“Midnight.”
“Come hang out.”
“I will.”
After I take everyone’s order I bypass the POS system and go to the kitchen myself. “Joaquin?” I give him my most special hopeful face. “I need this order filled. I’ll be back to pick it up in a few.”
He looks it over. “You never ask me for favors. Is it a guy?”
“He’s a guy.”
“You’re cheating on me?” He pouts at me.
“What can I say? You’re married.”
“Fine. I got you, girl. You know that.”
“Thank you, Joaquin.”
“You got it, pretty lady.”
I head to the bar and eye Theodore, the bartender, flirting with a group of girls. He’s preoccupied. I quickly fill six shots and six beers, precariously balancing them all on the way over to the guys’ table. Kent helps me empty the trays. Our fingers brush when we reach for the same shot glass. The small contact makes my breath come faster.
“Have fun,” I tell him.
He makes a face as he takes his shot. “It helps when you flirt to stick your chest out. I don’t know about everyone else, but tits to me are key.”
I roll my eyes and leave, checking on my tables. He’s always such a pig. For the ten minutes I was with Kent and his friends I was sure I was gone forever. My tables are in a sense of disarray without me. When I’m done making sure they’re situated, I duck into the kitchen and get the order for Kent’s table. As I’m approaching I notice a woman chatting with him. He has his arm over the back of the booth as he fingers a strand of her hair. I narrow my eyes.
“That’s cool,” I hear Kent tell her. “You sure he won’t mind if you hang out with me tonight?”
“He’s my boyfriend. Not my daddy.”
“You need a daddy?”
“Why? You want to tell me what to do too?”
He winks at her. “I do enjoy giving orders.”
“Ahem,” I interrupt them. He looks like a pig rolling in the mud. The top bun on his burger falls over when I slam his plate down.
He raises his eyebrows at me. “Just because you’re at work doesn’t mean our arrangement is null and void. Get my friend a shot, would you, Raina?”
I swallow back my anger. Why am I so mad? He’s being himself. I smother my irrational reaction and smile at him. “Of what?”
“Vodka,” she supplies, snuggling against his chest.
“Of course,” I reply tightly. “Enjoy your food. I’ll be back in a few to check on you.”
I put that shot and the rest of their drinks through the ordering system. I never promised to give his dates free anything. For another hour and a half Kent fondles her right in front of everyone. Girls are all over their table. Even Zeke, the bastard, has a girl. I wonder about his girlfriend, and hope she’s having fun wherever she is.
Suddenly purple lights turn on over the bar. Everyone cheers. They know what’s coming. Every night two girls are chosen to dance on top of the bar to whatever song’s on the radio. Shots are free for as long as they’re dancing and tips are welcome. Wayne turns his cheek at this, because some of the men come in here to watch us gyrate in our short shorts and tight black shirts.
Henley puts a bucket for tips in the middle of the bar. Then she grabs the microphone and climbs up.
“It’s that time again. Come on, girls. I need two of you.”
She looks around the room and her eyes land on Samantha, a curvy waitress with wavy black hair. “Get your butt up here, Sam.”
She turns bright red and unwillingly crawls on top of the bar.
Uh-oh. She’s picking us at random tonight. I’ve only done it once when I first started and have managed to avoid doing it ever since. I back up into the crowd, hoping to use them to conceal me.
“Raina!” she says reproachfully. “Are you trying to hide? Get up here.”
“No,” I begin to say, but hands on my waist cut me off.
Kent picks me up, much to the crowd’s delight. I cover my face with my hands and turn beet red. “Kent,” I whine.
“I want to see you dance on the bar,” he informs me.
“I’d rather not.”
“Too bad,” he counters, setting my feet down on the worn wooden surface.
Almost immediately the music starts. I can either stand here looking stupid, or give Kent what he wants. I want to make him regret it. He knows I know how to dance.
I let the music guide my hips and put my hands in the air, dancing sexier than I ever have before. Over the music I hear the catcalls and whistles. It’s mildly humiliating, but all I see is Kent staring right at me with his mouth agape. Tips fill our buckets at record speed.
