Monica snapped her fingers in front of my face. “Earth to Haven.”
I stored my sexy daydream away for later and turned my attention back to Monica. “What?”
“What do you mean, what? DETAILS!”
“He has longish hair, brown eyes and dresses like a skater boy.”
Monica scoffed. “You only got two A’s in high school. One in science and the other in creative writing. You can do better than that.”
“Fine.”
I conjured up a mental image of Andrew. It wasn’t hard. His face was hard to forget. “His eyes are the color of soot framed by a pair of eyelashes women everywhere would long for. His six-foot-one build is comprised of lean muscle and gifted genes. A five o’clock shadow dusts his high cheekbones. I didn’t see what shoes he was wearing or what size they were. Sorry.”
Monica’s mouth gaped open. “He sounds like sex on a stick.”
Now that I thought about it, Andrew was sex on a stick. He didn’t have tattoos covering his arms or have danger written on his forehead. What he did have was a far more attractive subtle hotness
I shrugged. “You can say that.”
“Don’t act so nonchalant. I have known you since we were in third grade. This Andrew had an effect on you.”
“Only because he was an intriguing person. He dressed like a skater boy, acted like a badass, and talked like he stepped out of private school. The man is a walking contradiction.”
“Sex on a stick, walking contradiction… he sounds exactly up your alley.”
I playfully slapped her arm. “Whatever. Do you want to go with me to this art show?”
“Wish I could, but Tolgan and I have a date.”
Tolgan was Monica’s latest fling. Granted, he’d lasted longer than the others but he was the sweetest guy on earth while Monica was a grade-A bitch. She got off on control and eventually her strangle hold on others gets old.
“Oh ok, that’s fine.” My hands fidgeted with the postcard. “I’ll go alone.”
“Don’t act like I pissed in your tea. You will be the sexiest bitch at his art opening. I’ll make sure of it.
“Thanks.”
Monica glanced at her watch and cursed. Rising from her chair, she wobbled precariously on her heels, than straightened. “One day, I’ll stick my manager in these torture devices called stilettos and see how he likes it.”
“Since he is a former sumo wrestler, I doubt there is a high heel big enough.”
“True dat.” She blew me an air kiss. “I’ll see you later.”
“Bye.”
Monica’s signature Chanel No. 5 perfume lingered long after she left. I opened my kitchen window and crawled onto the fire escape. The signature smells of city living wafted under my nose. Rotting garbage, exhaust fumes, and Chinese food. Yummy. Hugging my knees to my chest, I watched the sun explode into a fiery orange ball and toasted to a new day.
Being a barista at The Roasted Bean wasn’t my only job. This past week I got hired as a shot girl at an exclusive gentleman’s club that catered to the rich and famous. Rogue wasn’t a sleazy joint. It couldn’t be when men paid three grand for a VIP booth. Then again, I wouldn’t say it was classy either. Half-naked woman gyrated on poles; red velvet curtains lined the walls, and blackout windows warped time. The owner, Linda, had taken over the business from her father, which was sweet in a weird way. She was also fair and never stiffed any of her employees. As long as the men kept their hands to themselves, there were worse side gigs out there.
Thursday was Rogue’s busiest night. Drinks were half-off, so liquor flowed like water and made the crowd rowdier than it already was. Couldn’t complain though, tips were at a premium. I adjusted my bra to ensure the tissue paper was properly distributed. The first night I worked here, Linda told me my A-cup boobs wouldn’t cut it. Either I stuffed or got boob implants. I went with the cheaper option.
Billy, the bartender twirled a bottle of jack and poured it into a shot glass. “How’s your night going, Haven?”
“Not bad. How bout yourself?”
“Could be worse. My son finally started potty training so I don’t have to come into work reeking like shit anymore.”
My eyes widened in surprise. “You have a son?”
Billy was the last person I thought would have a kid. He was a tough talking born and bred Boston boy. The word “mortem” (death in Latin) was tattooed on his knuckles and his shaved head showed off a skull on his neck.
