Charlene's Choice

by Tasha Hart

  Charlene’s Choice

  Sistaz

  Tasha Hart

  Contents

  Blurb

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  About the Author

  Blurb

  He gave her a tip. She wanted it all.

  Charlene just graduated from college and was ready to put an end to her time in a waitress uniform—more than ready to move up in the world at Sistaz.

  Then her whole night changed.

  First, she had to handle a table of rowdy drunks. Then, the one dude she thought was a gentleman, left her a huge tip… and his phone number.

  Seriously? Was he trying to pick her up while his friends were being obnoxious? Please. There was no way Charlene was going to entertain the affections of some stuck-up lawyer.

  Except he kept coming back.

  And you know what? She’s starting to like him. Sure, his friends are garbage, but this dude has a certain charm. He’s handsome as sin and he knows how to make her laugh. She feels like he could be the one…

  Will Logan the lawyer convince her he’s legit? Will Charlene close off her heart and say no? Will they find love together or are they doomed to remain single?

  Discover what happens in this thrilling BWWM romance!

  One

  Charlene

  Sistaz is like a second home. As soon as I walk in the night club, the sense of life and vitality courses through me, and I feel like the best version of myself. I’ve been in other clubs when I was a party girl, but the music and the laughter in here is like nowhere else. And now that I’ve finally managed to tie up that business degree, I’m going to make this place shine.

  “What are you smiling so big about, girl?” Patrice, one of the best bartenders Sistaz has, calls out to me.

  “My diploma came in the mail today.” I flash a big smile. I can’t help it. I worked hard for that piece of paper and now it’s mine.

  “Ooooh! Come here!” Patrice leans across the bar and pulls me in tight.

  I love this woman, and I’m not the only one. She’s funny, good hearted, and makes the best cocktails in the city. Add to that the fact that she’s foxy as hell, and you’ve got a lethal combination when it comes to drawing in the male clientele.

  “Don’t tell me you’re going to up and leave us now that you’ve got that college degree?”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” I say. “But I’d like to do more for this place than just stay the assistant floor manager.”

  “With your attitude, there’s nowhere to go but up.” She leans across the bar, and several of the men close by crane their necks to look down her cleavage. “You want a little drink to celebrate?”

  “She’d better not.” The head floor manager, Angela, is right beside me, with her best fake-scolding face on. “Charlene knows better than to drink on the clock. Besides,” she says, warming up, “Roslyn wants to see you.”

  I look, and the owner waves me over with her fingers. Giving my two friends a wink, I jog across the floor to where Roslyn is sitting.

  Roslyn speaks as soon as I get close. “I hear congratulations are in order?”

  All I can do is shrug and smile–word travels fast in here. Roslyn is beaming at me, and I ask myself if it’s alright to hug my boss on a hopping night. We’ll probably have to save that for the celebratory drinks after we close up.

  “Listen,” she says, “I hate to do this, but one of the waitresses called in sick. Do you think you could get changed and take her place? We’re full tonight.”

  “Of course,” I say. “Gimme five minutes.” She smiles and waves me off like a mother hen, despite only being maybe ten years older than me. It’s remarkable that a woman so young has managed to launch something this successful.

  Getting back to the changing room, I strip out of my managerial outfit and into something that shows a bit more skin. If you want to get the tips, it’s the best way to guarantee them. Honestly, I love waiting tables, and if I didn’t have bigger plans in mind, I could see myself doing it full time.

  “Damn, Char, you got a date or something?” Jessica has the back door open and is grabbing a smoke.

  “Nah, Roslyn needs me to waitress tonight.”

  “That shit is wasted on waitressing honey. You look good!”

  “Thanks.” I’d like to pretend to be modest, but I do look good–and I know it. “How’s everything on your end?”

  Jessica shrugs. “Slow.” She blows some smoke out into the alleyway. “Now that we’ve got a regular DJ, I’m worried Roslyn is going to get wise to me and lay me off!”

  “Don’t count on it, you’re invaluable around this place.” I say, giving my lipstick one last check. “I should get out there–how do I look?”

  “Oh, shut up,” she laughs, and I head out into the club. It’s jumping out here, and I let the music pulse through me as I make my way from table to table. My plastered smile quickly turns into a real one, and I can’t help feeling good.

  “Do you guys need anything?”

  “We’re good, unless I can get one of you shaken to go, babe.” The table laughs, and I giggle myself. That kind of thing can come out nasty, but you can feel when there’s good humor behind the comment. Friendly flirtation is a far cry from a real come-on, and I’ve never shied away from being flirty.

  Patrice is looking exasperated when I step up to the bar again.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Lord,” she shakes her head, “have you been by the table in the corner?”

  “No, why?” She doesn’t need to tell me. Looking around the edge of the bar, I can see a bunch of white, businessmen-types in tailored suits. Any time we get rich white boys in here, it’s a problem. “Oh, no. What are they drinking?”

  “I’ve got bad news for you, Char.” I look at Patrice, and she’s got a sly little smirk on her face. “It’s your job to find out.”

