by Lory Wendy
“Stand up to me? Have I offended you in some way?”
He’s trying to get to me, goad me into reacting, and doing a pretty good job, actually. But I won’t give him the satisfaction.
“So, you’re the sister Rocky’s told me so much about?” The confusion is written all over his face—eyebrows knitted together, head tilted to the side.
Sighing, I drop my head and debate how to answer. Legally, and every other way you can name that doesn’t involve sharing DNA, Blaire and I are sisters. But when we stand side-by-side, we couldn’t look more different if we tried. Her shocking blonde hair, bright eyes, and slim figure are literally the night and day contrasts to all my darker and curvier features.
The “we’re adopted” story takes mere seconds to explain, but Julian doesn’t need, nor does he deserve, the backstory.
“He had a good assessment of you.” He winks and trails his gaze from the top of my head, down to my feet, and back up to my eyes. “You’re beautiful.”
I uncross my arms and, focusing on the water bottle in my hands, flick at the label to give myself something to do.
I don't like this guy.
The way he looks at me. The way he talks to me. The way he leans against the corner counter, legs crossed at the ankle, yet it seems like he's taking up all the space in the kitchen.
I don’t like the way I’m rooted in place, wanting to converse with him. And I really hate how, even though his mere presence annoys the shit out of me, I wanted to giggle seconds ago because he called me beautiful.
I catch him staring at me. His eyes soften and the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile. I can’t help but give him a soft smile in return.
I finally take a moment to appraise him, in a way I haven’t had the chance to freely do yet. He’s tall with caramel-toned skin, those killer hazel eyes, and hair cut close to his scalp. In our silence, it’s as if we’re having a moment, like there’s an unspoken truce.
“Hi, Julian.”
And just as quickly, the moment’s gone.
He smiles at our intruder, which annoys me to no end. She’s a stranger to me, but I hate her on sight. Obviously we’re in here talking. How rude. Plus, she’s not even a real blonde. Growing up with two natural blonds, it’s easier to spot the ones whose color comes from a bottle.
I get it. That’s not a reason to dislike someone, but from her smile to her perky tits, everything else on her is perfect. Jealousy makes me hate the pretty bitch even more.
“Well, see ya!” I run out of the kitchen, leaving the two of them behind.
It’s nearing three in the morning when I glance at the clock again. The party’s been officially over for a little while, but people are still lingering. Some are just plain too lazy to get up and go home. And a few more are gathered around the dining room table, talking in low whispers. My Spidey sense alerts me that something more than silly secrets are being shared.
“What’s going on?” I ask Quincy.
“Oh that?” He looks over toward the table. “They’re about to play a quick game of cards.”
“That’s it?” I wonder out loud, dubious. “Looks intense for just cards.”
“Poker,” he corrects me, but I shrug.
“Still looks too intense for me.”
“Julian, you playing?” one of the guys asks.
“No, I’ll watch,” his deep voice answers from right behind me, scaring the ever-loving shit out of me.
Again.
My gasp stays lodged in my throat this time. But he’s now two for two in this creeping up out of nowhere thing he seems to have going on.
“You know,” Julian starts, moving to fully stand next to me. “Leaving in the middle of a conversation is considered rude.”
“I wasn’t aware we had more to discuss.”
“Well—”
“Let’s play for a small spot,” another guy says. “Like a twenty buck buy in. Selena should be the bank.”
“What’s that mean?” I focus on the guy who spoke then back to Julian. “What’s the bank?”
“You hold the money.” Julian’s smile is almost friendly, but I know better. “Make sure everyone playing pays you. When the game’s over, you give the winner or winners their money. I think you can handle it.”
“What was that last part?” I cup a hand to my ear and lean in closer. “What do I do with the money and the winners? I might need to write that down.”
His smile becomes wider. I try not to return it, but I fail.
Damnit!
“Anyway.” I focus back on the guys. “I’ll do it. Pay up!”
