Bad Judgment Page 4

  “The only thing you need to worry about is graduating with honors and getting a prestigious clerkship.”

  “What part of I don’t want to be a fucking lawyer or judge don’t you understand?”

  “Don’t you dare speak to me like that, boy. If you don’t want to be a lawyer, fine, but at the very least you’ll get your degree and be a fucking politician like we decided two years ago.”

  I cross my arms over my chest, adopting his thunderous expression. “No. I’m done. Dropping out.”

  “Over my dead body.” My father enunciates each word clearly. With the vein bulging in his forehead, I’m a little worried he might keel over where he’s standing, making that a possibility.

  When I don’t respond, he slams his hand on the desk. “You know why you’re not going to fucking drop out? Because today a bunch of students got their scholarships yanked, and you’re still getting a free ride because I’m on the board of trustees and your free education is a benefit of that position. You can’t walk away from that unless you’re truly an ungrateful little prick, and I know I didn’t raise my son like that.”

  His words stop me cold. What the fuck? I know more than one student getting through law school on a scholarship.

  “They pulled everyone’s scholarships?”

  “Every student in the merit scholarship program.”

  One particular student comes to mind. The most stubborn girl I’ve ever met—and the hardest working and smartest.

  “Fuck. Really? Can they do that?”

  My father inclines his head. “I advised against it, told them to suspend the program for all new applicants and meet the obligations of the current ones by making alternative budget cuts or taking on additional debt, but it wasn’t a possibility. There was no way around it.”

  “That’s bullshit.” Justine must be devastated.

  “Yes, and if you’re going to walk away from a free law school education when a bunch of your classmates just had the scholarships they earned suspended, then you’re not the son I thought I raised.”

  I scrub a hand over my face. Nothing like a fucking guilt trip to make me fall in line, Dad.

  “Fine. I’ll graduate. But that’s all I’m agreeing to.”

  Justine

  “You can’t do it. Seriously. This is insane. I won’t let you.” Merica is yelling through the phone as I hold it away from my ear. “Stop right there, Justine. You need to think about this.”

  What she doesn’t realize is that I’ve thought about this over and over again, and it’s the only viable alternative I can come up with. Out of desperation, I had a meeting with financial aid this morning, and it revealed exactly what I expected.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Porter, but you’re not a candidate for any of our conventional loans unless you have someone who can cosign for you. But here are a few other options you might consider.”

  Those other options were each more unattractive than the last, and exactly the kind of crippling debt and interest rates I expected.

  Cash is king. There’s a reason for that saying, and sitting in the parking lot of the Déjà Vu, I see plenty of people coming and going, likely with their wallets stuffed full of it.

  I feel like the world’s biggest cliché. What brings a good girl like you here? Oh, I just need to strip my way through law school. I can almost see the oh sure nods I would get. Obviously it’s a cliché for a reason, and I’m sure more than one aspiring lawyer has taken this path. The grad from last year’s class the girls had been talking about during the meeting obviously had.

  So, what’s worth more? My sense of modesty or my financial future? It’s not like I’m signing up to be a prostitute. I can just strip and take the tips. I don’t have to do any . . . extras.

  “I’m already here, Mer. I’m just going to go inside and ask for details. I’m not committing to anything.”

  She’s silent for a solid ten seconds before replying. “If you don’t call me in half an hour to tell me you’re okay, I’m driving over there myself. I don’t care if I have to bust down doors and break you out.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “It’s a strip club, not a harem. You won’t have to break me out. I promise I’ll call you as soon as I’m out.”

  “You better. I swear, if I find a gray hair in the next month, it’s all your fault.”

  “I love you, Mer.”

  “Love you too, Jus. Be careful.”

  We hang up, and I survey my surroundings to get my bearings.

  The fence around the parking lot provides a certain measure of anonymity to the Deja Vu’s clientele, and for that I should probably be grateful. I climb out of my car, and a horrific thought enters my head as I step onto the uneven pavement with shaky legs. What if I see someone I know?

  No, not possible. Don’t put thoughts like that out into the universe, Jus. You know better. Positive thoughts only.

  I straighten the short black skirt I never returned to Merica after that night at the bar. The night Ryker Grant kissed the hell out of me and I used his bulge to get myself off in the back hallway of a bar.

  We all know how that story ended.

  Digging deep, I find the self-confidence I need to own what I’m doing. It’s honest work for honest pay.

  I reach the black door and push it open to find a large man in a black shirt standing behind a tall counter just inside the doorway. His expression doesn’t change when he sees me.

  See? No big deal. I got this.

  “Cover for ladies is five dollars tonight,” he tells me, stamp held aloft, ready to mark the back of my hand.

  Do I tell him why I’m here and ask how I go about applying for a position to work the pole? My other option is paying the cover and slinking around inside, hoping to figure out who I need to talk to.

  Practicality wins out. “I’m actually not here to watch. I’m here to apply for a job.”

  This time his eyes widen a fraction, followed by a once-over. I know what he’s seeing, because I put a lot of time and effort in front of my mirror tonight.

