Off-Limits: The Hockey Star's Fake Girlfriend

001

Hawney POV

“Smile more baby, men tip prettier girls.” The fat pot bellied man said, brushing another dollar against my thigh.

I forced a smile and brought my butt close to his face and began twerking.

“Now that's what I'm talking about, give it to me baby,” he slurred.

On a normal day, I wouldn't even stare at this man right in front of me, but here, I didn't care how fat, old or ugly he looked, I was in for the money alone.

The group of men around the table burst into drunken laughter as they watched me with utmost pleasure.

The pot bellied man caressed my hips as he slapped another stack of cash against my butt like he was doing some charity work.

I kept twerking up and down anyway.

Red lights flooded Club Nocturne, washing everything in deep Crimson shadow while heavy Bass vibrated beneath my heels.

Smoke curled lazily through the air, mixed with expensive cologne, Alcohol, And the scent of rich men.

I rolled my hips slowly to the music, Grabbing the metal pole attached beside the platform while the pot bellied Man tucked folded dollars beneath the strap around my waist.

As I danced. His hand caressed my hips and brushed towards my v-spot.

Now that's enough.

I thought, Smoothly stepping away before he could touch more than necessary.

I bent down to pick the dollars on the floor and while I did so. The man grabbed me by the waist and started using his now hard dick to gently rub my butts.

I pushed him gently , stood up straight, faked a seductive smile, removed his hands off me And walked away with my dollars, not looking back.

Today was My boyfriend's birthday and I can't wait for my shift to come so I can go surprise him.

The upper half of my face was covered with a Silver mask, enough to make me look Mysterious. But not enough to stop the stares of men watching me like I was something to buy.

Maybe I was, at least for five minutes per dance.

A Black Rhinestone bodysuit hugged my skin perfectly, accentuating my curves and leaving very little to imagine.

I stepped on the stage, and spun around the pole before aching my back to the beat.

The music finally ended.

Thank Goodness..

I stepped off the stage carefully, trying not to limp despite the pain shooting through my toes.

Another stripper stepped onto the platform, she's tall, and red haired. She wore red sequins.

Men immediately started cheering again.

Replacement delivered. Just perfect.

I collected the scattered bills tucked into my garter before heading backstage.

And the moment I disappeared behind the black curtains. The fake smile I've been holding instantly vanished.

God, my feet hurt.

Ballet practice this morning had already destroyed my legs before I get to work.

Eight hours at the academy and four hours dancing here, and now every step I took on these heels felt like I was walking on bruises.

The dressing room smelled like vanilla perfume, hairspray, and sweat beneath expensive body oil.

I dropped onto the couch, pulling off my heels.

“You did an amazing job with the twerking,” a familiar voice said.

I turned to the direction of the voice to see ma'am B fixing her lipstick as she stared at her reflection in the mirror.

She grinned at me, before continuing with her lipstick.

She is tall, strict and was always dressed in black silk blouses with sharp heels.

None of the staff knew her real name,even the owner of this club call her ma'am B.

“Thank you,” I said, leaning back against the chair tiredly.

I looked exhausted without the stage lights.

My dark hair fell messily around my shoulders from dancing. And it was slightly damped at the roots.

By day, I was Hawney Harper. A dance student and by night, I was whatever rich men wanted me to be.

Ma'am B walked up to me and threw me an envelope.

“Your pay, count it before you leave,” she said.

I opened it, it wasn't much, just enough to survive another week if life decided not to get worse.

“Thanks,” I muttered, tucking the money into my bag.

I changed from the stripper wear and changed into the outfit I came with.

“Damn, Hawney, if I looked like you, I'd never suffer in this life.”

I turn to see Zara, my colleague.

“You say that every night,” I said.

“Because it's true every night.” she said.

I rolled my eyes. So impossible.

“You’re leaving already ?” she asked.

“Not yet.” I said, grabbing my bag and checking my make up once more.

“So where are you going?” Zara asked, curious.

“To the VIP section.”

“What for?” She asked, confusion etched on her face.

“Dylan’s here celebrating his birthday, and he doesn't know I'm at work, so I'm going to surprise him,”

“Oh,” came her reply as realization crossed her face.

“See you tomorrow ,” I said, picking my bag and storming out before she could say anything.

The hallway leading to the VIP section glowed gold beneath dim lights hanging. The closer I got, the louder the music got.

Yesterday, I'd overheard Dylan telling someone on the phone that he'll be celebrating his birthday at Nocturne.

I wanted to surprise him so I told him I was on shift.

A security guard recognized me and pulled the velvet rope aside for me to pass.

My eyes scanned the section, looking for Dylan but my eyes widened upon seeing him.

Dylan was sprawling lazily across one of the curved leather couches, puffing out a cigarette, a blonde girl sat directly on his lap.

Dylan laughed as the girl tangled her fingers in his hair, whispering something into his ear.

I stood frozen on track, and for a second,the room began to blur. And then the girl kissed him right there.

I clenched my fist.

Dylan finally looked up and the moment his eyes landed on me, his smile immediately vanished.

Without thinking, I marched up to them.

“Dylan.. so you've been cheating on me? With this thing?”I said, pointing at the blonde girl.

“Excuse me? Who the hell are you?” She threw.

“For fucks sake Hawney, not tonight ” he said, rubbing his head like he was tired of me.

I looked at him and let out a bitter laugh. I looked at the girl still sitting comfortably on his lap.

“Seriously?”

“Dylan, don't tell me this is the stripper girlfriend.” The blonde scoffed.

“ Take your filthy stripper self and get the hell outta here. You cheap whore,” Dylan spat.

I froze, gazing at my boyfriend of three years. Few eyes turned to our direction.

“So this is all I ever met to you after everything ?” I asked quietly.

“Oh please, Hawney,” Dylan scoffed, shoving the blonde off his lap before standing up.

“What did you expect? A fairytale ending?” He threw.

“You think I'm proud of dating a girl who dances for rich men every night? You never thought that was embarrassing, did you?”

“Embarrassing? You didn't complain when my money paid your bills,” I said, trying hard not to cry.

“Oh please,” the blonde girl smirked.

“ If you spread your legs on the stage every night and allow men fuck you, what do you expect people to call you?” She mocked, and crossed her legs.

“Dylan is right, you are a whore, that's the life you chose. Nobody forced you,” She added with a smirk.

The next slap that followed came as a shock to everyone, including Dylan. Gasps filled the air.

The blonde girl crouched her cheeks.

“You crazy bitch! How dare you lay your filthy hands on my girl,” Dylan snapped, grabbing me by the neck.

But I reached for one of the empty bottles on the table and smashed it on Dylan's head before he could finish.