Page 10 of The Biker and the Baker

Rubbing my temples in an attempt to will away the intensifying headache, I walk toward my bike.

Cookie might own the businesses, but I’m the one who has to deal with all this shit on a daily basis while she’s at home baking cupcakes.

By the time I get home and hit the sack, desperate to get some shut-eye, my phone buzzes with a text.

Cookie: Crisis at Cookie’s Treat. You’re needed.

Yep. I’m sorely regretting my night with Kyor. With a life like mine, a man needs his full eight fucking hours of sleep.

Chapter 3

Pia

“Daddy would havea conniption if he drove past right now and saw me in this line,” Kim says as she glances around nervously like the wide-eyed prude that she is.

“For crying out loud, Kim. Stop freaking out,” Lissa says. “Uncle Clint won’t find out. And even if he does, you can just pin it on me. Lie and say I forced you.”

“Youdidforce me,” Kim returns.

“You forced all of us,” Mira adds.

“Nope, not me. No coercion was needed on my part,” I pipe in. “She had me at ‘lap dance’.”

Mira rolls her eyes.

We’re in a queue outside Cookie’s Crème, a high-end gentleman’s club which also happens to be owned by my boss.

It’s Lissa’s birthday, and a strip club experience is what she demanded from us for her gift. Lissa is Kim’s—my sister’s girlfriend—cousin, and both their families are devout Catholics, hence Kim’s apprehension. But Lissa, like me, is a rule-breaking rebel. As a result, we’re thick as thieves.

“Why do women have to pay more?” Mira demands when we get to the door and are quoted the cover charge. Men, eighty dollars. Women, one hundred and twenty dollars.

“This is agentleman’sclub, sweetheart,” the bouncer booms. “By the end of the night, men would’ve spent twenty-times what they paid to get in. How much doyouplan to spend when you get in?”

“Alot,” Lissa lies. “We gots money to blow,dude.”

“Right,” the bouncer mumbles through a breath of sarcasm. “A hundred twenty per head or no entry.”

“Are drinks included with that ridiculous price?” I ask.

He makes sure to pop the ‘P’ when he answers, “Nope.”

“Jeez,” Kim murmurs. “Lissa, are you sure you don’t want to go somewhere else?”

“No,” she answers, flipping her long brown mane. “I’ve heard nothing but awesome things about this club. We’re going in.”

Well, that’s that. Birthday Girl gets what Birthday Girl wants. We pony up and pay the gouging cover charge.

The burly bouncer winks at me as he unhooks the rope for us, and as I’m passing him, he rumbles low, “You’re hot as fuck, by the way. Smell damn good, too.”

Sashaying past him, I reply, “I know.”

We walk in and…whoa.

Holy amazingness.

“Whoa…” Lissa mumbles.

I don’t know what I expected, but with a basic exterior, I didn’t anticipatethismassive spread of architectural, luministic wonder. It‘s a vast two-story space. A kaleidoscope of stunning light art covers the walls. Dancers in glass boxes hang from the ceiling. A glowing overhead glass bridge framed by running triangle lights leads from one side of the club to another, and the men below shamelessly crane their heads back to see under the skirts of women who dare to walk across it.