  Dark hair I curled into “beach waves” after watching a few online tutorials, smoky eyes that I think stayed on the side of sultry rather than raccoon. The push-up bra I’d splurged on boosted my already ample boobs into the tight V-neck of the black tank I paired with my skirt. Black strappy heels, also borrowed from Merica and never returned, completed the look, and made my average-length legs look long and toned.

  “You sure?”

  “Yes. Could you point me in the direction of the hiring manager?” I’m not sure how formal strip clubs are about the HR hierarchy, but I don’t know who else to ask for.

  He jerks his head toward the black door across from the counter. A heavy bass beat thumps beyond it, and neon lights peek out from beneath.

  “Marv’s office is in the back of the club. He’s the only manager we got. But I gotta warn ya. He’s hired three new girls for the stage this week, and I doubt he’s looking for too many more. There’s a cocktail waitress position open, though.”

  A cocktail waitress position won’t make anywhere near the kind of cash I need. “Where in the back is his office?”

  “Through the doors, across the club to the back left corner. There’s a hallway, and his door is the first on the left. Says Manager on the door. You can’t miss it.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  He gives me a short nod, and I head to the door. A healthy what the fuck am I doing runs through me.

  This is just a means to an end.

  Purpose driving my every step, I push open the door, determined to find Marv and get myself a job.

  Ryker

  Sitting beside my friend and former frat brother, a stack of ones and two beers between us and two women in tiny G-strings humping brass poles onstage, I feel like I’m back in college.

  Except now I’m not entertained by the titty glitter the strippers take pride in smearing all over every man they come in contact with.

  I officially feel too old for this shit. But when Brandon called to say he wanted to hit the strip club to celebrate his new promotion, I wasn’t going to say no. First, because I’m genuinely happy for the guy, and second, because I don’t feel like doing anything else. Not even one whole week into the semester and all I can think about every time I sit down in a class is how much I can’t stomach the thought of being a lawyer.

  I’ve officially hit the zero fucks given point.

  So instead, I’m sitting in a strip club on a Thursday night instead of doing my reading for my classes on Friday. I haven’t done the reading for any class yet, so why start now?

  “Dayum, you think she’s on the menu tonight? She looks a little classy to climb that pole, but if I’m right, I call dibs.”

  Brandon’s gaze leaves the stage and tracks someone moving across the club floor. From my angle, I can’t see who he’s talking about.

  “Where?”

  He turns completely around in his chair and nods to the brunette a dozen feet away, head down as though she’s intentionally trying not to look at the stage or make eye contact with any of the patrons. Her posture doesn’t match any of the strippers working the floor. No way does she work here.

  But why does she seem familiar?

  She nearly runs into a cocktail waitress in a bra, five-inch heels, and fishnets tucked under booty shorts. The brunette’s head pops up and she raises her hands as though to apologize.

  That’s when I catch a glimpse of her face.

  No. Fucking. Way.

  “Shit, she’s hot as fuck. I’m taking her home tonight.” Brandon’s voice isn’t slurred by the five beers he already put down, which is mildly surprising. I’m the DD tonight, since it’s his celebration, but there’s no way I’m going to let him make a move on Jus
tine.

  “Sorry, bro. I called dibs on her ages ago.”

  Brandon’s eyes widen comically. “Seriously? You know her? Thought you said you hadn’t been here since undergrad?”

  “She doesn’t belong here either, and she sure as shit doesn’t work here.”

  Brandon’s smile turns into a lopsided grin. “Maybe she’s stripping her way through school. God, that’s so fucking hot. I’d throw down enough cash for private dances to pay for at least one class. She’s smokin’.”

  The urge to plant my fist through his face is strong and instinctive, but the echo of his words through my head pulls me back from actually acting on it.

  Stripping her way through school.

  Shit. She lost her scholarship. Could she be here looking for a job?

  Again—No. Fucking. Way.

  I follow Justine’s path until she slips through a doorway and disappears from sight.

  Brandon’s attention hasn’t returned to the stage. It’s still on me.

  “I’m right, aren’t I? The chick you called dibs on is going to start stripping for her tuition.”

  “Shut the fuck up, and if you ever mention you saw her here to anyone, I’ll tell everyone about the transvestite you got head from sophomore year.”

  Brandon jerks back against his seat. “I didn’t know she was a tranny! Those tits looked so fucking real. She barely had an Adam’s apple.”

  “A chick with a dick sucked your cock, and if you want that to stay between us—”

  Brandon grabs his beer and knocks back a swig. “Fuck. Fine. But that’s the last time you get to pull that card on me. And you’re buying me some goddamn Scotch. Get me drunk enough tonight, and I won’t even remember if I saw Hillary Clinton working that pole.”

  “Nasty, dude.” But still, I raise my hand to catch the attention of the cocktail waitress. “Get him a double Scotch. Whatever top shelf you’ve got.”

  She smiles flirtatiously at me as she slides one leg between my knees and leans forward. “And what can I get for you, big man?”

  “Water.”

  Her smile falters as she steps back, clearly reading the fact that I’m not down with playing her game. But she’s not giving up yet because she lowers her ass to her heels just in front of me, knees spreading wide.

