𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋! | harry styles

𝐕𝐈

I'VE never had to tell Tyler to keep his hands to himself. He's always been sweet, respectful, kind of attractive, and a gentleman to boot. He's become one of my regulars, and I find that I actually don't mind seeing him. In fact, I look forward to it. For him it's all about the human contact and the idea of a pretty girl paying him attention. He books the same private room each week, orders the same drinks, and pays me the same tip each time. We talk about anything and everything and if all of my clients were nice as him, my job would be a whole lot easier.

I slip in through the heavy curtain to find Tyler already sitting in the soft lounge seat with a glass of bourbon in his hand. He looks up and I smile, always happy to see a familiar face in a city full of strangers.

"Hey, sweetie."

His smile is bright and his eyes are heavy. "Hey, gorgeous."

Leaning in for a brief hug, I press my fingers to his cheek, feeling the stubble beneath them. "Long day?"

He shakes his head. "Long week. Eighty hours since Monday."

My eyes widen with concern, and I place my open palm against his scruffy cheek. "You're going to make yourself sick."

That's the nice thing about someone like Tyler; I don't have to pretend. My affection for the guy is genuine-it's not the same as lust or real attraction, but there's something gentle and almost boyish about him that calls to the mother in me. He's just begging for someone to take care of him, and in my own special way I do. He just pays me for it.

He shrugs, slipping the expensive suit jacket from his arms and draping it onto the seat beside him. "Let's not talk about work tonight," he says with a tired smile. "How's tricks?"

"Same old," I reply as my thumb slides down the screen of my mp3 player. Tyler's eyes light up when the song I pick starts up. I grin, flicking my hair over my shoulder. "An oldie but goodie, right?"

He watches me from his seat, his eyes drawn to my legs. Tyler is a leg man, and tonight I'm in a pair of sky-high, patent leather heels. They pinch my toes and make my calves cramp, but they also make my legs look long, and it's nice to be able to look guys in the eyes sometimes.

I don't fuss too much with Tyler. I dance a little, peeling my gauzy camisole off before sliding onto his lap. I rock and I grind, I press my hands to his chest and his arms, using his shoulders for leverage as I swivel my hips over his lap. He smiles through the whole thing, his hands respectful and his eyes soft as he rests his head back on the seat.

Something tells me that if I weren't here the guy would be fast asleep in two seconds flat.

Still, we talk a little-just the easy stuff: the weather, the basketball, the new flashy restaurants he's been to, and it's simple and nice.

But in the end his time come to an end, and he slips me my tip with a thank you before disappearing out into the club again. It's as easy as that.

Most of the time.

I don't know if there's a full moon approaching, but Saturday night the club is full of men absolutely begging to sink their money into top shelf drinks and expensive company. By one o'clock the place is packed, and I'm doing all I can just to stay on my feet. My calves are killing me and my lower back hurts, plus the push-up bra I'm wearing is pinching under my arms and if I weren't already being paid for it I'd rip it off.

Nick has me on the main floor for a little while, sitting in lap, booking by dance card so to speak. About midnight I finish my turn on stage and spend a little time "mingling" before swapping out with Katie and taking my shift in the private area.