now. Eddie speaks up first.
“Steve, uh,” he says. “Steve really likes you.”
“Oh really?” you smile. “I’m glad.”
“You’re just a natural, Shy Girl,” he compliments you. “Everyone’s just raving about you.”
“Yeah?”
“Based on what I’ve seen so far and what Stevie told me, yeah,” he confirms. “But I guess it’s no surprise. Shy girls are almost always the freakiest, huh?”
You try not to laugh while you’re witnessing the imagination of your boss running in the complete opposite direction of what really happened between you and Steve. Nevertheless, you let him. You didn’t mind taking up space in your dashing boss’s mind.
“You should come to work a little early next time you’re on,” Eddie says. “I’d like to take you to lunch.”
Heat spreads across your cheeks. “Really?”
“‘Course! I do it with all my dancers as a welcome thing. I’d like to know more about you. You’re more than just a pretty face and someone who simply works for me.”
‘I do it with all my dancers.’
Your heart sinks. Back to square one.
Eddie clears his throat.
“Anyway,” he says. “I’m gonna head out now. Gonna go see the lady friend. I’ve got Johnny boy, Argyle, and Henry holding down the fort.”
The tinge in your heart intensifies.
“Oh, sounds fun!”
“Yeah, I rarely see her cuz she bartends. Even though we work similar hours we work opposite days. But she got first cut tonight so I’m heading over.”
“Have fun, Eddie.”
“I sure will,” Eddie says. “Goodnight, Shy Girl.”
“Goodnight, Eddie.”
Eddie soon disappears out of sight and now your shift seems ten times longer. Regardless, you stuff your tips into your tote bag and prepare to meander around the club, enticing other bachelors for a dance.
Without Eddie around, it seems less exciting.
“Doing it for Max,” you remind yourself while fixing your hair in the mirror in front of you.
You reach for your phone to see the amount of time that has transpired since the private show with Steve. But the clock wasn’t your concern when your Home Screen lights up.
Your heart nearly sinks to the floor.
Billy Hargrove
1 Missed Call
Billy Hargrove
iMessage: 1 message
You open it.
What the actual fuck.
