Saturday Morning Breakfast Serial

It's that time again. Hope you're hungry . . .

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Chapter 2 -- All that Glitters


One of the big things they insist on in my line of business is "blending in" to the culture where you've been assigned. Pop culture is one of the required courses of study. I aced it. My esteemed co-worker squeaked by with a C-. But one thing Celeste had studied was the wedding customs. After all, she would be getting married here, and she wanted to do it right. And she did, mostly. The scheduling was a little weird. Generally the bachlorette party would be a week or so before the wedding, and the rehearsal dinner the night before, but there was no point in arguing. The wedding was tomorrow evening, so everybody would have time to sleep off their hangovers, and since rooms had been scheduled for everybody here at the hotel, nobody'd risk arrest for driving drunk.

I was toast. Seriously, so done with this whole wedding thing. I wanted nothing more than to go to go home to my nice, quiet rooms and curl up with a stiff drink and a good book. If I asked it nicely my "cell phone" might even morph into a cat and curl up with me. I was standing at the far corner of the bar, holding a nice big tumbler of Jack plastic smile pasted on my face when the entertainment arrived.

Oh . . . my . . . God.

Okay, I'd expected a stripper. I had not expected a dozen of them. One for each of us. A few of them looked as though they'd taken their cues from The Village People. But there were others thrown in as well.

The last one through the door was dressed as a Greek God. He was young and handsome, but he looked soft, with dark, doe-like eyes and soft curls the color of milk chocolate. His skin was the warm, golden brown that comes from nature enhanced by way of a tanning bed. Judging from what showed outside the toga he was slender, but muscular, a body to die for.

Maybe literally.

Adonis showers death.

He looked around the room, obviously trying to find me. Not that easy now that the lights had been dimmed, an honest-to-God disco ball lit, and throbbing techno music was blaring over the bar speakers so that the strippers could begin their "act." It was loud enough that you couldn't even hear someone next to you shouting their lungs out. The bartender finally decided to help him out, standing up on tiptoe to point at me over everybody's heads.

Now that he knew where he was going, he slipped through the crowd, stalking toward me with the sleek grace of a hunting cat. His features hardened, becoming more predatory.

I moved away from the bar, giving myself more room. He didn't like it, but covered his displeasure with a dimpled smile. Stopping a few feet from me he began dancing, moving his sandaled feet very little, but the rest of his body quite a lot. Particularly his hips. He was lithe, limber, and I got a glimpse of a teeny little gold g-string that barely contained his . . . assets beneath the toga. He was obviously aroused. Normally I would have had to work not to let that be distracting. I mean I'm young, red-blooded, and it has been a ridiculously long time since . . . well, since. But I'd had advance warning, and I wasn't letting this boy close enough to do me any damage.

His eyes met mine, and I saw the realization hit him. I knew. With lightning speed he changed tactics, lunging at me, grabbing for my arms. I caught a glimpse of the tiny, poisoned spike on the inside of the ring he wore as I dodged his grasp. Spinning, unexpectedly, I got hold of his arm. Using the momentum of his own movement against him, I twisted. His shoulder separated from it's socket with a satisfying pop that was inaudible to anyone else, his scream was swallowed by the whoops and shouts of the dancers and guests. He dropped to his knees from the pain, the arm with the ring now useless. I dropped to one knee behind him. Sliding my arm around his neck I tightened, cutting off his air supply. We were behind the edge of the bar. No one could see. No one bothered to look. If they thought anything, they probably thought I was screwing him. Regular strippers would never allow that. But most of the guests didn't know it. Or maybe Celeste had hired hookers. I wouldn't put it past her.

It felt like it took forever for him to pass out, as he bucked, and fought, clawing at my arm with his one good hand, but it really wasn't long. I dragged him further into the corner, where it would be dark even when the lights came back up. Hiding him best as I could behind the floor-length curtains I carefully stripped the ring from his finger and ducked behind the bar. Walking purposefully, I strode down the service hall, through the kitchen, out the delivery door and into the night.