Playboy » L.S

Chapter 6

I cover my face with my hand to block out the blazing sun. It's too fucking early for it's obnoxiousness and my head is pounding. Please, sun, go the fuck away right now.

When I roll over and bury my face in plush pillows, I inhale deeply. The smell isn't like me. It doesn't smell like my bed. It smells like..

Damien.

Oh fuck.

I sit up quickly and immediately grimace when my head pounds harder and black spots dot my vision. Fucking hangovers. Fuck off.

Taking a look around, I'm relieved: I'm wearing my clothes and Damien isn't in bed.

I rub my fists against my closed eyes, trying to rid them of sleep and the leftover alcohol still coursing trough my veins.

When I finally feel slightly decent, I throw the sheets off of me and get out of bed. The digital clock on the nightstand next to Damien's bed reads one forty-five and I mentally curse at myself for sleeping in this late.

Slowly, I exit Damien's room and pad across the small hallway that leads into the living room. Damien isn't anywhere to be found, but the smell of eggs and burnt toast give me a clue of his whereabouts.

I lean against the doorway in the kitchen, my arms crossed over my chest. Damien is whistling along to the radio that's playing quietly, his hands moving a spatula against the eggs.

I let out a giggle when he attempts flipping the egg, only to have it break apart and splatter on the pan with a sizzling noise.

"Morning, Lou!" Damien grins and I can't help but sort of love the way he seems like a house husband.

"Morning Dame," I reply as I walk over to him. I haul myself up onto the kitchen island, my feet swinging back and forth.

"So, were your intentions last night to get me drunk and take me home?" I quirk an eyebrow at him.

"Yes," he answers and for a second I think he's serious. "I slipped a pill in your drink. You are amazing in bed when you lay there passed out like a starfish."

"Oh fuck off," I laugh as he raises his middle finger at me.

"So what's on the agenda today?" I poke at his sides playfully, giggling at the way he swats at my hand with the spatula.

"I'm free until eight, then I have to go to work," he smiles, scooping some scrambled eggs onto two plates.

"You should come again, last night was fun."

"Oh, no, that was enough fun for me," I roll my eyes and take the plate he offered to me. I rest it in my lap and take small bites. He isn't the best cook, but it's cute that he tries. He's better than I am, that's for sure. I can't even make Mac and cheese.

"But that Playboy will be there," he wiggles his eyebrows, his fork stuffing eggs in his mouth.

My eyes widen slightly and an overwhelming giddy feeling takes over my body at the thought of seeing the curly haired Playboy again.

"Fine," I give in and he grins. I didn't really put up much of a fight anyway.

"Have you considered working for me yet, Lou?" Damien smirks over a forkful of fluffy eggs.

"I already told you, there is no way in hell I am possibly working for you," I huffed, biting into my toast with extra sass.

Damien dramatically groaned. "But you'd bring in so much money! Men will line up to see that ass of yours in one of our Playboy outfits!"

I roll my eyes and shake my head, waiting till I swallowed to speak. "You'll never find me in one of those ridiculous outfits."

Ridiculous? My subconscious scoffed. If they were so ridiculous, then why we're you gawking at that Playboy and practically drooling on him?

Yeah, that's what I thought. Fuckin' liar.

"Yet you were wearing one of our Playboy's bunny ears last night," Damien reminds me, a toying smirk on his lips.

"So?" I try to seem uninterested, biting into my toast.

"So? That means you wore the outfit, sort of. And let's not forget who got up on stage and violated that pole, Lou," Damien grins, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Let's not bring that up," I groan, running a hand down my face.

"You've got moves, Lou," Damien shrugs.

"Doesn't mean I wanna use them," I set my plate down on the counter and grab a bottle of water.

"But you should. See, you've already worn the outfit, you've already danced on stage. All you have to do now is sign my contract and you'll be paid for doing that shit!"

"And let's not forget who you'll be working with," He sends me a wink and I nearly spit my water back into the bottle.

"Sounds tempting, really, but no," I give him my best fake smile.

I have some dignity left, some respect for myself, so I will never, ever be a goddamn stripper. I don't care if that Playboy works there or not, you'll never find me dressed like a prostitute, parading my body around and being passed back and forth like a toy.

Clearly, I'm not too found of strippers. I don't understand their.. "profession", nor do I support it. They're selling their bodies for men (and occasionally women) to drool over and grope for dollar bills.

They can work at a fast food joint for all I care. No stripper should ever give the "it's the only job I can get" or the "this is all I can do" bullshit because it's not fucking true. 

I never wanted to go into Damien's club in the first place, but he insisted. I can't turn him down, especially when something as big as buying your own club happens. 

Sure, the club wasn't as bad as I thought, but it still disgusts me what they do. I was never attracted to strippers until.. that Playboy. 

That fucking Playboy. Fuck, will he ever leave my thoughts? It's like he's standing in the corner of my mind, poking my brain every few minutes to remind me that he's surely there.

Annoying little fucker. He made stripping exciting. He put on a show right in front of me and it was a damn good one. He's captivating and fuck do I want to see him again.

My view point on strippers hasn't entirely shifted since I met him, but it surely has opened it's horizons. Never in my life did I think I'd be up on that stage myself, but there was just something about the way he moved his hips, the way he bit his plump lip, and the way he swung around the pole just did something to me.

Alcohol was a great factor in that, obviously. I was drunk off vodka and high off the thrill he made run all over my body. I know now what they mean about alcohol and drugs being addictive, because fuck, I need to see him again. I'm craving it, and that scares the living shit out of me.

"Lou?" Damien waves a hand in front of my face, snapping his fingers to gain my attention.

"What?" I blink a few times to clear my vision and my mind. "Sorry Dame, what were you saying?"

He laughs lightly and shakes his head. I didn't even realize he took our plates and had washed them. How long was I zoned out for? Holy shit.

"I was saying," He draws out, grabbing my hands in his to pull me off the counter. "That we should find us some clothes to wear tonight. Friday nights are always the best- the most packed. College kids often need a break after studying all damn day."

"Can't I just wear a t-shirt or something?" I groan, following Damien as he dragged me down the hallway towards his bedroom.

"Nonsense! It's a nice club, Louis, and you shall treat it like one!" I groaned again as Damien pulled me into his bedroom and shut the door. Fuck.