Confessions of an Alli Cat

Thirty-five year-old Allison “Alli” Lancaster has it all—a fabulous job, a beautiful 15 year-old daughter, a hilarious BFF and a gorgeous house with a pool and Jacuzzi in an exclusive Las Vegas neighborhood. What she doesn’t have is a husband, because she kicked her lousy, cheating ex to the curb nine months ago. Since then, Alli has paid her dues with seemingly endless self-improvement and seemingly endless mourning. Now she’s ready to move on and try new things. Alli’s idea of “trying new things” is nothing like that devil-of-a-best-friend of hers. Alli never saw her life going quite like the way it was. She also never thought she’d meet someone else who had the very real potential to change her life forever. But she did.

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4. Chapter Three

(Sometimes you just gotta have the guy’s perspective)

 

Shade

“You’re a rock star,” I mutter to the guy in the mirror as I tug his black tie into a crisp bow.  “A fucking rock star.”

“Dude, who the hell are you talking to?” 

Chaz strides into the dressing room.  

Correction.  Chaz struts into the room.  Chaz struts into every room like a little rooster.  It’s annoying as hell.  In fact, he’s annoying as hell.  But since two women requested us both together, we’re stuck with each other tonight.  And I know that he doesn’t like it any more than I do.  He’s an asshole and I just pray that I can get through the night without knocking his teeth down the back of his cocky little rooster throat.  

I don’t answer.  I just return my attention to the man in the mirror.  The guy staring back at me is confident, worldly and sexy as hell.  He’s comfortable in the starched penguin suit and he can charm a woman’s Victoria Secret panties right off of her.  

He’s Shade.  And Shade is a fucking rockstar. 

“You about ready?” Chaz cocks an eyebrow at me and waits impatiently.  “You’re such a fucking girl,” he mutters beneath his breath.

I glance at him.  He’s sitting on a red velvet lounge to my left, his short legs thumping restlessly against the wooden legs.   He’s just a short little guy.  I don’t see what women see in him.  As he waits, he grabs a mint from the silver dish beside him and plunks it into his mouth, adhering to one of our rules.  Always have fresh breath, but never chomp on gum.  

This dressing room is plush, quiet and meant to be calming.  Most of my colleagues (and I use that term loosely) don’t need to be calmed.  They’ve been doing this for quite a while. I’m the new kid on the block, the youngest and newest on the team.  I’ve only been doing this for six months, but I’ve done it every weekend, which makes twenty four weekends of this.  Of dates.  

That’s what we call them.  Dates.  

I smile to myself because dates in high school or even college were never like this.  The vague memory of clutching and groping at each other in parked cars in dark alleys with fogged up car windows comes to mind and I almost laugh.  

My life has certainly progressed.  

Ever since my friend Adam introduced me to this job, my life has changed for the better.  I no longer have to beg money from my old man and live by his rules.  I can pay my own way because I make a LOT of money by doing something that I love.  And that means that I don’t have to get the freaking business degree that my father wanted me to get.  I have no interest in that.  I don’t really know what I’m interested in yet, but it’s sure as hell not business. 

The man in the mirror smiles at me, confident and ready.  He’s 6’1” and his dark hair is tousled. He shakes it out of the way to reveal his dark blue eyes.  Cobalt, some women have called them.  Whatever the fuck that is.  Whatever it is, I’m good with it. They seem to like it. 

“Ready,” the man in the mirror says and I turn to face Chaz. 

I’m Shade now.  And Shade is ready for anything. Anytime, anywhere. 

I grab a mint on the way out.  

I’m a fucking rockstar. 

We make our way down the back halls of Utopia.  Only customers paying the high escort prices will ever see these halls and the rooms adjoined to them.  It still astounds me that women would pay that sort of money just to have sex with a man.  I mean, hell.  Women can always get it if they want it.  They don’t have to pay for it.  

Yet these women do.  They hand over their credit cards without blinking, simply because they want to have no-strings-tied sex with me.  They like getting to tell me exactly what they want and knowing that I won’t judge them for it. 

Even though there is some freaky, kinky shit going on here.  Stuff I never even knew existed until I came to work here. 