I rotate on the bar, giving the crowd a shot of my ass as I let the song guide me. Next to me Samantha awkwardly tries to keep up. I feel bad watching her, so I dance over and grab her hands. I start dancing with her, leading her into the beat. She laughs when I turn around and the entire bar erupts.
I press my butt against her and crane my neck to whisper in her ear. “Let’s drive them crazy.”
She giggles. “You mean crazier?”
I have my first lesbian moment on the bar. I dance against Samantha as she struggles to keep up. I’m sure we both look silly, but Kent’s mouth is now slack and his eyes are leaking their sexiness all over the bar. I dance for him. I turn around and lift our arms in the air as we both wind our hips. I’m glad in that moment that I know how to move.
When the song ends the men and even some women roar with applause. I turn red now that the music isn’t predicting my movements and hop down from the bar, walking past Kent.
“How was that?”
He looks down at me, his obsidian eyes heavy-lidded. “That was…” He shakes his head. “Like my fantasy. After watching you two together I might have to take her home with me.”
I stare blankly at him, hoping he’s kidding and will take it back. He doesn’t. “You will not take Samantha home. You will find a girl on your own tonight. Do you care so little about the women you sleep with that you don’t even mind who brings them to you? You know women aren’t delivered to you on a silver platter, right? You have to want them too.”
He looks bored suddenly. “I will never want them for anything but this,” he answers, grabbing his manhood in his fist again. “That’s all they’re good for, anyway.”
I feel like he slapped me. I’m not in the sea of women Kent will pick from, but I am a woman, and we are good for far more than just sex.
“You’re a disgusting pig.” I shove past him.
“Wait,” he demands.
“What, Kent?”
“Let’s have a shot. On me.” He puts his hands in his pockets and looks down at me. I can sense something brewing in him. It feels like anger, but there’s a subtle dark edge to it that could hint at more. “Since I’m a disgusting pig.”
“I call it like I see it. I can’t drink at work. I’ll lose my job. Go have fun. I’ll be back in thirty minutes after my lunch.”
He grabs my hand when I try and leave a second time and bends down to put his mouth over my ear so I hear him over the music. “You need to lighten up. I warned you not to interfere with my life. You don’t see anything. We don’t even know each other.”
I look into his eyes and feel the darkness brewing inside of him. I sense what he’s feeling has nothing to do with me and decide to ease up. It’s not like he owes me anything. “You’re right. We don’t know each other. Although it’s kind of hard to know you when you’re balls-deep in pussy all the time.”
He grins at me. It’s a wide, salacious, humorous grin. All over me likes it. “I am, aren’t I?”
I attempt not to laugh, fail, and then suddenly we are both laughing and five minutes of my lunch is gone. “You’re ridiculous. I’ve gotta go.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Be safe tonight.”
His well wishes ruin the good mood between us. I know why he’ll be busy tonight. I know exactly who Ke
nt is going to do. “I will. Bye, Kent.”
The remainder of my lunch and most of my work shift is spent spying on Samantha and Kent. Every time she passes his table his eyes devour her. I wonder if I should warn her. It’s fairly obvious Kent doesn’t want to marry her. He wants her naked, on her back, and under his rule. If she can’t see that then she doesn’t want to.
After eleven, Oblivion becomes the epitome of insanity. It is men and alcohol, dancing and curves, loud music and spilled beer. Men touch my waist, whisper orders in my ear, and hold my hand like it’s theirs to hold. The only consolation is that Kent leaves a little after midnight. I can relax when he’s not around. The bad part is Samantha clocks out early and leaves with him.
The rest of my shift is a long, loud, confusing blur. By two thirty the bouncers start ushering people out. By three Wayne turns the music off. The tips are divided and I’m so damn tired I don’t even count my share. I shove it in my purse and leave out the back. My feet drag to my car. I can’t wait to go home, take my uniform off, and crawl into bed. I smell like beer and chicken wings. There’s even a smear of wing sauce on my waist where some touchy-feely customer grabbed me to get my attention.
