Chapter 1

Ethan Caldwell adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses as he stepped out of his Tesla Model S, the San Francisco evening casting a golden glow over the upscale farm-to-table restaurant. His tailored Tom Ford suit clung to his lean frame, a stark contrast to the nervous sweat prickling his brow. He’d come straight from his AI startup’s office, where he’d spent the day pitching to investors. Now, his mind wasn’t on algorithms but on Krissi, his live-in girlfriend of two weeks, whose brassy, trailer-park charm was about to collide with his Stanford college friends.

Krissi hailed from a dusty West Virginia trailer park, where life was all beer cans and late-night brawls. She’d hustled her way through high school, sharp enough to ace English but too wild for college, choosing instead the neon-lit stage of The Pink Pony, a dive bar strip club. Her pole-dancing days were behind her now, or so Ethan hoped, but her loud, unfiltered vibe hadn’t dimmed. He loved her—her fearless energy, her raw sexuality that left him dizzy—but tonight, as he handed his keys to the valet, his stomach churned. These friends, with their elite pedigrees and tech-world polish, were his inner circle. He wanted Krissi to fit in, to be part of his life, but her idea of “classy” was a bit different from theirs. He’d begged her to tone it down, but as he approached the restaurant, doubt gnawed at him.

The scent of fresh herbs and roasted heirloom vegetables hit him as he stepped inside, but it was Krissi’s voice—loud, drawling, unmistakable—that cut through the murmur of the dining room. “So I’m up there, spinnin’ on the pole, and this drunk cowboy tries to tip me with a chicken wing!” Her laugh, brash and infectious, echoed from the back. Ethan’s heart sank. She was already here. He hurried past the hostess stand, ignoring her polite “Sir, may I—?” and weaved through linen-covered tables toward the long oak table where his friends sat.

There she was, Krissi-May Johnson, the center of attention. Her leopard-print dress hugged her curves, so tight it looked painted on, her fake tan glowing orange under the soft Edison-bulb lighting. Her thick brown hair, freshly bleached blonde, showed dark roots at the crown, and her hot-pink lipstick gleamed as she gestured wildly, a half-empty wine glass in hand. Ethan’s friends—six guys and their polished girlfriends—sat around her, their expressions a mix of shock and fascination. Two of the guys, Nate and Jared, leaned forward, grinning, egging her on, while the others stared into their artisanal cocktails or exchanged smirks. The girlfriends, in tasteful sheath dresses, looked like they’d swallowed lemons.

“And I’m like, ‘Sugar, unless that wing’s made of gold, keep it!’” Krissi cackled, oblivious to the stares. “But I took it anyway, gave it a little kiss for the crowd, and they went wild. Best night I ever had at The Pink Pony, cleared three hundred bucks!”

Ethan’s face burned as he reached the table. “Krissi,” he said, his voice tight, forcing a smile. All eyes turned to him, and he felt the weight of their judgment—his tech-bro buddies, who’d once teased him for his awkwardness with women, now sizing up his stripper girlfriend.

Krissi’s face lit up, her gum snapping as she stood, wobbling slightly on platform heels. “Big Daddy!” she squealed, her nickname for him—tied to his well-endowed secret—ringing out. She threw her arms around him, her vanilla perfume overwhelming, her enhanced breasts pressing against his chest. “Y’all, this is my man, Ethan! Ain’t he fine?”

Nate, a hedge fund bro with a perpetual smirk, raised his glass. “Ethan, you’ve been holding out on us. Where’d you find this one?”

Ethan forced a laugh, guiding Krissi back to her seat. “Krissi, maybe we can, uh, keep it down a bit?” he murmured, sitting beside her, his hand on her thigh under the table, hoping to anchor her.

She pouted, her eyeliner-heavy eyes narrowing. “What’s the big deal, baby? I was just bein’ friendly!” She leaned closer, her voice a loud whisper, wine on her breath. “Your friend Jared asked what I did for a livin’, so I told ‘em about The Pink Pony. They loved it! Nate was all, ‘Tell us more!’”

Ethan glanced at Jared, who shrugged, barely hiding a grin. “It’s fine, Krissi,” Ethan said, his jaw tight. “Just ... maybe no more stripper stories, okay? These folks aren’t used to, uh, that scene.”

Krissi huffed, crossing her arms, her rhinestone bracelets jangling. “I don’t get it. I was just answerin’ their questions! You said be myself, Ethan. What’s wrong with sharin’ a little hustle? Like that time I got a guy to pay my electric bill just for a lap dance—best deal I ever made!”

Ethan’s stomach twisted as a girlfriend across the table coughed into her napkin. “Krissi, please,” he whispered, his hand squeezing her thigh. “Let’s talk about something else. Like ... how you’re settling into the penthouse?”

