She was good at this. She knew it, the other dancers knew it, her boss knew it, every man and woman in the club knew it. Some might argue that sex appeal was something you either had or didn't, but she knew better; it was learned. All it took was the right attitude, and you were there. Even in her heels, she was one of the shortest... she was far from the hottest, didn't have the biggest anything, and, as all of the girls liked to remind her teasingly, she was getting to be one of the oldest in this club. And still, night after night, she was one of the top earners.
Anybody could be sexy. It was all about how you held yourself.
So really, it was no surprise when someone came up during her stage set and planted himself directly on the tip rail. Or, at least, it wouldn't have been, if he'd been spending. Which he wasn't. She'd tried all the tricks in the book, called him baby, honey, and tiger what felt like a hundred times over. Nothing. Any amount of teasing, of promising to take her top off, of plain good conversation... he didn't even move to get his wallet out. Just asked when he could see her tits, like he'd never been in a strip club before and had no idea how this kind of thing was supposed to work. Like she was just up here for fun, just wasting her time talking to him because she liked the conversation or found him interesting.
But she didn't find him any sort of charming, or interesting, or cute, or handsome... he was taking up space, if anything. With a huff, she stood, walking back towards the pole, her annoyance reaching even greater heights as she had to shake his hand off her calf along the way. "You haven't paid for that, asshole," she spat over her shoulder, looking for a bouncer. Fucking useless bouncers. She wondered what they were paid for at all, quite frankly, because they weren't very good at keeping unwanted paws off.
Several songs later, he was still there, even though she hadn't paid him a damn bit of attention, shouting something lewd at her every once in a while as though it'd make her attitude turn around. Moron. Scaring off all the potentially paying customers in the building, and her set was almost over. He didn't seem like the type to just fuck off, and she didn't want him hassling her when she was walking the floor looking for someone to buy dances.
With a huff, she climbed down, crawling (some people were still watching from a distance, after all) up to come face to face with him. "Look, baby, if you're not tipping, get off the goddamn tip rail."
His mouth opened to throw a retort her way, and she was sure it was going to be something incredibly clever, but they were interrupted by a waitress with an unmistakable shot on her tray. Tilly's lips curled up into an incredulous smile, leaning out over the side of the stage to peer around the waitress just in time to catch the sender waving at the thorn in her side... who responded with a thumbs up, clearly more clueless than she'd given him credit for. "You know what that is, don't you honey? It's a blowjob. You're supposed to take it without using your hands." Maybe he was just too stupid to know he was supposed to be offended? But he couldn't take the hint, even when it was slapping him across the face. "How 'bout you take it for me?"
It drew out a sound of disgust and she pulled back. If the first part of her set had dragged on for ages, the next few minutes flew by in the blink of an eye. The tiniest of kicks sent the shot glass (and the drink inside) crashing into his chest, he shouted out, reached for her, she used her vantage point to kick again. Of course, this time the bouncers didn't waste a minute, rushing up to drag them apart, hauling her backstage.
The manager wasn't happy, but then, managers never were, especially in places like this. The only time you really ever saw them was when they needed a favor or you were knee deep in shit,
and she knew which one she was. He'd been kind enough to haul her shit out of her locker before shoving her out the back door and into the parking lot, saying she was welcome to come back when her attitude'd been adjusted.
They both knew she'd be back tomorrow night and he'd turn and look the other way. Not the first time she'd gotten in trouble on the job.
But this time, she was fortunate to have her new friend waiting on her, apparently having a good idea where she was headed when she was dragged backstage. Or he'd been leaving, too,
and this was just coincidence. She didn't seem quite so large and powerful now that she was on the same plane as him, rather than up on the stage. Her vantage point was lost. If it phased her,
she didn't show it, rolling her eyes and throwing her middle finger as she skirted around him and headed toward her car. "Don't be like that." A large hand circled around her wrist, and she rolled her eyes so hard he could probably feel it without seeing it, lighting up a cigarette with the hand he wasn't holding hostage. "Get fucked."
They were almost at her car, and if she could get the door unlocked, she could get the sweatpants from the backseat and the brass knuckles from under her passenger seat. She'd dealt with dicks like this one before, and she was used to being mostly on her own. Other clubs probably wouldn't have put her in danger like this. She'd have to try to switch to one of them.