“Yeah, you want to see a picture?” Billy pulled a photograph out of his shirt pocket and slid it across the bar. A gap-toothed two-year-old smiled up at me. “Isn’t he adorable?”
“You make good babies.”
“Thanks, but it’s all my wife, Carmen. She is the sexiest woman alive and everyday I’m thankful she has stuck with me.”
“Seems like you’re both lucky.”
Billy titled his head as a thoughtful expression flashed across his face. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. We are both lucky.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Linda giving me the stare down. Nerves jittered in my stomach. She had the temper of mount Olympus if you got on her bad side. I looked back at Billy. “Can you prepare me a tray of shots? Let’s do fuzzy nipples, Jell-O shots, and lemon drops.”
“You got it.”
With quick efficiency, he completed my order. The rainbow colored alcohol looked like a hangover waiting to happen. These men didn’t care though. All they cared about was indulging in a night away from their responsibilities. Wives, kids, and bills were forgotten as a pleasant buzz consumed them. Number one reason why alcohol or drugs weren’t my thing. My mom attempted to forget until the day she died. It was a slippery slope, forgetting.
“Thanks,” I said to Billy.
“No problem. Be safe out there.”
“Always am.”
I hoisted the tray above my head and stretched my face into a coy smile. Here goes nothing. As soon as I stepped into the lounge area, men’s gazes churned with approval. Their eyes traveled over my body as if I was a feast they wanted to devour. Shoving away my disgust, I concentrated on the end result. A fat pocket overflowing with tips. A gentleman surrounded by five others waved a wad of cash at me.
“Good evening. What is your poison tonight?” I purred.
The head honcho with the cash shoved five twenties into my apron. “Whatever you got. We want it all.” He slapped his friend next to him on the back. “My old roommate is getting married next week.”
“Congrats. She is a lucky woman.”
I placed twelve shots on the wooden table. They grabbed them with eager hands and downed the shots in a single gulp. Fingers closed around my wrist as I turned to leave.
The head honcho’s eyes leered at my cleavage. “Would you like to make our evening a little more fun?”
When pig’s fly was what I wanted to say but instead I said, “What do you have in mind, handsome?”
“Body shots.”
Body shots were my least favorite part about this job. Having men’s mouths on your body was repulsive. Be that as it may, Linda’s number one rule was to ensure the customer was happy. Any sexual favors were off limits but everything else was fair game.
I forced a weak nod. “You got it.”
The next three minutes were a blur of degrading myself. The men took shots out of my cleavage, hooting and hollering. Their lips left a permanent stain on my skin and all I wanted to do was dive into a pool of chlorine.
The man of the hour stared at me unsteadily. “Thanks, sweetheart. You’re a doll.” He lowered his voice. “Maybe after this, me and you can take a ride to booty town.”
“I don’t think your fiancée would appreciate that.”
“She’ll never find out.”
I mentally took back what I mentioned earlier. This guy’s future wife wasn’t lucky, not by a long shot. I bet my left eyetooth their marriage wouldn’t last more than two years. It never does when your husband can’t keep his dick in his
pants. Without saying anything, I swept the tray off the table. Fifteen minutes down, six more hours to go. Sidling up to the bar, Billy glanced up from his order and eyed the empty tray.
“Damn girl. That didn’t take long. Same thing?”
Linda appeared, as I was about to respond. Her stick-straight bob hit her chin in a hairstyle very few could pull off. A pinstripe suit hugged her curve-free body while smoky eye makeup highlighted her blue eyes.
“You’re wanted in the VIP room,” she said.
“Which one?”
“Vegas.”
“Is there anything in particular they are requesting?” I wondered.
“A chilled bottle of Krug Brut Vintage and a round of vodka.” She glanced at Billy. “You got that?”
“Got it, Boss.”
Her severe stare turned my stomach into knots. “Don’t fuck this up. They are important clients. You hear me?”
“I hear you,” I croaked.
