All eyes fall on the bride-to-be. She chews her glossy lower lip, barely restraining a grin. I wait them out. When the energy nudges close to a go, I brandish my roll of fashion tape, twirling it around my index finger. “If the only thing holding you back is a lack of adhesive, I can tape them up for an extra two dollars a pair.”

The bride-to-be squeals, holding out her palm. “Gimme!”

I beam. “Any other takers?”

Inhibitions properly dashed by their leader, the remaining six women each shoot a hand into the air. I get a $5 commission per pair, so this is a good get, though if the other parties are equally enthusiastic, we might run out of pasties. I make a mental note to ask Ming about raiding her backup stash downstairs.

Bachelorette party number two isn’t as passionate about the goods as the first, pooling their cash for a pair of rhinestone pasties for their bride. I pose for pictures and check off several more boxes on my bingo card, including How do you even apply false eyelashes? and colorful commentary about Ming’s boob flexing.

Then I’m beside the pair of good-looking fellows. I’m a little apprehensive, given the ogling earlier, but I angle my tray to rest on the table. “Gentlemen! Can I interest you in any of my goods this evening?”

“What are you offering?” the blond asks with a flirtatious flair that tells me Jane is solidly in line with his preferences, and I, barring an experimental phase on his part, am not.

I cast them an apologetic glance. The sheer density of the dark-haired one’s eyelashes almost makes me falter. “Honestly, not a lot that might appeal to you. Though I’d be remiss not to mention tassels can work for men, too.”

The blond smiles. “Not tonight. It’s good to know, though.”

“I also have naughty playing cards.” I produce a hand of cards from my tray, fanning them out with a flourish. “Fifty-four ladies—and gents—in varying stages of undress, including all of tonight’s performers, you lucky so-and-sos.”

Valhalla cocks his head. “Gents, you say?”

“Boylesque is out there, too.” I flash him the card featuring Gorgeous George, the bronze slab of a man on the Two of Diamonds. His assets are concealed by a hat, which I know firsthand is suspended solely by said assets.

“Is this when we’re supposed to ask if you’re on one?” asks the guy I’ve been eyeing. His voice is so low, it’s practically a rumble, but the pleasing timbre is flattened with—boredom? The sound tugs at my flirty high.

“I’ve always felt that question was a little forward,” I muse, “but, yeah. That’s the usual angle.”

He smirks, unimpressed.