She nodded again.
“You do that onstage, I’ll give you both fifty bucks as a bonus and I’ll name my next fuckin’ kid after you,” Smithie said as he approached.
Lottie and I broke apart and looked his way.
“We’re already dancing a double,” I reminded him.
“Yeah. I know. This is why you’re in my fuckin’ will,” Smithie replied as the music silenced and the girls ran off the stage.
I drew in a deep breath and grabbed Lottie’s hand.
Smithie went onstage and walked across it to get the microphone.
“Remember,” I said, staring through the crack in the curtain. “When I get him, you get the girls.”
“I remember,” Lottie replied on a hand squeeze. “And if, when you get his gun, you accidentally squeeze off a round, I’m your witness that it was accidentally.”
Great minds think alike.
“So put your hands together, motherfuckers!” Smithie was concluding his introduction. “’Cause the Rock Chick and Lottie Mac are teamin’ up, and it’s gonna blow your motherfucking minds!”
It certainly would.
In a lot of ways.
The club went black, Smithie stumbled off and Lottie and I dashed on.
In the dark, the opening riffs of Nickelback’s “Something in Your Mouth” hit the space. The rest of the band kicked in, the bright lights hit the stage and Lottie and I hit each other.
It was an ingenious plan. No man in that room would look anywhere but at Lottie and I as we double teamed. Squatting down and sliding up each other’s bodies. Smacking each other’s asses. Circling a pole low while the other went high. Flicking each other’s hair. Kicking a leg over the other who was in a squat. Both of us swinging our asses out to the audience in tandem.
And frequently, we sucked on our thumbs.
And each other’s.
If this wasn’t part of a mission, I would have giggled my ass off through the whole thing. It was a blast. Absolutely. And the light in Lottie’s eyes told me she felt the same.
We were both down to sequined bras and panties and platform stripper shoes when we broke off. Lottie caught attention by catching the pole high, swinging out, rolling off and hitting her hands and knees, crawling on the stage with back arched, ass high, lips parted, hair in her face.
She was the total shit.
I jumped off the stage and it was during one of the rapid-fire rap parts of the song so I could make some moves on a couple men on my way to my target.
And as the song broke down, I did a lot of gyrating, hair whipping, slow walking, dipping my ass into laps only to pull away before flesh hit flesh, and shimmying.
I found my way in front of Gibbons just as the song kicked it up again.
I looked into his eyes.
He was looking at my breasts.
Fuck yeah.
It didn’t matter my last name was Nightingale. It didn’t matter that I might be a threat.
I had tits.
And that meant I had him, the asshole.
I leaned down, putting my hands to his knees and whipping my head around. I turned around and gave him a personal, long drawn out ass sway when Chad Kroeger did the kickass drawn out “everyone.”
I flipped around and mounted his lap.
His hands immediately went to my hips.
I barely controlled a lip curl at his touch and I moved on him. I put my hands on his shoulders, pulsing my hips under his hands, whipping my hair in his face, catching his eyes to see his at my crotch.
Yeah.
I had him.
So I took him.
Reaching in his jacket, I went right for his gun.
His fingers on my hips bit in and his eyes shot from my crotch to my face.
I felt for the snap, flipped it and yanked his gun out just as I jumped off his lap, his hands sliding clean free since I was oiled up (and good).