What is it with men and grabbing? They think because they have a penis they can grab us whenever they want? Like Kent taking my hand to pull me back for no good reason. Or that customer who ‘accidentally’ touched my ass when he was reaching for a towel in my back pocket to clean up some spilled drinks. Men are dogs. That’s why I stay away from them. All men are like my father. Loose, unappreciative, irresponsible manwhores who suck the life out of me. There’s that saying that women end up marrying their fathers. I refuse to end up with mine. I promised myself to do the opposite. I will marry someone committed, responsible, loving, tender, and faithful. Or I’ll be alone forever. Those are my only options.
By the time I get home I’m so wound up and aggravated I don’t even think to knock. I barge in and find Kent between Samantha’s legs. The lights are off in the apartment, but the porch lights flood in, illuminating their naked bodies.
I slam the door. “Don’t mind me, folks. Just passing through. Seriously, don’t stop on account of me.”
Fucking manwhore.
They do not stop. In fact they get louder. Poor Samantha sounds like he’s torturing her. And Kent, groaning, all beast in heat. I quickly change my clothes and crawl into bed. I plug my headphones into my iPhone and blast their sex noises away with some Miranda Lambert. Now she’s got the right idea. I play “Gunpowder and Lead” on repeat until I fall asleep.
When I wake up it’s still playing. I take my headphones out and set my phone on my new dresser, letting the empowering lyrics serenade me as I set to organizing my room. It keeps me busy and prevents me from picturing Kent’s thrusting, muscled body. When I’m done my room looks like somewhere I can disappear and hide from Kent’s overpowering and downright disgusting behavior.
I grab a change of clothes and a towel, then tiptoe into the hall. I don’t hear any grunting when I close the bathroom door behind me. That’s a good indicator that Kent is done punishing his latest conquest. I take a long, calming shower, washing last night out of my hair and off my body. I could probably put it off longer, but this is my house now and I should be able to walk around it freely.
Kent is the only one asleep on the couch when I come out. He has a blanket pulled up tight around him in a strangely childish position. His long, fair eyelashes touch his cheeks. He looks younger when he’s asleep. Awake he’s much older than twenty-one. He’s a destructive grown man doing grown man things. Asleep he’s an unhindered, approachable twenty-one-year-old. He isn’t worried about sex, alcohol, or chasing either. This is a man I could want. But Kent will wake up, his eyes will open, and he will overlook me for the mud pit he’s used to rolling around in.
I wonder who he is without his vices. There’s someone there. Someone who takes a chance on me, helps me move my things, and makes sure I’m safe at night isn’t all bad. His current personality came from somewhere. His vices are either hiding deficiencies or protecting them. If you’re comfortable with yourself and your life, then drinking and hooking up with different women doesn’t seem like the correct course of action. What is Kent running from?
On the other hand he could be like my father. His reasons could be mundane and devastating.
Behind me I hear a sound. James comes shuffling out of the hall. When he sees me watching Kent he smiles. He touches his ear and then gives me a thumbs-up.
I roll my eyes and straighten up, worried he saw me ogling Kent’s flawless sleeping face.
I need something to do when I’m upset. My negative mood from last night still hasn’t left me. And seeing Kent, knowing he’s probably naked on the couch, makes it worse for unknown reasons.
I find spicy sausage and potatoes, concocting possible meal options in my head. After chopping some garlic I add all the ingredients to a pan and the house begins to smell like breakfast. It reminds me of Becca. She’s a great cook. When Mom and Dad were out getting drunk she’d get up every Saturday, take her earnings from babysitting the neighbors to the store, and make a huge spread. We’d shove our faces in front of the television and talk about school, her boyfriends, and the books I was reading. For what it was worth, Becca never pushed me to date. She didn’t down my choices. She simply didn’t understand what I was so afraid of.
My fears wake up at the smell of food.
Frumpy and sexy, Kent comes into the kitchen in a pair of low-hanging black sweats. “It smells good,” he rumbles, his voice still thick with sleep.
