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if all his ex-wives think so?”
     
    “Good point.” Roxie laughed. She picked up her tray and faced me. “Before you leave tonight, let’s trade numbers.”
     
    I agreed and she moved off into the crowd.
     
    I spent the rest of the night delivering drinks and smiling. It seemed the friendlier I was, the more tips I made. Still, I tried to remain professional. Well, as professional as I could in the center of a strip club.
     
    A lot of these guys had a major case of grab hands. Good thing I moved fast.
     
    By the time two a.m. rolled around, my feet hurt, my shirt was dry and kind of stiff feeling, and I really just wanted a shower.
     
    Adam told me I was done for the night, but I had to fill out the paperwork before I could go. I went in the back and grabbed my bag, then plopped down at the end of the bar.
     
    While I was waiting for Adam and the papers, I released my hair from the pony that was giving me a headache and pulled all the tips out of my apron and counted them. Two hundred dollars. Then I remembered the money from my dance, so I fished it all out of my bag and counted it. A hundred and fifty bucks. Not bad for almost falling on my face and making a fool out of myself.
     
    Hottie bartender appeared in front of me. “Want me to cash out all those singles?”
     
    “That’d be great. But I should wait and find out how much of this I have to share.”
     
    He shook his head. “We don’t share tips here. What you get is what you earn.”
     
    “Seriously?”
     
    “Yep. Adam says if the table hands you a tip, it’s because they like you and not whatever drink you brought them. It’s why the girls don’t really have sections. It’s kind of a free-for-all.”
     
    I nodded. It was kind of like a free-for-all.
     
    I handed over my stack of cash. “It’s three hundred and fifty. You can just give me twenties or whatever you have.”
     
    “Not bad for your first night,” he said, then went over to the cash register and exchanged all my ones for larger bills.
     
    When he came back, he handed me the cash and a glass of ice water with a straw in it.
     
    “Thanks.”
     
    “What’s your name, new girl?”
     
    “I’m using Violet as my stage name.”
     
    His lips lifted. “Clever,” he mused, reaching out to touch the purple strand in my hair.
     
    “You got a real name, Violet ?” Why is it that everything he said sounded like sex on a stick?
     
    Or maybe it wasn’t his words. Maybe it was the fact that his fingers were still playing with my hair.
     
    “Harlow,” I said, trying to hide the little tremor in my voice.
     
    “Harlow,” he repeated. It sounded like a purr that rumbled from deep inside him.
     
    “How about you? You got a name?”
     
    He was still twirling my hair along his finger and the simple, lazy movement was literally making my stomach quiver with some sort of anticipation.
     
    “Cameron,” he said, his voice low because he was leaning over the bar toward me. “Everyone calls me Cam.”
     
    “Are you a surfer, Cam?” I asked, my voice throaty and low. How is it that I tried the entire night to sound like that and never managed?
     
    He cocked his head to the side. “How’d you know?”
     
    I shrugged. “You look like a beach kind of guy.” All tan muscles and messy blond hair.
     
    “You think I’m hot.”
     
    “You seem to have a thing for my hair.”
     
    His movements stilled and he glanced at his fingers tangled in my hair. His eyes widened just a fraction and it made me think he hadn’t realized what he was doing. It created a little fizzle of disappointment inside me because I liked the idea of him touching me because he liked it. I didn’t want it to be some kind of weird accident.
     
    “What can I say? My hands sometimes have a mind of their own.”
     
    The bottom dropped out of my stomach and something low in my abdomen clenched.
     
    “Cam,” Adam said from behind me. “Are you hitting on my new dancer?”
     
    Cam pulled