She brightened, snapping her gum. “Oh, sugar, it’s fancy as hell! I’m thinkin’ we need a hot tub, though, one with pink lights. Ain’t that classy?” She turned to the table, raising her voice. “Y’all got hot tubs? Bet they ain’t as cool as the one I’m plannin’!”

Nate chuckled, but the others shifted uncomfortably. Ethan leaned in, his voice low and urgent. “Krissi, I love your ideas, but maybe we save the hot tub talk for home? These guys are ... they’re different. They don’t get your vibe yet.”

Krissi rolled her eyes, sipping her wine. “Fine, Big Daddy, I’ll be all quiet and borin’ like your snooty friends. But they’re missin’ out. I was gonna tell ‘em about the time I won a wet T-shirt contest and got free beers for a month!”

Ethan’s blush deepened, and he squeezed her hand, praying she’d stop. “Just ... stick with me, okay? We’ll get through this.”

She grinned, leaning to kiss his cheek, leaving a pink lipstick smear. “You’re so cute when you’re all nervous, baby. Don’t worry, I’ll behave. For now.” Her hand slid under the table, brushing his crotch, and Ethan stifled a gasp, his arousal warring with his panic as the dinner dragged on.

For a while, Krissi was quieter, her gum-snapping subdued, but her eyes roamed the restaurant, wide with awe. “Lord, Ethan, this place is fancy as hell,” she said, loud enough for the table to hear, fingering a linen napkin. “These napkins prob’ly cost more than my whole wardrobe back home!”

Ethan forced a smile, his hand still on her thigh under the table, praying she’d stay calm. “Yeah, it’s nice,” he murmured, sipping his second glass of Pinot Noir, the wine dulling his nerves. His friends had moved on to safer topics—tech deals, Napa vacations—but their glances at Krissi lingered, a mix of curiosity, judgment, and in a few cases outright lust.

Krissi leaned forward, her rhinestone bracelets jangling, and zeroed in on Claire, Nate’s girlfriend, a willowy brunette in a cream sheath dress. “Hey, sugar, you’re real pretty,” Krissi said, her drawl thick. “You ever think ‘bout jazzin’ up your look? Like, maybe some glitter eyeliner? I got this trick from the club, makes your eyes pop like nobody’s business.”

Claire blinked, her fork pausing mid-air. “Oh, um, thanks,” she said, her voice polite but strained. “I usually keep things ... simple.”

Krissi grinned, undeterred, snapping her gum. “Simple’s fine, but you gotta have some fun! Back at The Pink Pony, I’d wear these tiny lil’ tops, and the guys’d lose their minds. You ever try a push-up bra? Bet Nate’d love it. What’s your size, like a B? You could go C, real easy.”

Claire’s face reddened, and Nate coughed into his cocktail. The table went silent, forks clinking awkwardly. Ethan’s stomach lurched. “Krissi,” he said, his voice low, touching her arm. “Maybe let’s not talk about ... that.”

Krissi frowned, her hot-pink lips pursing. “What? I’m just chattin’! Tryin’ to be nice!” She turned to Claire, oblivious. “No offense, sugar, you’re cute as is. I’m just sayin’, a lil’ boost’d make you a knockout.”

Ethan stood, his chair scraping, and gently pulled Krissi up. “Excuse us a sec,” he said to the table, his smile tight, steering her toward a corner near the bar. Claire stared at her plate, and Nate whispered something to Jared, who smirked.

“Krissi, you can’t just—talk about bras like that,” Ethan hissed, keeping his voice down as they stood by a potted fern. “Claire’s not ... she’s not into that stuff. You’re making her uncomfortable.”

Krissi crossed her arms, her fake tan glowing under the dim lights. “I was givin’ her a compliment, Ethan! She looked all bored, so I thought I’d help her out. What’s wrong with a lil’ girl talk?”

Ethan rubbed his temples, the wine not helping his patience. “It’s not girl talk to ask about her bra size in front of everyone. Just ... stick to normal stuff, okay? Like, ask about her job or something.”

Krissi rolled her eyes but softened, brushing his cheek with a manicured nail. “Fine, baby, I’ll be good. You’re so cute when you’re all worked up.” She winked, and Ethan exhaled, guiding her back to the table, hoping the worst was over.

A bit later, Ethan found himself in a safer conversation with Jared, a lanky coder turned startup founder, who was pitching a blockchain project. “So, we’re using zero-knowledge proofs to secure the data layer,” Jared said, gesturing with his gin and tonic. “It’s scalable, but the latency’s a bitch.”

Ethan nodded, grateful for the distraction, his second glass of wine loosening his tongue. “Sounds solid. You tried sharding the nodes? Might cut the lag.” He leaned into the tech talk, his nervous fidgeting with his smartwatch easing.