Linda turned on her heels and walked in the direction of her office. Once my tray was refilled, I took a calming breath.
“You got this,” Billy encouraged.
“I hope so.”
The Vegas room was in the back of the gentleman’s club through a discreet entrance. Red tinted lights illuminated my path. The words, ‘knock for pleasure,’ were written on the door. I turned the knob with trepid anticipation. Smoke hung in the air like a veil, burning my lungs and eyes. What the hell were they smoking in here? On the other side of the room, one of Rogue’s premier dancers was contorting her body around a pole. Nipple tassels swung in rhythm with her movements. I glided toward the red pleather booth where a large crowd was situated. Men and woman of varying ages dressed in shades of black, cream, and brown looked up at my arrival. Their sophisticated auras were a shock against the tackiness of the room. They regarded me with disdain as if I was no better than a used heroin needle. How lovely. On the bright side, they won’t ask me to do body shots in fear of catching cooties.
“Did somebody order some shots?” I oozed enough peppiness in my tone to kill a pack of cheerleaders. “Or how bout some champagne?”
Nothing. I was met with blank stares. Linda told me not to fuck this up and guess what? I was. It wasn’t my fault that these customers were snobby and frigid. They needed to lighten up or go to a different venue.
“I did. I ordered the round of shots,” a voice said behind me.
My back went rigid. Even after spending less than two minutes together, I would recognize that voice anywhere. Regardless, I wished to the cruel gods above to prove otherwise.
A girl from the crowd spoke. “Why did you do that, Andrew? It’s probably shitty vodka.”
Andrew. There were a million and one Andrews in this world but only one had a voice that promised sex. His gaze could be felt on the underside of my legs, roaming to the small apex of my back. Warmth spread between my thighs.
“So? Vodka is meant to get you drunk. Who the fuck cares if it is expensive or not?” Andrew said, irate.
The girl rolled her eyes while a smirk played out on her lips. “You’re such a white trash boy at heart. I love it.”
Ignoring her backhanded compliment, his presence grew closer until I grew dizzy with his scent. “Let me help you.” Andrew’s lips brushed my ear as he came around. “This tray must be heavy.”
“It’s fine,” I lied.
When our gazes locked, recognition sparked in his eyes followed by bewilderment. Bewilderment was understandable. This morning I was a barista in need of saving and thoroughly clothed. What wasn’t understandable was the disapproval radiating from every pore of his body. Fuck Andrew and the mighty horse he rode on. Half the population couldn’t afford to do passion projects. Some of us needed to actually make a living.
I slammed the tray onto to the table. “Enjoy.”
With as much dignity as I could muster, my five-inch heels carried me out of the VIP room. I blinked away tears because Andrew wasn’t worth them. He did exactly what I feared he would do. Look upon me like his friends did. Weird how Andrew didn’t give a shit what I did for living when he was admiring my backside.
“I’m going to take a break,” I said to Billy.
“Ok be back in twenty.”
The brick wall scratched my skin as I slid into a crouching position. The alleyway behind the gentleman club was our break room. It wasn’t the cleanest environment. Broken beer bottles littered the ground along with the occasional used condom. That said fresh air felt amazing after being cooped up in that windowless box. I slipped a piece of razzle-berry gum into my mouth. It was the only thing stopping me from wanting a cigarette. I’d quit two years ago but when something upset me, I craved hard for that sweet buzz. What Andrew thought wasn’t going to be my downfall. I’d met the guy twelve hours ago, why did I care so much? Yes, being a shot girl didn’t garner respect like a doctor would. However, the girls who were employed at Rogue weren’t working there because it was their dream job. They were working there because life knocked them into a hole and they were trying to claw their way out. Honey, aka Quincy, had a one-year old daughter with special needs. Her husband walked out on them as soon as he realized his daughter wasn’t “normal.” Honey turned to stripping to pay for her daughter’s care. Candy’s, aka Carly’s, mother drained her college account and ran off with a man named Bobby Joe. Working the night shift at Rogue allowed Candy to take classes at the local community college. She had a year left until she could apply for nursing programs. These women were incredible human beings. How dare anyone snubs their noses at them or me?
