Sins Of The Flesh. J. Margot Critch

cheekbones high. It all combined to make him one irresistible man. If only he wasn’t so egotistical, stubborn, condescending, sexy...

      The front door opened and closed, the noise startling her, forcing her to jerk back from the television. Fumbling for the remote to turn off the TV, she dropped it, but in the process, she’d paused it.

      “Girl, you will not believe the date I just had,” her roommate and best friend, Ben, told her as he walked into the living room. He stopped and looked at Jessica, taking in her flushed complexion and jagged breaths. Cocking his head to the side, he laughed. “What are you doing? You look like I just caught you in the middle of a little downstairs DJ.” He moved his fingers in small circles, mimicking the movements of working a turntable, but making a not-so-innocent implication.

      Jessica tossed a throw pillow at him and leaned back on the couch. “Oh, shut up,” she muttered, before she laughed. “Okay, what happened on your date? Was he cute?” She hoped to change the topic.

      “He was extremely cute, a fireman, but dumb as a post. He thought that alfresco was the name of the guy who owned the restaurant,” he answered, grabbing her glass from the coffee table and taking a sip of her wine. Then he nodded at the television, where the picture of Rafael, his perfect white smile, and those deep dimples, were frozen on the screen. “But, baby girl, I want to know what’s got you looking so flushed here alone on the couch. Is it Mr. Martinez? He is certainly tasty.”

      “No,” she said too quickly. “It’s not him. You know, Ben, I’m not like you, I can control myself even around the most marginally good-looking guy.” She stood.

      Ben gestured to the TV. “Marginally good-looking? Look at this guy. I just wish he played for my team.”

      “Well, maybe you should sleep with him, then. But I’m going to bed. I’ve got to pack, I have to be on an early flight to San Francisco tomorrow morning.”

      “Aww, you’re heading there again?”

      “Yeah. Why?”

      “I get so lonely on the weekends when you’re gone. Why go to San Fran every weekend? There are strip clubs in Vegas, you know. That way I wouldn’t have to miss you all the time.”

      “You know I can’t risk dancing here. I can see the headlines now, Las Vegas City Councillor and Mayoral Hopeful Bares All Onstage!” She took her glass back from Ben. “And with the way the media have been following Rafael and me around, it would definitely get out.”

      “But what about when you get closer to the election? I assume you’ll be hanging up the clear heels and the G-string for the glamour of the mayor’s sash, or are you going to be America’s first mayor-slash-exotic dancer?”

      She laughed. “You know I don’t own any clear heels. I’m not embarrassed of my career. I love absolutely every moment onstage. I’ll miss it when it’s over. But you know this city as well as I do.” To tourists, Las Vegas could be considered more of a risqué city, but she knew that outside the famed Strip, the desert city more or less leaned conservative, and voters would not approve of her side job. She knew it was a risk to dance even now, but going out of state helped, and the money she earned helped with her campaign expenses. “So, it’s time to leave it all behind. I knew that I couldn’t dance forever. And there are things I need to do. It’s time to focus my attention on helping people, and making the city better. I’ve got to be the change I want to see in the world.”

      “Trade the pole for a podium.”

      “Exactly. I’ll miss the money, though,” she said. But that wasn’t it. Early on, stripping had been a way for her to make money and pay for college. But eventually, she realized she had a great flair for it. After a lot of hard work, she became well-known around the country for her skills with the pole. Being onstage was an empowering, fun, great exercise and she was extremely good at it, and high in demand. “You want to come with?”

      “Nah, I’ve got another date with Mr. Cute-but-Dumb-as-a-Post. I just might invite him over, take advantage of having an empty house.”

      “Remember the pants-on-in-the-kitchen rule,” she reminded him.

      “That’s your rule, not mine. But seriously, though, what’s your plan for how you’re going to beat him?”

      “I’m going to beat him by being the best candidate.”

      Her roommate looked at her skeptically. “Is that going to be good enough? Why don’t you let me talk to some people...see if we can dig up a little dirt on him.”

      “What people do you know?”

      “I know people who know people.”

      She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I don’t want to win with underhanded tricks.”

      “You think Rafael Martinez doesn’t know any underhanded tricks? I’m just saying that maybe you’ll find out something interesting about him.”

      “I don’t know,” Jessica said, leaning in to give her friend a kiss on the cheek. “Sounds sketchy. I’ve really got to get ready now, though. I’ll see you on Sunday.”

      “Bye, baby girl, have fun in San Francisco.”

      “I intend to.”

       CHAPTER TWO

      THE NEXT NIGHT, Rafael walked into Charlie’s Gentleman’s Club, which he’d learned was one of the classier strip clubs in San Francisco. The space was dark, like many nightclubs, and most of the light came from the stage, which was highlighted in yellow-and-red up-lights. A woman was on the stage, naked but for a G-string and a pair of platform heels, dancing to a classic rock song, and he watched her with some interest. He might have enjoyed the show more if he hadn’t been there strictly on business. The woman, though gorgeous and talented, wasn’t the woman he was there to see.

      He stopped at the bar and ordered a beer, and turned around on the barstool to watch the stage. Charlie’s was not anywhere near as seedy as he’d imagined it would be. It was clean, hip and filled with mixed patrons who were all respectful and well behaved, as they took in a show and socialized.

      From being in the nightclub business himself with Di Terrestres, The Brotherhood’s erotic members-only club, he knew that a safe and clean environment was the most important factor. Their club was a popular Las Vegas gathering place, an erotic playground for its exclusive clientele on every night of the week. They were the only thing like it in the city, and he was glad that he and his friends had clinched the market early on. Di Terrestres was the crown jewel of all their combined ventures and had proven to be their most profitable. In fact, being at Charlie’s in San Francisco felt kind of like being at Di Terrestres in Vegas, except that here, Rafael most certainly did not have the home court advantage. This was Jessica’s turf. But luckily, he had the element of surprise in his favor.

      “Is Jessie M working tonight?” he asked the bartender over his shoulder.

      She didn’t respond at first, probably not too eager to talk to a random man who was looking for one of the dancers, in particular. She rolled her eyes and went back to her work, serving other thirsty patrons. Rafael slid a fifty across the bar top.

      “Is Jessie working?”

      The bartender looked at it before picking it up and slipping it under the low neckline of her tank top, which was almost bursting at the seams with ample breasts. “She’s on in five minutes,” she answered.

      “Sounds like I’m just in time, then,” he noted, and sipped his beer.

      When the music quieted, Rafael turned back to the stage to watch the previous dancer leave, gathering her bills and clothing as she went. The buttery-voiced DJ came over the loudspeaker. “Everybody give Lola another big hand.” After a burst of clapping from the audience, he played some prelude music as he spoke over the beat. “And now, ladies