Then he glanced at Krissi, and his heart stopped. She was standing, swaying slightly, holding a bottle of Chardonnay by the neck, chugging it like a beer. Her other hand gestured wildly as she talked to Nate, who leaned back in his chair, grinning like a kid at a carnival. “So, Nate, sugar, what d’you think?” Krissi said, her voice carrying. “I’m savin’ up for a boob job, goin’ bigger, ya know? Should I go D or double-D? Somethin’ real hot for my man!” She giggled, patting her chest, oblivious to the stares from nearby tables.

Ethan’s face burned, and he lurched to his feet, nearly knocking over his glass. “Krissi!” he called, striding over, his voice sharp. He grabbed her arm, gently but firmly, and pried the bottle from her hand, setting it on the table. “Let’s take a breather, okay?”

Nate chuckled, raising his hands. “She’s just having fun, man. Chill.”

Krissi pouted, wobbling on her heels. “Ethan, what’s the problem? Nate asked how I was likin’ the city, and I said I’m plannin’ to upgrade my girls! It’s just talk!” She gestured at her breasts, her dress barely containing them, and a waiter nearby dropped a tray, the crash drawing more eyes.

Ethan steered her toward the same fern-corner, his jaw clenched. “Krissi, you can’t chug wine from the bottle and ask my friends about boob jobs,” he said, his voice low but urgent. “This isn’t The Pink Pony. People here ... they don’t talk like that.”

Krissi huffed, snapping her gum. “I don’t get you, Ethan! Nate was laughin’, he was into it! I’m just bein’ me, like you said! Why’s everyone so uptight? It’s just a lil’ wine and some boob talk!”

Ethan took a deep breath, the wine in his system making his head swim. “I know you’re being you, and I love that, but ... you’re embarrassing me. Just a little. Can you please just sit with me, talk about normal stuff? For me?”

Krissi’s eyes softened, and she leaned in, her vanilla perfume wrapping around him. “Okay, Big Daddy, I’ll cool it. Didn’t mean to make you all red-faced.” She grinned, her hand brushing his crotch under his suit jacket, a teasing promise. “But you owe me for bein’ so borin’ later.”

Ethan swallowed hard, his arousal flaring despite his panic. “Deal,” he muttered, guiding her back to the table, praying she’d keep her word as the dinner teetered on the edge of chaos.

An hour later, the main course arrived—pan-seared duck breast with heirloom carrots, artfully plated on porcelain. Ethan sat beside Krissi, his nerves frayed but tempered by the Pinot Noir. Krissi, her leopard-print dress still drawing eyes, was in rare form, gushing over the meal with childlike awe. “Lord, Ethan, this duck’s so fancy it prob’ly had a butler!” she said, her drawl echoing across the table. “It looks all artsy, but damn, it tastes good!” She speared a carrot, waving it like a trophy, her rhinestone bracelets jangling.

Ethan’s friends exchanged glances, some amused, others wincing. Nate smirked, but Claire, still stinging from the bra-size fiasco, stared at her plate. Krissi, oblivious, leaned toward Jared’s girlfriend, Sophie, a tech consultant in a navy blazer. “Sophie, sugar, you ever eat food this pretty? Back home, we’d fry this duck in a skillet and call it dinner!” She giggled, then added, “Bet you’d look hot fryin’ it in nothin’ but an apron, though. Jared’d go wild, right?”

Sophie’s fork froze, and Jared coughed, hiding a grin. Ethan’s face burned. “Krissi,” he murmured, squeezing her thigh under the table, “let’s focus on the food, okay?”

Krissi pouted but nodded, tossing her hair. “Fine, baby, I’m just sayin’.” She returned to her duck, humming happily, but Ethan felt the table’s tension like a tightrope.

He needed a break. “Excuse me, I’ll be right back,” he said, standing, his tailored suit creasing. He leaned to Krissi, his voice low. “Promise you’ll be good while I’m gone? No ... wild stuff, okay?”

Krissi grinned, batting her eyeliner-heavy lashes. “Cross my heart, Big Daddy. I’ll be an angel.” Her hand brushed his crotch teasingly, and Ethan swallowed hard, hurrying toward the restroom.

In the sleek marble bathroom, Ethan splashed water on his face, his smartwatch buzzing with notifications. To distract himself, he opened Twitter, scrolling mindlessly—until a video stopped him cold. There was Krissi, in the restaurant, twerking in her leopard-print dress, her ass shaking to an imaginary beat. The caption read: “Tech bro’s GF brings strip club vibes to farm-to-table! #TechBroTrophy.” It had 10K retweets and climbing. Ethan’s stomach dropped, his fingers trembling as he refreshed, watching the views soar.