  “Oh, goddammit!” I drew the short straw tonight. Even while Patrice has a good laugh at my expense, I can’t help wondering who the waitress was that was lucky enough to call out. It’s like she must have known we were going to get a white-boy-rush and took the night off to avoid the hassle.

  Almost as if on cue, a huge laugh and ruckus roils up from the table, and I’ve got to set my teeth. Doing my best to turn it into a smile and pat my hands across the waitress outfit to make sure everything is in place.

  “I wouldn’t worry too much about that if I were you,” Patrice says. “They’re gonna like you just fine.” She dissolves into giggles again and sashays off to fix a drink at the far end of the bar. I would give just about anything to change places with her. But, if there’s one thing I know about myself, it’s that I always take care of what’s on my plate.

  Another outburst from the table starts to draw irritated looks from the other folks in the club. I need to get over there and see what I can do to keep things smooth.

  Take a deep breath, girl. We’re going in.

  Two

  Logan

  I’m not going to lie; I’m feeling pretty good. Maybe not as good as some of the guys at the table, but then again, they seem to be on the short road to making asses of themselves. A couple of these guys were celebrating before we even shut down the office for the day.

  In truth, I�
��ve never been much of a drinker, but when your firm wins a lawsuit to the tune of twenty million, even I feel the need to toast it. We’ve been working the case against Condor Pharmatech for nearly eight months, so when the ruling came down for us today, it was like New Years and Mardi Gras all rolled into one.

  “What do you think the chances are of pulling down some tail in this place?” Tyler slurs in my direction.

  “Knock it off, Tyler.” But he’s not listening to me. Instead, he’s scanning the room hard while sucking down a tall gin and tonic.

  “I’m with Ty, man. This place is full of hot ass.” Clayton isn’t slurring as bad as Tyler but not by much.

  “Yeah,” I say. “And they all have their big men with them, Clayton. Can we just sit down and enjoy our drinks?”

  “Shit, Logan,” Tyler fixes his bleary eyes on me, “I am enjoying them. This is how I enjoy things. And, I’ll tell you something, I plan on enjoying several more.”

  “What do you think Samantha would say about that,” I ask, and a chorus of ‘Oooooohs’ echo around the table.

  Tyler pulls a wry face and gives a sloppy shrug. “What she don’t know won’t kill her.”

  I hate that argument. That’s always what assholes say when they’re about to do something that would hurt someone else. It’s a real shame, because Tyler’s not an asshole until he gets drunk, and then it’s like he forgets how to be any other way.

  “Hey, Tyler,” Josh nudges him. “What about that one?”

  We all look to the waitress headed our way, and my heart stops cold. She’s a knockout. The guys all set about snickering and leering at her, and all I want to do is shut them down. I’d probably do a better job of it if my mouth wasn’t hanging open, too.

  She’s wearing a dress that hugs every single curve, and she’s got curves to spare. Her sleek brown hair just dusts her shoulders, and it’s got reddish highlights that catch the light as she carves a path to our table. Even if the smile on her face is resigned, it’s a stunner.

  “Alright, boys. What are we celebrating tonight?” Her voice is smooth as silk, and all I want is for her to keep talking.

  “We’re celebrating you coming over to our table, brown sugar.” Fucking Tyler. I try to kick Tyler under the table, but only manage to stub my toe on the pedestal. I have to hand it to this woman. She manages to keep smiling when she has every right to slap the lusty grin off his face.

  “Take it easy, white sugar,” the table ripples with her giving it back to him. “I’m just here to make sure you’re good on drinks.”

  “I could use another bourbon, if you’re asking.” Clayton is a bit better with the way he talks, but he stares just as hard as Tyler. Not that I can talk.

  “Make that two,” Josh says.

  “Can I get another one of these tall gin and tonics, hot stuff?” Tyler is crunching on an ice cube and rattling his glass at her. I’m red with embarrassment, but she lets it roll off.

  “You got it, cowboy. And what about you.” Her eyes have locked on me. Holy shit, are they hazel? This woman has hazel goddamn eyes.

  “I’m good,” I manage to say. “I don’t need anything.”

  “Are you sure?” The way she cocks up her eyebrow seems like more like an invitation than a drink order.

  “What would you recommend?” The guys are elbowing each other and smiling at me behind their hands.

  “You look like you could use a Screaming Orgasm,” she quips, and the table nearly goes nuts.

  “What’s in it?” I’m doing everything I can to stay cool, and sure I’m doing a lousy job of it.

  “Vodka, amaretto and Irish cream. Gives it a nice caramel color.”

  “Sounds great.” I’m amazed at her composure as the table around her writhes like a group of hyped up high schoolers. The orders taken, she just turns on one of those high heels and heads for the bar.

  “Jesus, would you look at that ass?” Clayton is quickly approaching Tyler’s level of drunk, and the same level of charm. Still, I can’t help noticing how perfect it is as she walks away–I just know better than to holler it out in a club. Especially when we’re the only white guys in the building!

