Page 35 of The Cowboy's Cabaret

a friendly strip tease

Wesley

It’slate into the night when Dahlia lights up my phone with a video chat. I scramble to make myself look like a sensual, sleepy cowboy, though I probably look like a dope.

“Is that the one and only Dahlia Damsel gracing me with her presence?”

She sticks her pink tongue out at me. “Hello there. It is I. Watcha doing?” she asks.

“In bed, waiting on you.” I realize that sounds extremely intimate. “Your call, waiting on your call. How was work?” I love when I speak to Dahlia and all twenty-eight years of learned speech fly out the window. She makes me nervous in the best way.

“Okay, Casanova, chill.” She rewards me with her tinkling laugh and immediately I smile like the fucking simp I am. “I wanted to update you on the proposal. Plus, I like talking to your awkward ass self.”

Tongue in my cheek, I nod at her to proceed with her update. Her admission has me wanting to bang on my chest and scream to the world she likes talking to me, but I refrain. Dahlia goes onto tell me all about the professor’s feedback and offers to help out. It sounds like we’re actually in great shape.

“Proud of you, Dahlia. Let me know if you need anything else. I finished those drawings of you by the way.”

“Show me, show me!” I text the pictures over to her and her eyes are as wide as saucers as she looks them over. “You took some liberties here, huh?”

I assume she’s referring to the succubus straddling the cowboy. While that one isn’t super obviously Dahlia, the resemblance is pretty clear. “I have an artist’s imagination. Plus, it’s hot.”

“You got that right. I love them. Speaking of your artist’s imagination,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Have you ever thought about doing anything with your drawing? Like selling your work or something?”

“Mmm, sure. I don’t know where I’d start though.”

“You could do it. Ooooh, or what about tattooing? That would be sick. I could be your practice skin! Think about it. Or character art? One of the other dancers at the club does illustrative work for books. That could be cool as fuck.” She gets like this sometimes after work, going a mile a minute. “Anyway, I wanted to ask if you wanted to come hang out for a weekend? Maybe do some tourist-y shit with me?” She’s biting her plush fucking lower lip and I’m helpless to her pull.

“Of course. Tell me when and where and I’ll be there.” Our conversation only lasts a bit longer, Dahlia is exhausted from school and work and I’m ready to knock out too. Her sweet smile bids me goodnight and I melt into my bed, exhausted and eager to hang out.

Between Dahlia’sschool schedule and work, we hadn’t been able to nail down plans last weekend which was a bummer. She did email me a copy of her professor’s feedback and edits, and there wasn’t a ton to change. It’s all exciting to think about, and kinda crazy to think what the future of the farm might be like.

I do some digging on social media too. Dahlia shared the page of her dancer friend and their work is badass. They do a mix of scenes and portraits—illustrations of romantic declarations and kinky eroticism—I’m impressed as hell. Dahlia offered to introduce me, but for now I stick to liking all their posts and wondering if this is something I could eventually do too.

We agree to get together next weekend and on one of our video calls when I’m already fighting my hard cock, she asks if I’ll come watch her perform Friday.

“I was thinking it could be fun to add a volunteer element to my sets sometimes? Like pull someone up from the crowd for the tease? Some of my friends have done it and it’s a huge hit.”

Something green and thorny roots in my chest—jealousy at the thought of her dancing on someone else.

“Ah.” I try to sound contemplative and not like I’m about to throw myself at her mercy.

“Ah.” She smiles.

Fuck it. Might as well simp to my full capacity. “You could always have me up there with you too.”

Her sweet smile is a trick, because she looks smug like she was hoping I’d offer. “Sounds good, Wes. Hope you don’t get stage fright.”

The thoughtof spending the weekend with Dahlia is the fuel I need to get through the week. Jasper tries to give me shit for leaving again, but I tell him it’s to work on the grant some more. It’s not a total lie. I’m sure we’ll talk about it some, but my main motivation is the goddess bounding down the stairs towards my truck. Clad in an oversized hoodie and boots, she leaps up into my truck. Her sweet scent fills the cab and I’m gripping the steering wheel in an effort not to yank her towards me.

At the club, she shows me where I can park in the manager lot and we part ways at the hall between the dressing rooms and the main area of the club. I decide to sit at the bar before the show. A drink appears in front of me and I turn to find Daphne staring me down.

“Wesley. Funny seeing you here.” Her voice is suspicious.

“Howdy, Daph. How are you?

“Fine. Jasper here with you too?” She’s craning her neck to look around me, as if Jasper’s big ass could hide.

“He’s not. You curious about your mortal enemy?” I joke.