“No worries.” I smile. “I’ll follow you down and let you out.”
My eyes stay trained on her ass the whole way through the club and to the back exit, watching it sashay in an almost hypnotic rhythm.
“Here you go.” I pull the door open and rain is hammering down onto the pavement in a furious torrent. Her eyes widen, and I close the door before giving myself a chance to change my mind.
“You can’t go out there dressed in that.”
I motion to her yoga pants and flimsy pink shirt. “You’ll drown. How far away have you parked?”
She gives me a confused look. “I don’t have a car; I walk here.”
“Okay, well how about you come back inside, and I’ll call you a cab?”
“I don’t have the fare,” she says softly, and for some reason I don’t understand, I feel a pang of pity for her. The way her small confession falls from her lips, dejected and uncomfortable, makes me think it’s not that she doesn’t have any cash on her, it sounds like she doesn’t have any cash, period.
“In that case, why don’t you wait out the rain with me for a little while and I can either drive you home, or you can walk when it dries up?”
I watch as she weighs the pros and cons of my offer. She doesn’t seem happy with either option, but eventually I win and she walks back into the club with me.
“So, how’s your first three days been? Saturday will be your first night performing, right?”
I suck at small talk but to be fair, I’ve never really had to bother with it. I was with Lisa since high school. We grew up together and were friends first, so there was never any awkwardness between us. When we split earlier this year, I didn’t need to engage in small talk; hell, I didn’t really need to talk at all. The quieter and more brooding I was, the more the women liked it. It’s been a while since I’ve actually wanted to talk with a woman and not just screw her. Not that I haven’t pictured screwing Tweet seven different ways from Sunday, but she has a definite air of mystery around her, and when she’s not dancing she looks to be bearing the weight of the world on her shoulders. I want to know why, even though I have no business asking her.
“Yeah, carnival night will be my debut. I’m really looking forward to it. I’ve got the dance routines down now, and if the costumes are anything to go by, the night is going to be spectacular. I didn’t know you could get that many jewels on such small scraps of material.”
Her eyes light up when she talks about dance. I need to make a mental note to ask her more questions about it. I pull a chair out for her and she sits, dropping her bag underneath the table.
“I’m gonna have a beer. What can I get you to drink? And I don’t expect you to pay; it’s one of the perks of knowing the boss.” I grin and shoot her a wink. I’m trying to put her at ease and not make it sound like I know she can’t pay.
Her eyes flick to the coffee machine at the end of the bar and then back to me.
“You know what, I’m gonna make a coffee instead. You want one?”
“I’d love one,” she answers. “I’m in serious need of caffeine.”
I busy myself trying to figure out how to work the machine. Jordan, one of the bartenders, has shown me at least four different times and each time I’m sure I have it until I need to use it again and realize that I don’t. It’s not even a fancy, complicated machine; I think it just hates me.
“Zane mentioned that you were asking about making some extra money serving tables when you’re not dancing. You trying to pay your way through college or something?”
“Or something.”
I turn from wrestling with the lever that lets you insert the little coffee pods and look at her, waiting for her to elaborate.
“It’s a long story.”
“Hmm…if only we were stuck inside with nothing to talk about waiting for the rain to stop!” I deadpan.
She lets out a small chuckle before standing and walking towards me. She rounds the bar and I watch in confusion and a sorry state of arousal as she comes to a stop only inches away. She smells like coconut. Jesus, I hope she didn’t notice me sniff her.
She leans in close.
What the hell? Damn, she’s coming in for a kiss.
I’m about to oblige and murky the waters of what’s sure to be a short-lived working relationship, when she grabs the coffee machine handle and does some weird voodoo trickery that everyone in this place seems to know except me. I stand back stunned as the machine pops open and say a silent prayer of thanks that I didn’t lean in and kiss her.
“You looked like you were struggling.”
Yep, I’m struggling all right, and it’s definitely not in the way you’re thinking.
“I have a love-hate relationship with this thing. I love coffee, but the machine hates me.”
She smiles, passing me a coffee pod, and I set the machine to work…I think.
“Do you have any extra availability for another server? Zane was right, I did ask about more work. I could really use the cash right now. From what the girls have told me, the customers tip well, and I’m a hard worker.”
She’s flustered. I can see from her expression that she’s doesn’t like asking and I’m intrigued as to why.
“Have you waited tables before?”
“Sure, through college. I’m no novice,” she grins.
“I suppose we could put you on the roster, then. The pay isn’t the same as what you’ll get for dancing, but all the girls keep their own tips. There’s no pooling the cash at the end of a shift. If you work hard, treat the customers well and are attentive, you’ll make more. It’s as simple as that.”
Her sigh of relief is audible, and I give her a quizzical look.
“That something else I mentioned,” she begins. “My boyfriend ran up some debts and skipped town. I need the extra work to pay them off.”
I don’t know who her boyfriend is, but I have a sudden urge to kick the shit out of him.
“You don’t need to explain,” I tell her, and it’s the truth, she doesn’t. I’d like to know more, but I’m not about to press her for the information. We’re still standing close. Too close and there’s a mad chemistry between us that I’m not comfortable with at all.
“You take sugar?” I ask as the coffee machine beeps, and I take a step back.
“No, I’m sweet enough.”
“You sure are,” I say under my breath as I pass her a cup. “Take a seat, I’ll make mine and join you.”
She practically skips back to the table, the earlier signs of stress retreating with each sip of her coffee. I have a feeling there’s more to the story of her needing extra work. I just need to be patient and let her tell me in her own time.
“AFTER YOU,” CALLUM says, holding the door open for me. I step outside and rub my arms in an effort to ward off the chill from the rain. I wait for him to lock the doors, and then he points over to a black and chrome Harley parked at the side of the building.
“Is that yours?”
“She is. You ever been on one before, Tweet?” he asks with a boyish grin. I love how he’s nicknamed me. I’ve never really had one before. People often shorten my name to Robz, but that’s not the same. It’s laziness on their part that they can’t be bothered with the extra syllable. The whole cute name thing he has going on is at war with his appearance. He’s a tall, lean, muscular man with just the right amount of scruff on his face, piercing light blue eyes and messy dark hair. He looks anything but soft, all sleek hard lines visible under his tight black t-shirt. But when he says Tweet it’s smooth and quiet and sweet. Not at all what I was expecting. I can see the attraction all the girls seem to harbor for him; he’s a ridiculously good-looking man. There’s a familiarity to him that I can’t quite place.