by Portia Moore
“It’s okay.” I shrug and walk away.
Truth of the matter is, the cute shoes kill my feet every night. Dressing up was fun until they implemented the butt-crawling shorts that became mandatory. But it pays well and college tuition isn’t cheap. I squeeze through the crowd and head to the bar area. My friend Steven, the bartender, is standing with my ex, Michael—Mr. Worst Mistake of My Life. I slide my drink slip over and count down the minutes to when my feet will get to rest.
“It’s really packed in here tonight, isn’t it?” Michael yells to me over the music.
Our relationship didn’t exactly end on friendly terms. In fact, this is the first time I’ve even contemplated responding to him since our breakup two months ago. The best I can do is remain civil, but it’s so hard.
“When isn’t it packed in here?” I reply abruptly.
Well, I said I’d be civil; I didn’t say polite. His smile drops. It’s not as if he needs me to be nice to him. He has enough women being nice to him. In fact, the reason we broke up was because I caught him in the storage room, being too nice to some girl.
“Hey, Lauren. You look like you could use a break.” My friend Angie comes to the rescue as she hands her drink slip to Steven.
“A break? More like a vacation.” I chuckle, taking the tray full of drinks.
My customer “Extra Ice” is the only one sitting at the table now. Her expression looks less than jovial. I smile, hoping to lift her spirits a bit.
“Here are your drinks,” I say, setting them down.
“Thank you,” she replies, taking the glass of ice. She pours her beer over it, glancing up at me. “I’m probably the first person you’ve seen do this.” She laughs then sighs. “It seems all my friends have abandoned me for the dance floor,” she explains, probably afraid of offending me. “What a great birthday this turned out to be.” She takes a sip of her beer.
“Happy birthday!” I say, probably a little bit too enthusiastically. “This one’s on the house.”
“Thank you.” She lifts her glass and goes back to getting acquainted with her drink.
I know the feeling of being in a place you’d rather not be. Anyway, it’s sometimes better not to think about it. I head back over to the bar. My watch informs me I have two hours left, which might as well be an eternity. It’s strange how I can be so bored in such an exciting atmosphere. Maybe it has to do with the fact that I’m always in this atmosphere. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Michael flirting with a petite redhead. He’s always flirting with a petite something. I was the petite brunette. I can’t believe I still care who he’s flirting with; maybe care is the wrong word—irritated. I’m irritated by the fact he’s flirting with other women.
“Hey, L.” Angie pinches my side and slides another drink slip to Steven, who passes it to Michael since he’s standing there being worthless. “Don’t take a second look,” she whispers in my ear.
I realize I must have been staring.
“Hey, Mikey, why don’t you stop chatting and actually do some work since you’re here?”
He shoots Angie a sarcastic smile and saunters over to us. “Nice to see you too.” He looks over her slip but passes it back to Steven.
“Hey, Lauren, look what I have for you!” Trish, another waitress, shouts, holding up a Long Island Iced Tea and showcasing it to me.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Compliments of a gentleman from VIP.” She grins, handing the glass to me.
I set it down. I make it a habit not to accept drinks from guys while working.
“Ooh, VIP. Now you have to take it,” Steven teases me with a wink.
“Isn’t it a bad policy to accept drinks from customers?” Michael butts in.
We all stare at him in disbelief; he’s been known to accept a lot more than drinks from customers.
“Well, you know, Ryan expects us to be extra nice to VIP customers. Plus it is your favorite, Lauren,” urges Angela.
“The guy is a cutie too,” Trish adds.
Michael glares hard in my direction, but it totally has the opposite effect on me. Staring straight back at him, I moisten my lips, put them on the straw, and suck up a good, long sip.
I turn back to Trish. “Tell him thank you, and that it’s my favorite.”
The disappointment on Michael’s face makes me giddy.
“Oh, he knows. I told him. It’s his birthday too,” she adds before disappearing into the crowd.
“L, you should go tell him happy birthday,” Angela urges me with a nudge.
“I’m not doing that,” I say indignantly.
