Razor was true to his word about having a connection to get us into the club. No one even asked to see our IDs; the bouncer waved us through, and a scantily clad woman walked us right up to the stage. She deposited us in front-row seats and returned a few minutes later with two beers, winking and jiggling breasts that were barely contained in a bra top that was more string than fabric at me before walking away. “Told you,” Razor said, taking a deep swig from his glass. “Chick magnet. You just keep blushing like that, and you’ll lure them all over our way. Then I’ll work my magic.” He winked, and I wanted to crawl under the stage and pretend I’d never stepped foot inside the building. But then the lights dimmed, the stage lit up, music pumped through the speakers, and the girls were all over the place. One of them caught my eye and smiled, and the next thing I knew, she was taking off her clothes right in front of me. I didn’t just take a good sip from my beer; I chugged it.