“Can you get me a cup of tea, Jives?” I mocked in a British accent. “Just a dash of cream and two sugars.”
“I can’t get you tea but I can get you a bottle of water.”
A startled gasp left my lips as I scrambled to my feet. Andrew stepped out of the shadows and into the warm glow of a streetlight.
My pulse raced. “What are you doing out here?”
“I want to apologize.”
“No thanks.”
“It wasn’t an question.”
Eyes narrowed, I marched to where he stood and it was only then it dawned on me how tall he was. Andrew was a giant compared to my five-foot stature. I poked his rock hard chest.
“I don’t take apologies from self-important assholes.”
He cradled my finger against his t-shirt and grinned. “You’re cute when you’re angry.”
“Fuck you.” Reeling my foot back, I kicked him in the shin, hard. He dropped my finger and cursed. “I’m not cute. You’re an asshole and there is nothing else left to say.”
Andrew clutched his leg, obviously in pain. I should have felt bad but I couldn’t muster an ounce of remorse. As I was about to turn the knob to go back into the club, he yelled my name. The desperation in his voice made me turn around.
“What time do you get off?” Andrew asked.
“Two a.m.”
“Awesome. I’ll see you then.”
Andrew hobbled off down the alleyway, leaving me dumbfounded. It was an emotion I was beginning to associate with Andrew. He was truly an enigma.
“One for the road?” Billy handed me a shot glass filled with amber liquid.
“Thanks.”
After the day I had, one shot would barely take off the edge. In the past eighteen hours or so, men had groped, mauled and generally treated me like scum. I was seriously considering becoming a lesbian for real this time. The shot didn’t taste like whiskey. It tasted like ginger ale.
When I glanced at Billy for an explanation, he gave me a fatherly smile. “You really thought I was going to let you drink and drive?”
“Your son is turning you into a softy.”
“And I’m a better man because of it.”
I wished my mom had the same outlook when she had me. Instead she often used the word “leech” to describe my relationship to her, which was ironic. She was the biggest leech in the entire universe; sucking men’s wallets dry since 1989. I be
lted my trench coat and pulled my hair into a ponytail.
Billy took away the shot glass, replacing it with a can of mace. “I would offer you a ride if my house wasn’t on the opposite side of town but since it is, use this if need be.”
I wasn’t an idiot. My teenage years had been predominantly spent on the streets. Hence, why I kept a Taser named Bo stashed in my jacket pocket 24/7. Bo kept my virginity in tact until I was nineteen and saved me from countless other hairy situations. Still, it was nice somebody had my back.
“Aw. What every girl wants.” I grabbed the can of mace and added it to my collection. “It’s prettier than flowers.”
“Go home, wiseass, and get some sleep.”
Laughing, I waved goodbye. I’d sold my car to pay off my mom’s funeral cost so my legs were my only mode of transportation. To save myself a round of blisters, I changed into a pair of flats. Cold air caressed the top of my bare feet as I stepped outside.
“Why can’t it be summer again?” I mumbled.
A black SUV screeched to a halt alongside the curb. Grabbing the Taser in my pocket, I watched on high alert. Second later, the passenger door opened and opera music cut through the silent night. Andrew’s Italian loafers came into view. He had changed into a casual business shirt with the first button popped open. Grey slacks that matched his eyes hugged his toned thighs. The bastard looked as if he belonged in the pages of a J.Crew magazine.
My hands went to my hips. “Are you serious? Really? I kicked you in the shin and called you an asshole, Andrew. How much clearer can I get?”
“I may be an asshole but I am a gentleman as well.”
“Those two don’t go hand in hand.”
“They do.”
A bone-chilling breeze snaked into my thin coat and I shivered. Noticing, Andrew draped his cashmere jacket over my shoulders, adding another layer of warmth. His generosity didn’t prove anything.
Jagged Love Page 2