“Oh, come on. Why not? A little flirting would do you some good.” She laughs.
“It’s desperate and unprofessional. I sent him my thanks for the drink. That’s all I’m doing,” I declare, making my way from the bar.
I would rather work than hear her urging me to talk to some guy like she does every night.
I glance at my watch. It’s one thirty in the morning, and my bed is calling. I hope my roommate, Hillary, isn’t home. If she is already home at this time of night, she usually has a companion. The amount of money I have invested in earplugs is crazy, thanks to all the noise they make. I’ve already put on my coat to leave when I see my manager, Ryan. He’s heading my way, and it’s too late to go in the other direction—well, without being completely obvious.
“Lauren, I’m so glad I caught you.” He’s beaming and his tone seems, dare I say, nice. He’s hardly ever nice, and I place a bet with myself he’s going to ask me to stay another hour.
“Hi, Ryan,” I reply warily, beginning to change into my flat shoes.
“Oh, you’re leaving,” he says with a pout resembling a two-year-old’s, only not as cute.
“Yes, I’m off now,” I remind him, praying he won’t ask me to stay, or worse, tell me to stay.
“Would you mind doing me a tiny favor?” he asks, walking over to me.
I knew it was coming. I still haven’t learned to leave faster. What am I supposed to do, tell my boss no? My body screams hell yes! My mind directs me to smile weakly.
“Sure,” I give in with a sigh.
“A very good customer of mine wants to meet you. He’s been eye-humping you all night,” he explains while helping me take off my coat.
“What?” I snap before even getting a chance to censor my tongue. He is my boss and, as always, a bit of an A-hole, but who the hell does he think he is?
“Just say hello and nothing else. He’s a reporter for the Tribune. He can bring a lot of exposure to the club,” he says urgently.
“I don’t know.” I do know. I don’t want to do it!
“It’s just a quick drink. It is his birthday, after all, and the VIP room is filled with people. Just a drink. If you’re too tired, I’ll switch your shift. Maybe you’d rather have Monday night instead of this tiring Saturday shift,” he suggests slyly.
That’s low. Monday is the absolute worst night for me to be in the club. It’s slow, which means fewer tips, and I have a class on Tuesday mornings.
“Okay. I’ll do it.” I hang my coat back up and start to follow him out, but he stops me at the door before I can even cross the threshold.
“How about I give you time to put on your other shoes and let your hair back down?” He winks.
I bite my lip in frustration. Fuck you, Ryan. I go back to my locker to get my heels.
“I’ll meet you upstairs in a few minutes.” He smiles, but before leaving, he pops his head back in the doorway. “A little lip gloss wouldn’t hurt either,” he quips before disappearing.
Jerk-off. I slip out of my gym shoes and let my ponytail back down. I purposefully don’t put on any lip gloss. Just a quick drink then bed, I tell myself and try not to feel like such a pushover.
The VIP room is buzzing with people but empty compared to the other floors. With a minimum three-bottle purchase for a table, it makes sense though. Dan, the VIP security guard, is standing at the entrance. He’s pretty i
ntimidating to anyone wanting to start trouble. At almost six foot four and at least two hundred ninty pounds—his death-grip headlock has brought many to their knees—he’s a good guy to have on your side. He’s busy flirting with two girls trying to talk their way in for free, but he gives me a quick nod of acknowledgment.
I take a deep breath and remind myself I need my job. Having a drink with a guy for my boss isn’t that bad. Wait, that even sounds wrong. Being pimped out is not a part of my job description. I hope this guy isn’t a complete asshole, drunk or sober. Even if he isn’t, I hate the dating scene. I’ve had two serious boyfriends: Daniel, my high school sweetheart, and Michael, who, as it turned out, wasn’t that serious about me after all.