I adjust my jacket as I walk past the closed doors.  I don’t hear anything from behind them.  The doors and walls are thick here for a reason.  

Complete anonymity.  Utopia promises that to its patrons.  The women who walk through these halls must wear a velvet blindfold until they are safely ensconced in a bedroom with a closed door.  It protects the identity of them and of anyone else that they might see.  

The halls are red with textured wallpaper.  The wall sconces are dimly lit and it creates a seductive atmosphere, even though the patrons never see these particular walls.  I walk through with ease now.  I’m Shade.  And Shade never gets nervous. 

We reach the doors that lead out to the main club, the normal face of Utopia.  Normal people who just want to drink and dance are out there, dancing like fools on the dance floor with their neon green wristbands flashing in the dark.  The guards who stand at each side of the back hallway know not to let anyone wearing a green wrist band in.  Of course, no one without an escort can get in, period. 

It’s very exclusive. 

And that makes me very exclusive.  I straighten my shoulders.  When I am here, inside the walls of Utopia, I act differently.  I know no fear, I have no boundaries.  I am always up for anything. 

I am always hard, always ready.  It’s what they pay me for. 

We make our way through the throngs of sweaty people and come out of the front doors just in time to find two women getting out of shiny black limo.  At first, all I can see are slender legs.  The woman that they are attached to spreads them slightly before she climbs out, purposely giving us a clear shot of her bare crotch. 

Classy. 

She’s skinny and pale with a strikingly short fire-engine red hair cut. She’s rich and she’s definitely used to commanding attention.  I can tell that from here.  She’s fine to look at, but honestly, I find my attention captured by the beautiful woman climbing out behind her.

Sweet Jesus. 

It’s at times like this that I truly, truly love my job. 

I offer her my hand, helping her from the car.  

She’s fairly tall for a chick, and slender, but she’s got womanly hips and a perfect rack.  She’s wearing a short, barely there skirt and a shirt that perfectly shows off her lush, full cleavage.  

I wasn’t expecting this when they told me that my client tonight was in her mid-thirties. This woman has a tight, tight body.  She must work out.  Dark brown hair curls around her shoulders and from the way she is staring, I know she is here for me. 

Thank you, God. 

“You’re more beautiful than I could’ve imagined,” I tell her.  And I mean it.  She looks instantly more relaxed as a small smile curves her lips.  

“Shade?” she asks, her voice fairly quiet. She’s hesitant, nothing at all like her bordering-on-obnoxious friend.   I bend to kiss her hand.  That’s another rule.  Always pamper your date.  

They certainly pay a high premium for it. 

She smiles and the darkness around us lights up.  

I smile back.  

“I’m Shade,” I confirm.  “And you must be Allison.”

“You can call me Alli,” she says.  I can see she’s nervous.  Another rule:  Always make your date comfortable. 

“Well, Alli,” I tell her with a confident grin, “Welcome to the best night of your life.”

She smiles back radiantly, but I can still see a little of her shyness lurking there.  It’s charming and I hold my arm out. 

“Shall we?” I ask.  

She nods, her lips tightening just a bit.  She’s definitely nervous. 

As we walk, I lean in, my lips grazing the sensitive skin by her ear.  She smells of a classy perfume. I don’t know what it is. Whatever it is, it makes me want to lick her.  

“Relax,” I murmur to her.  “You’re going to enjoy yourself.  I promise.”

She looks at me, her hazel eyes meeting mine.  

“I have no doubt.”

We thread our way through the thumping, noisy club.  Allison’s fingers are resting lightly on my arm and I guide her through the crowds.  When we get to the private back hallway, Chaz and his date stop while he blind-folds her.  She waggles her fingers at Allison, calling “Enjoy yourself, love!” over her shoulder.  

I turn to Allison with the blindfold in my hand.  

“Is that really necessary?” she asks uncertainly.  

“What?” I ask.  “Blindfolding you?”  She nods and I step behind her.  

I trail my fingers over the skin of her breasts slightly.  She sucks in her breath and I lean in once again to whisper in her ear.   “Trust me.  You’ll like it.”

I tug the blindfold until it is tight, then wrap her fingers once again around my arm as I lead her through the halls and to a private room.

This is going to be fun.

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