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Three categories are usually enough. Business folks, either traveling alone or coming in groups as a way to spend the evening. The regulars, always alone. Then parties, usually bachelor parties that don't really book any private dances, but drink enough to make their visit worth it.
They most likely have their own boxes they put her and the others in and sometimes Lucy does wonder what they are. If it's some body type or hair color or ethnicity thing it comes down to. All of the above, she assumes, in some practical, neat little box. Although her own regulars haven't changed after she got that tattoo.
And then tonight there's him. Jaw tight and hands folded and shirt too neat for a long day spent in some office. People like him, who seem to still be figuring things out, usually don't sit front and center. She tugs up the sheer black dress draped over her lingerie when she's right in front of him - just to gauge his reaction.
It's not exactly what she'd expected; he follows the line of her body up to her face and meets her eyes instead. Fine, one of those that are looking for a connection then. She smiles at him and leans down towards him and something in his expression slips.
—
It's the fourth place he's at and Tim had assumed this process would turn into some routine at one point. But it's been different every time they've visited another one of the dubious strip clubs that seem to pop up out of thin air.
The one girl who's been drawing all of his attention to her has already subtly let him know that there are limits. He's well aware of those rules that are always the same, but they're also always bendable to an extent.
Like now, because he couldn't help himself when she was close, his clammy hands on the warm skin of her hips as he pushes a few bills under the string of her thong are a bit of a gray area already. She looks back at him over her shoulder - directly and only at him - and he knows who he'll have to ask for a private dance first when he gets to that point.
—
The booth just fits the tacky leather couch Tim takes his seat on. There are things that make sense to contemplate - like what's part of the plan for tonight - and things that shouldn't be on his mind at all - like who else might have been in this seat before him and how often it's been her in front of them.
"There's no touching unless I ask you to."
"Sure, your rules," he agrees quickly and, simply to show he has no intentions to break any of them, he folds his hands back into his lap.
The song she starts is soft and not at all what he'd expected here and he wonders if that's something she picked herself, if there are other ones she chooses from or if this is one she thought of when she saw him. Wishful thinking, he tells himself. Her hands skim up her waist to take the sheer fabric of her dress up with them and he's already lost when they tangle in her hair - what are the odds she's going to ask him to touch her? She shouldn't, there'd be consequences if she did, but it's part of why he's here to at least try -
"Can I-"
"No."
There's still amusement in her eyes when she says it, leaving him thankful he hasn't ruined it yet with his eagerness. The dress ends up on the ground, her eyes remaining fixed on him, and this time when she leans in close, her hips moving unreasonably well with the song playing, there's just that ridiculously tiny thong clinging to her skin. She runs her hands up to her breasts and her fingers trace over the curves, feeling each rise and fall of her chest and if he can't touch her, there's something else he sometimes asks.
"Would you touch yourself for me?" His voice comes out hoarse and she falters, losing that flow for a moment. She finds his eyes again and bites her lip, contemplating his request.
Tim decides it's only a tiny, slight bending of the rules when she settles her weight on his lap - and then he forgets about that rule altogether when she slides her hand down her stomach, under the thin string of her thong and the reason he's here goes out the window with his precautions.
His heart beats out an irregular rhythm as her eyes drift close and he watches the motion of her hand under the fabric. The sound suddenly falling from her lips makes the air feel heavy and at least this must be part of the show, it has to be.
Her eyebrows draw together and he can't help but watch how her hands move in awe, only now noticing the body glitter all over her that ends up sticking to his jeans. All he wants is for her eyes to open again and he thinks if she did, then maybe there's a chance she'll ask for his help after all.
(Please don't.)
She pulls her fingers back up slowly and it's a scent he needs to get closer to, his hand twitches, holding back the urge to grab her wrist and lick the traces of herself off them. He lets his head fall back when she does it instead, finally looking at him again and now he's certain it's part of her game.
She's breathing heavily when the song ends and she still hovers over him, suddenly frozen in place. If he only turned over his hand, he could almost run his fingers over the inside of her thigh. Just to feel how soft the skin would be there and to find out if it's clammy at all.
She dips her head lower so he can smell her perfume and something sweet on her breath. Tim doesn't flinch and instead quiets the alarm bells going off in his head when she brushes her lips against his. He feels his breath hitch and his good intentions tumble over each other and those have had a good run, he'd tried. She catches his bottom lip between hers and deepens the kiss and he’s too distracted by her hands suddenly framing his face to notice anything else.
There's quiet music still playing in the background and she pulls back from the kiss but rests her forehead against his with a soft smile on her face. It's so difficult to keep his hands where they are, but if she wanted him, he's sure she'd say something. Maybe it's only a tease after all. Tim shifts and feels his jeans tight and the wallet in his pocket poking against his hip and he's abruptly reminded why he's here in the first place. Maybe if he checks all the items off his list, he can still excuse the slip up to himself.
He clears his throat. "What if I pay you more? Are you going to ask me to touch you then?"
She blinks at him, like he's fully broken the illusion, and clambers off his lap in a quick, smooth motion. Just one more question, when she's already looking at him like this, then he can meet the others outside and hopefully cool his head off.
"Do you want to go somewhere else?"
"I'd rather not," she replies sharply and it echoes in the room when she steps further away to turn the background music off entirely.
It's his cue to leave and take a break before he'll find someone else and he does try, but she looks so genuinely hurt that he apparently wasn't able to keep it together.
Tim turns on his way out and closes the door behind him again.
"Look, I'm really sorry - you're very, very good at this, by the way," he explains and now he seems to only make it worse, "I swear I'm not a creep, but it's part of my job to try."
His index finger wanders to his lips as if to tell her to hush as he pulls the badge from his wallet and she backs even further away, towards the exit.
"Fucking hell, you're a cop?" Her voice is so high pitched and her hand grabs at her wrist and she knows, of course she does.
"Yes. But don't - you've got nothing to worry about. It was a spur of the moment thing, we got carried away."
"Okay - sure. Whatever. I should get back to the front."
"What you really should do is get out of this place."
"Right. I'm totally, definitely on that. At least far away from whatever this is."
"We're investigating this club for illegal sex work and you don't want to get sucked into any of that."
"I'm not. And you've got the wrong place for that. None of the others are either."
"Good, nothing to worry about then," he shrugs and puts his wallet back into his pocket. The girl in front of him pulls her dress back on and he swallows thickly watching her. Then her hand is suddenly holding onto his arm and her voice sounds like she's holding back a giggle.
"Wait, wait. You go undercover at strip clubs? Is that your whole, real job? How long do you do this for until you have to arrest someone? Or is that up to your own discretion? Sounds kinda -"
"Look, please find some other place to work, okay? Should be easy enough for someone like you."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means this place could be dangerous and I'm sure you could do better."
"I'm well aware. But until then, I got rent to pay."
Tim grunts and digs into his pockets again and it stings that she moves away preemptively, like there's nothing possibly good coming from him anymore.
"Here, just in case."
"Is that-" she squints at the little black card with the tiny letters barely readable in the dark room.
"It's my number, yes."
"I think I'm able to figure out how to call the cops if I need to."
"No, it's not the office, it's my private number on there. Call me if you need - or want anything. Anything at all."
"Okay. Thanks."