I’ve been on a handful of dates, many of which turned out to be complete disasters, since I moved here from Michigan. I’ve grown to hate the whole situation. First the obligatory awkward conversations, and ultimately my date’s disappointment when I don’t put out after the first date. The guys I run into are nothing like the princes in the stories my aunt read to me when I was a little girl. My adult theory: the Prince Charming myth is the other curse God created to punish Eve and every other woman for biting that stupid apple. Looking around the room, I spot Ryan sitting in the corner, talking to a short blond woman accompanied by a man in a blue dress shirt and black slacks.
Ryan sees me and waves me over. As I get closer to the guy, I have to agree that Trish was right—he’s cute, in an Abercrombie and Fitch sort of way. He has dirty-blond hair and green eyes, even a coy smile, but that still doesn’t mean I like being coerced into talking to him. When I reach the table, Mr. Abercrombie and Ryan stand up while the woman just smiles in my direction.
“Lauren, I would like you to meet Jason Daniels. He’s doing a story for the Tribune’s entertainment column. And this is his partner, Marie.”
“Nice to meet you.” Jason shakes my hand, a huge grin on his face. “Very nice to meet you,” he repeats again, almost nervously.
“How about I have Diana make you one of my favorite drinks, Marie?” Ryan asks, gesturing toward the VIP area of the bar.
I keep myself from rolling my eyes. I guess he wants Jason and me to have alone time, because Ryan can easily have Diana at our table in less than a minute with just a gesture.
“I would love that.” She links her arm with his and leaves Jason and me alone.
He seems tongue-tied at the moment. Awkward conversation avoided, maybe?
“Would you like to sit down?” he finally says.
Crap, no such luck—he’s not mute. I smile graciously as I sit in the plush leather booth.
“Did you like the drink I sent you?” He smiles.
“Yes, it’s my favorite.” I look down, trying to avoid the awkward silence filling the air. “Even though I’m the one who should be buying you the drink. I hear it’s your birthday,” I say with forced friendliness.
“Yeah. The big two-four.” He laughs.
“How does it feel?”
“Not too different from twenty-three.” He laughs and sips his drink. “Oh, would you like something, another Long Island—?”
But something has caught his attention across the room. Maybe it’s his girlfriend. That’s probably just wishful thinking on my part, but with my luck, who knows.
“Would you excuse me for a minute?” he says, leaving me to sit alone.
I wonder if this fulfills the requirement as far as Ryan’s concerned. I wonder who Jason was looking for—I guess the blonde who was with him. Maybe they’re more than just friends? Drumming my finger on the table, I wait for my new friend to come back.
Ryan arrives a few minutes later, and I’m still at the table alone. I see he’s misplaced the blonde as well.
“Where did Jason go?”
I wasn’t aware that I was supposed to be babysitting him. “Umm, I don’t know. He told me he’d be back in a minute. Look, Ryan, I have an exam I have to study for this weekend, and I really need to get some sleep,” I explain, getting up to leave.
“Wait! Please just five more minutes. I’ll go find him,” he begs, holding my arm.
“Fine,” I relent. “I’ll be out on the terrace while you look for him.”
“Okay. Back in five minutes,” he promises before hurrying off.
I sneak away to the terrace of the club. It’s my favorite place in Chicago. When the wind blows just the right way and the lights of the city sparkle in the night, I feel free. They remind me why I’m not in my old comfort zone in Michigan. This may be my lucky day, since only two couples are making out in the corner. Usually there are so many it’s embarrassing. I stroll to the other side so they can have their privacy. You can see all of Chicago from right here. I could stand here for hours, just looking out over the city.
I glance at my watch and notice it’s been around five minutes. I decide to head back to VIP before Ryan has a panic attack. Right as I’m making my way back into the club, Michael heads toward me.
“This must be my lucky day,” I mumble sarcastically to myself, but loud enough that he can hear me.
“Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?” he asks as I walk past him.
“Actually, I’m meeting someone.” I smirk at him before continuing on my way.
“What? Who? I mean, you just got off,” he say, stumbling over his words. I guess I surprised him. I just smile with a shrug, but he calls after me, “Well, when you’re not busy, I need to talk to you.”