  “Are you sure there’s nothing? Because I’d be happy to give you a rundown of all the off menu items I’m happy to provide.”

  Just the insinuation that she’s willing to fuck me for money is enough to make me want to run down that hallway, grab Justine, and carry her out of here before she has a chance to make whatever bad choices she’s considering. She doesn’t belong here.

  “Water,” I repeat, and the cocktail waitress finally stands and returns to the bar.

  “Damn, bro. She would’ve sucked your cock right here if you would’ve given her a sign.”

  I flick my gaze toward Brandon. “And that’s a challenge how?”

  His eyes flash with mischief. “Is that the appeal of little Miss Wannabe Stripper? She’s a challenge? Because if she comes to work here, she’s not going to be one anymore. If you’ve been striking out, which must be the case if you’re still interested, then maybe it’s your key to getting a piece of that sweet ass.”

  “You’re going to drink your Scotch and never fucking mention this again. Understand me?”

  Brandon jerks back at the vehemence in my tone. “Got it, man. Sorry, I was just giving you shit.”

  Not wanting to taint the night of his celebration, I reach for my wallet and toss a fifty on the table between us. “No harm, no foul. Now, why don’t you get that private dance you were wanting? On me. Congrats on the promotion.”

  The waitress returns with the Scotch, and I pay her before Brandon rises and walks toward the skinny redhead with enormous tits he’s been drooling over since we walked in the door. Which frees me up to find out just what the hell Justine was doing.

  Tucking my wallet back in my pocket, I head for the hallway.

  Justine

  I knock on the door marked Manager, and the only positive thing I can come up with to focus on is the fact that I don’t have anything in my stomach to throw up because I couldn’t summon up an appetite while I was getting dressed for my . . . interview.

  The door jerks open, and I do a double-take when I catch sight of Marv.

  Except I know him as Marvin. Gramps’s next-door neighbor. The one who would come over and fix leaky sinks and shovel snow off the front walk when Gramps’s health started declining. He’d bring over a couple beers, and we’d listen to Gramps tell stories about World War II.

  No. Freaking. Way.

  His eyes light with the same recognition the moment I step into the room. “Justine? What the hell are you doing here?”

  I struggle to find my voice. Do I lie? Do I tell the truth? If I lie, he’s going to know I’m lying. So I go with the truth.

  “I . . . uh . . . I’m here to see about a job.”

  Confusion crushes his bushy brows together on his forehead. “You graduated from college. With honors. So I repeat, what the hell are you doing here?”

  My mouth opens and closes as I try to find the words to explain how badly things are screwed up right now.

  “Sit down, kid. You’ve got some explaining to do.” He nods at the chair across from the desk.

  I cross the room and drop into it. “I’m so screwed.”

  I proceed to spill the entire story of what happened with the scholarship, the details about my parents I wasn’t sure Gramps had shared, and my aversion to debt. If I expected sympathy from Marvin, that’s not what I would get.

  “You’re a smart girl, Justine. I refuse to believe this is the best idea you’ve got.”

  Fixing a scowl on my face, I glare back at him. “How can you judge me for this? You’re the manager of the place!”

  “And there are plenty of girls here who don’t have the options you do. Not only would I not hire you because my slate of dancers is completely full, but because I respected the hell out of your grandpa, and he’s gotta be rolling in his grave right now. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with stripping, because there ain’t, but this isn’t for you.”

  “I don’t have any other options if I want to stay in school. Don’t you understand? There’s no job I can get that will pay me enough to cover my tuition.”

  “And you think this one could?” He shakes his head. “You’d be the new girl. Bottom of the ladder. You’d get the crappiest shifts with the worst tips. There’s no guarantees you’d make any more here than anywhere else. It’s not like money falls from the sky when these girls strip. This ain’t some fancy club in Vegas.”

  “What about another club?”

  Marv leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “It’s gonna be the same no matter where you go. Besides, I know most of the managers, and I promise you that you’ll find yourself blackballed if you apply.”

  What the hell is his problem? “Why would you do that? I need the money.”

  “Told you, I respected the hell out of your grandpa. He’d have my balls if I let you get sucked into this world. You’re a smart girl. Find another way.”

  I open my mouth to protest one last time, but he shakes his head. “It’s good to see you, Justine, but you need to get the hell out of my club.” He stands and comes around the side of the desk, reaching out a hand to pull me to my feet. “Someday you’ll thank me for this.”

  Marvin escorts me to the door of his office, gives me a hug, pushes me back out into the hallway, and shuts the door in my face. But not before telling me to keep my ass out of strip clubs until I have a bachelorette party.

  I sink against the wall across from his office door and whisper, “What the hell am I going to do now?”

  A deep, familiar voice comes out of the darkness. “I want to know what the hell you’re doing here to begin with.”

  No. Freaking. Way.

  Justine

  I whirl around in the hallway to face him as my stomach sinks to my feet and the burning heat of mortification fills me.

  Ryker stalks toward me, stopping a foot away.

  Seriously, Universe? How is this even fair? Of all people . . . why him?

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Ryker asks again.