His abs are particularly mouthwatering this morning. The trail of fair hair leading down to his nest of pubic hair almost shimmers under the kitchen lights. He rubs his jaw and hugs himself, waiting for me to respond.
“Of course it does. I’m cooking. Have fun last night?” I sneer.
“Not really.”
I blink. “You sounded like you did.”
He shrugs. “Acting. I wasn’t into it. She was nice about it, though. Left right after I rocked her world. Didn’t even care that I couldn’t come.”
“Poor you.”
“You’re telling me. I always come.” He frowns, as if this genuinely bothers him.
“Is it because I walked in?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I was having a hard time keeping it up before that. I’ve been occupied lately, I guess. I don’t know why.” He looks at me intently, shakes his head, and then sighs. “Anyway, when can I eat?” His expression becomes shy, as if admitting that was out of character for him.
“Now. Go sit down. I’ll bring it to you.”
“Thanks, wing-woman.” He pats my shoulder softly and then joins James at the kitchen table.
What is occupying him? It must be significant if it’s affecting his sex life. I shake the thought away. It’s none of my concern that Kent can’t perform. Maybe he used it too much. I snicker to myself as I make three plates. James and Kent dig in without preamble. I sit across from them, watching how they shovel food into their mouths.
James looks up, sensing my gaze. “Thank you.”
I smile shyly at him. “You’re welcome. What’s the sign for thank you?” I ask.
James sets his fork down and touches his hand flat to his lips, then extends it toward me. “Thank you.”
I mirror his actions, earning a wide, gorgeous smile from him. “What about ‘you’re welcome’?”
“There isn’t really one,” Kent speaks up. “Thank you works for both. How come you talk to her?”
James shrugs, giving him a look that clearly says: I’m not going to talk about that in front of her.
“You’re always so pissy.” Kent rolls his eyes at him. “We need to get you laid. When’s the last time you had any ass?”
James signs something rude. At least it looks rude to me.
Kent laughs. “I know you don’t need my help getting laid. Girls love that depressed quiet thing you got going on. T
hey eat that shit up. Maybe I should start being depressed again. That’s what started this whole debacle. I was getting so much ass because I was depressed, and now I want the ones who don’t want me, but then they all eventually want me. What’s a man to do?”
I simply eat my food. Kent is such a jerk.
“You think I’m still depressed? It’s been a year. I think I’m over the brutal backstabbing betrayal.” Kent laughs uncomfortably. “Because that’s something you just get over. Shut up, James. It was a joke. You never appreciate my sense of humor.”
He doesn’t exude depression. Unless, of course, the women, partying, and alcohol are his way of dealing with it. I understand his need to escape into something. But why take his depression and anger out on a different woman every night? It puts him at risk for STDs, not to mention the women. He can’t be the only one they’re with. Using another human being starts to add up when you do it every night. I picture the look of disgust on his face when he woke up next to Auburn Hair. He aimed that look at her, but it could’ve easily been aimed inwards.
“Anyway,” Kent grumbles. “Thanks for the talk. Now let’s discuss what we’re doing tonight.”
I sense Kent looking expectantly at me. “I have to work,” I remind him.
“Can I come hang out there?”
When was the last time Kent was by himself? Since I’ve moved in he’s had two girls, a party, and then his friends at Oblivion. The last time he was alone was when he showered. Although I can imagine what he fantasizes about. He’s probably never truly alone.
“As long as you promise not to hook up with anyone else I work with.”
“How’s the apartment hunting going?”
Right. Wing-woman. “Fine. You can come hang out. But I need a key.”
“I’ll make you one. As soon as I get your rent money I’ll fix the A/C.”
I hold up a finger and grab my purse from my room. When I return to the table I set it down and push it to him. “Count my tips. I’ll write you a check for the rest.”
He sucks some ketchup off on his thumb and then begins sifting through the contents to pull out a thick wad of cash. The higher he counts, the deeper my surprise. There’s even a one hundred dollar bill in the pot.
My Sweet Demise (Demise #1) Page 6