I don’t even look back. What Michael doesn’t understand is I don’t care what he needs. He lost that privilege when I caught him banging some girl in the storage room of the club. He didn’t even have the decency to screw her in his car like a respectful douchebag would do.
I’m seeing red as I make my way down to the VIP room. I’m in total disbelief at Michael’s audacity and sudden attempt to weasel his way back into my life, and I don’t even notice the person in front of me until I crash into him. A second later, I feel cool liquid spread down my blouse. Best day ever!
“I’m soooo sorry,” I say, embarrassed. This is completely my fault, and I’m even more furious that Michael caused me to do it.
“It’s okay,” a deep voice replies, sending a shiver up my spine. “I’m sure your shirt costs a lot more than this drink.”
I’m afraid to look up. I can hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears. When I work up the courage to finally see whose voice is making my heart try to escape my chest, I find a tall, ebony-haired stranger looking down at me.
And God, he has the most beautiful pair of gray eyes and an amazing smile with the most perfect lips in the history of mankind. I mentally remind myself not to swallow my tongue and breathe. Is he real? Or have I been knocked unconscious and am being fanned with a cover of GQ magazine? This encounter will probably turn out to just be a figment of my imagination.
The more I look—no, stare, I’m actually staring now—the more I decide he has to be an illusion. I search for a flaw, taking in every inch of him, from his chiseled features to his chocolate-brown hair falling right over his eyebrows, his strong broad shoulders hidden beneath a dark gray blazer and black fitted shirt. No flaw found. He’s unsettlingly beautiful.
“I-I’m sorry. I can be so clumsy at times,” I choke out, internally cheering as my mind begins taking control again.
“Let me get you something for that,” he responds, disappearing into the crowd.
I panic. What if he doesn’t come back? What if he does come back? That scares me even more. But a minute later, he’s here again with a cloth in hand, and I’m still not prepared to think like a civilized person instead of a cavewoman.
“Thank you,” I reply sheepishly, taking the cloth from his hand.
He’s smiling at me as though he knows a secret I’m not in on.
“I’m really sorry about your drink. I can get you another one,” I offer, staring up at him. He has to be at least six foot two. I unconsciously take a few steps back so I don’t have to look up at him li
ke a little girl.
“You’re good,” he assures me coolly.
No, he’s good apparently, since no matter how hard I try, I can’t make my eyes leave his face. “I work here. It’ll be no problem.”
His gaze is intense, almost intimate, but his smile is so charming, or rather, welcoming—like he’s luring me. For a moment, time slows down. All of the noise around us has disappeared, and it’s just the music and my breathing.
I wonder if he hears it.
He steps closer to me, and I notice in those perfect gray eyes, the iris is surrounded by a subtle green tint. But beautiful as they are, they’re upstaged when he releases the right corner of his bottom lip that he’s been holding captive between his stark white teeth. His tongue sweeps across those delectable lips, adding the perfect amount of moisture, and right then, a wave of heat flushes through my entire body. I inwardly cringe for referring to a body part as delectable—a stranger’s body part at that—but there is absolutely no other way to describe them.
“I know.” His words jolt me back to reality, and I lean forward a bit, the return of the noise making it more difficult to hear him. A second later, he leans down toward me, his face near my ear, and my breath hitches. “Your shorts gave you away.” Just as quickly he’s back in his own space.
“These godforsaken shorts.” I’m so embarrassed and begin pulling them down.
He nods, a grin on his face as his eyes travel down my body. “No, thank God for those shorts.” He’s biting his lip again, and I feel myself turning all shades of pink. “I was actually coming to get a closer view of the woman I haven’t been able to take my eyes off of since she walked in.” He looks directly into my eyes with a smile that could melt the Arctic.
With that, I almost swallow my tongue. What am I supposed to say to something like that?
“She’s Lauren,” I can’t help but whisper. Wait, that wasn’t right. Wake up, genius! “I mean, I’m Lauren.” I laugh, hoping the music covers my ridiculous answer and that I won’t drop dead of embarrassment right here. Thankfully, my brain cells are released from my hormones’ grip and direct me to extend my hand.
