Read Online Iron Rods: 1 (Strip Club) by Brenna Zinn - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Brenna Zinn
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the world and felt comfortable in it. Confidence and
self-possession oozed from the man like beads of wetness dripping down a cold
glass of sweet tea on a hot summer day.
Tall, strong men and take-charge attitudes. Those attributes
had had her heart skipping beats since she’d discovered boys in middle school.
It just figured, now that she finally had time for something other than college
classes and dance, Bennett of all people was the first single guy who caused
her heart to skip, do jumping jacks and loop-de-loops.
Wholly unlike the rough and rugged guys she associated with
being a man’s man, Bennett somehow took being manly to a different level in
ways that both intrigued and irritated the hell out of her. He might combine
the one-two punch of good looks and John Wayne charisma, but he also happened
to be an aggravating, pompous ass who would probably demand the same perfection
from others as he did of himself. He had the potential to bring out the very
best of her or absolute worst. Especially if she couldn’t keep her tendency to
pop off under control.
Failure was no longer an option though. If she had to, she
would wear blinders, bite her tongue and work nonstop using one hundred ten
percent effort to focus on her new job and exceed his standards. Clearly
Bennett didn’t think much of her yet, but soon he would come to see her as a
capable and valuable member of the Iron Rods team.
Damn Skippy he will.
Tatum peered down at her writing pad and groaned. While lost
in thought she had absentmindedly scribbled hearts and bloody daggers over her
notes. Not exactly the one hundred ten percent focus she needed if she planned
to impress the handsome Bennett Truitt.
After several minutes of rewriting the dressing room to-do
list, Tatum meandered into the main section of the club. Even with all the
lights on, the cavernous room still managed to look dim and dingy. Deciding the
whole experience of exploring the depressing club would be better with music
playing, she climbed the stairs to the DJ booth, turned on the equipment and
plugged in her iPhone. Familiar music poured from the speakers, making the room
and the updates it direly needed seem less formidable. Her shoulders relaxed
and her foot tapped in time with the beat.
From her perch she had a good view of everything, yet only
the main stage and the long, wide catwalk leading to a stripper pole held her
interest. She’d never danced in a strip club before. Could she actually spin
around the pole without falling on her ass?
Only one way to find out.
She scrolled through her music list and selected a song
she’d danced to at least a hundred times. After cranking the music up to the
point she could feel the rhythm pulse beneath her skin, she quickly climbed
down the stairs, and then bounced and weaved her way to the stage entrance.
When the song played through the intro and began its main chords, she exploded
through the opening of the velvet curtains onto center stage and danced as
though her feet had wings.
Losing herself to the compelling upbeat tempo, she raised
her arms above her head and pumped her fists while shaking and moving each part
of her body. Her complicated footwork and energetic shimmying required every
inch of the catwalk as she spun and bopped. The rhythm of the lively music
blissfully consumed her thoughts and movements. For the first time in what felt
like an eternity, she pushed aside her disappointments and worries, and allowed
herself to be in the moment. She was dancing. Nothing in the wide state of
Texas could be better than this.
A compulsion to remove her T-shirt and get into the spirit
of the club hit, and she gave into the urge with wanton gusto. Imagining she
possessed all the skills of a seasoned stripper, she bumped and grinded her
hips to the beat while gliding her hands over her breasts and down her stomach.
Her fingers found the hem of her shirt.
The stretchy fabric peeled off with ease. Delighted with her
boldness, she
self-possession oozed from the man like beads of wetness dripping down a cold
glass of sweet tea on a hot summer day.
Tall, strong men and take-charge attitudes. Those attributes
had had her heart skipping beats since she’d discovered boys in middle school.
It just figured, now that she finally had time for something other than college
classes and dance, Bennett of all people was the first single guy who caused
her heart to skip, do jumping jacks and loop-de-loops.
Wholly unlike the rough and rugged guys she associated with
being a man’s man, Bennett somehow took being manly to a different level in
ways that both intrigued and irritated the hell out of her. He might combine
the one-two punch of good looks and John Wayne charisma, but he also happened
to be an aggravating, pompous ass who would probably demand the same perfection
from others as he did of himself. He had the potential to bring out the very
best of her or absolute worst. Especially if she couldn’t keep her tendency to
pop off under control.
Failure was no longer an option though. If she had to, she
would wear blinders, bite her tongue and work nonstop using one hundred ten
percent effort to focus on her new job and exceed his standards. Clearly
Bennett didn’t think much of her yet, but soon he would come to see her as a
capable and valuable member of the Iron Rods team.
Damn Skippy he will.
Tatum peered down at her writing pad and groaned. While lost
in thought she had absentmindedly scribbled hearts and bloody daggers over her
notes. Not exactly the one hundred ten percent focus she needed if she planned
to impress the handsome Bennett Truitt.
After several minutes of rewriting the dressing room to-do
list, Tatum meandered into the main section of the club. Even with all the
lights on, the cavernous room still managed to look dim and dingy. Deciding the
whole experience of exploring the depressing club would be better with music
playing, she climbed the stairs to the DJ booth, turned on the equipment and
plugged in her iPhone. Familiar music poured from the speakers, making the room
and the updates it direly needed seem less formidable. Her shoulders relaxed
and her foot tapped in time with the beat.
From her perch she had a good view of everything, yet only
the main stage and the long, wide catwalk leading to a stripper pole held her
interest. She’d never danced in a strip club before. Could she actually spin
around the pole without falling on her ass?
Only one way to find out.
She scrolled through her music list and selected a song
she’d danced to at least a hundred times. After cranking the music up to the
point she could feel the rhythm pulse beneath her skin, she quickly climbed
down the stairs, and then bounced and weaved her way to the stage entrance.
When the song played through the intro and began its main chords, she exploded
through the opening of the velvet curtains onto center stage and danced as
though her feet had wings.
Losing herself to the compelling upbeat tempo, she raised
her arms above her head and pumped her fists while shaking and moving each part
of her body. Her complicated footwork and energetic shimmying required every
inch of the catwalk as she spun and bopped. The rhythm of the lively music
blissfully consumed her thoughts and movements. For the first time in what felt
like an eternity, she pushed aside her disappointments and worries, and allowed
herself to be in the moment. She was dancing. Nothing in the wide state of
Texas could be better than this.
A compulsion to remove her T-shirt and get into the spirit
of the club hit, and she gave into the urge with wanton gusto. Imagining she
possessed all the skills of a seasoned stripper, she bumped and grinded her
hips to the beat while gliding her hands over her breasts and down her stomach.
Her fingers found the hem of her shirt.
The stretchy fabric peeled off with ease. Delighted with her
boldness, she
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