  “Why did we even come here, guys? There are plenty of places closer to the office.”

  “Shit, brother.” Josh leans in so far, I can smell the liquor on his breath. “With what just happened, I figured you’d be buying us all a round for bringing you here.” He and Clayton have a good laugh, but Tyler has gone spookily quiet. He may be jealous of me, but at least it’s shut him up.

  The other two have gotten back to talking just a little too loud, and I’m becoming more and more aware of all the tables around us. They’re staring daggers like they wish we were at any other club in the city. At the moment, I’m right there with them.

  But, if we were anywhere else, I wouldn’t be able to fix my attention on the incredible figure waiting by the bar. Even while she waits for drinks, undoubtedly complaining about our rowdy table, she holds herself with genuine poise. There’s no doubt in my mind that she’s got more going for her than an incredible body and great waitressing skills.

  Whatever it is, she’s got my full attention.

  Three

  Charlene

  “So. How did that go?” Patrice watched the whole thing, so all I do is roll my eyes at her and sigh. “Careful,” she says. “Roll your eyes that hard again, and you’re liable to have a stroke.”

  “It just might be better than having to go back over there.” That’s mostly true. “Three of those guys are a complete mess, but the quiet one is kinda fun.”

  “Cute, too,” Patrice leans over the bar so she can get a good look at him. “What does he want?”

  “A Screaming Orgasm,” I say.

  She gives me a hard side eye. “Huh, I bet. Come up with that one all on his own, did he?”

  “He may have had a bit of help.”

  “I’m sure he did.” She pours vodka into a shaker filled with ice. “Seems like he only had a whiskey neat on the first round. What is it for the other guys?”

  “Two bourbons and a gin and tonic. Hey, and do me a favor,” I say, leaning in against the bar. “Could you make that one light on the gin, please?”

  “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

  While she gets the drinks together, I lean back and scan the room. Every time I come back around to my table of white boys; the quiet guy looks away like he’s just been watching me. I gotta tell the truth, I ain’t mad at him.

  With my tray all lined up, I head back over to the lion’s den and do my best to smile.

  “Alright, guys. Let’s start with the bourbon, huh?” At least that’s what I would say before my ‘Brown Sugar’ buddy grabs himself a handful of tit. Now, I can deal with some smart talk, but that’s a bridge too far.

  “Why don’t you keep your hands off the merchandise and play nice?” Two of the guys are laughing as I push this jerk’s hand off me, but the quiet fella looks like he’s been punched in the gut.

  “Watch it, Tyler,” he says, and it feels nice that he said something instead of sitting there like a stump.

  “I’m watching, believe me,” Tyler says, and comes back to get another good grip. Well, that fucking does it. Pulling back like my momma taught me, I punch the little prick right in the face without so much as spilling a drop on the tray. How’s that for skills?

  For once, my white boy table goes quiet, but all the other folks around cheer like I’m a natural born hero. Which is kinda what I feel like. Still, all the friendly faces change, and I turn around to see the ruckus boiling up behind me.

  ‘Brown Sugar’ boy has lunged at me, and the other guys at his table are holding him back. He’s got a little bit of blood coming down from his nose and saying a whole bunch of words that will really get his ass kicked in here.

  “Tyler, will you just sit the fuck down and shut up?” The quiet guy isn’t so quiet now, and he’s telling his drunk buddy exactly where he can stick that kind of ta
lk. Quiet Guy is gaining points with me.

  Too bad ‘Brown Sugar’ ain’t hearing it. “Hey, Levon, can I get a little help over here?”

  That big bastard looks at me like he had no idea dealing with noisy pricks was his job. I don’t know where Dana finds the bouncers for her team, but Levon isn’t exactly a prize. Still, size is what I need on my side, because drunk guys aren’t exactly the best method to stop a fight.

  Just when it looks like my friend is about to break free and get at me, I swing around and catch him with a slap so hard, his kids will write stories about it. That gets another cheer, and I start to rethink my career choices. Maybe I should go into the ring?

  “Alright, I got it from here,” Levon says, finally making it on the scene. “Come on, buddy.” At the sight of a big black mountain, ‘Brown Sugar,’ eases up on the tough words and settles down. I guess he’d rather walk out than be carried out.

  “This little bitch hit me, man!”

  “Charlene wouldn’t hit anybody that didn’t give her a reason. Now, let’s go.” Huh, Levon does have a brain.

  “What am I gonna do about the blood on my fucking shirt, huh?!”

  “There’ll be more of it if you don’t follow me right now, man.” Alright, maybe Levon is okay after all. The whole table is on its feet, and they hang their heads on their way to the door. I realize I’m still holding a tray of drinks and find a place to set it. Like I said, not a drop spilled.

  At least that’s on my end. The table is a complete mess of ice and napkins from the struggle. I would love nothing more than to walk away and leave it for somebody else. Even so, that’s not how I was raised, so I get to work with my bar towel.