Everyone playing hands me their “buy-in,” or whatever it’s called, and as I look around, I realize the only people not around the table are me, Julian, and the blonde girl who walked into the kitchen earlier. She’s more focused with sitting on the couch staring at Julian and glaring at me.
“I think your friend is trying to get your attention.”
“She’ll be fine,” he answers. Nodding toward the table, he adds, “Do you play?”
“Poker? Nope. Do you?”
“Oh, I play.”
“Well, are you any good?” I challenge.
Humming, his playful grin drops down to a smirk. “I’ve been told I’m the best.” His stare falls lower on my body before he clears his throat and focuses back on the guys. “You know, in poker.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’re a great poker… player, that is.” We’re both smiling, but inside I’m squirming and hoping no one’s listening to this cheesy-ass conversation laced with porn-tastic innuendo. I wonder if he can tell how hard I’m working to regulate my breathing.
“Have you ever played?” he asks.
“Nah.” I turn back and give Julian my full attention. “Go Fish is more my scene.”
He throws his head back laughing, and I marvel for a second as I see a hint of ink peeking out of the top of his collar.
“You’re tatted?” My voice rises to an octave I’ve never heard before. But of course he is! Why would God have it any other way than to tempt me with my very own kryptonite?
Julian snaps his head forward, pulling up and fidgeting at his collar. But it’s too late; one doesn’t simply unsee sexiness.
“How many do you have?” The question tumbles out of my mouth before I can stop it. “I mean… never mind. It’s none of my business.” I wave a hand in the air dismissively.
“You can make it your business if you’d like, though,” he says, all smirky and shit.
“No, thanks.”
“I can show you whenever you wish.”
“Yeah, I’m good.”
His responding chuckle is patronizing.
Leaving him behind, I walk over to the table and stand by Quincy, watching closely with him as the rest of the poker game unfolds. The colors of the chips are a mystery to me, as are what they stand for. And when the guys throw around words like blinds and folds and calls, they might as well be speaking Japanese. Still, it’s all too easy to get immersed in the hustle and bustle of it all and the intensity of some of the players.
“Wow.”
“What?” Quincy bumps my shoulder with his elbow.
I bump him back, though my shoulder barely reaches his bicep.
The game winds down after there are grumblings about too many raises, and before I can blink, I see Julian leaving with the blonde.
I’m not bothered by it though.
Not really.
Not at all.
Nope.
“Thank you again for letting us use your place,” Blaire says, making my attention volley back to her and Quincy.
“Yes, thank you.” I hug him. “I don’t think I’ll ever find the words to express what tonight meant to me.” He doesn’t even know me and he offered up his house for my party. Who does that? “Do we need to stay so we can help clean up?” I ask, despite my swaying and tired body.
The place isn’t messy. There aren’t plates, drinks, or trash thrown eve
rywhere. But you can still tell there was a party here, that the original order of the space has been disturbed.
“Maybe we can come in the morning instead?” Blaire wraps her arm around my shoulder.
“Yeah, let’s do that.”
The night had been fun, and the last thing I ever expected was a surprise graduation party. But as we’re driving home and Blaire keeps asking me about my conversation with Julian, I can’t help but think about earlier in the day and the questions I was asking her. Bringing it back full circle, I waggle my eyebrows at her. “See I knew there was a guy.”
Chapter Five
“Where you going?”
“Uh… work?” I answer, not looking over my shoulder. There’s nothing but silence behind me, yet I’m aware Blaire’s there. “Yes?”
“You’re going back to Imperial?”
“That is where I work after all.”
“What about Lotus?” The disappointment in her voice sparks a surprising, but deep, irritation inside of me.
“Well, last I checked, I was doing Rocky a one-time favor.”
“But—”
“What’s your problem?” I finally turn to face her, pulling my shirt over my head. “You didn’t even know about me going to work at Lotus until the day I told you.”
She flinches back and hesitates—one of her tells I didn’t expect in this moment.
“By the way,” I say. “He told me you were pissed at him the night I worked there. So you should really make up your mind. Bye.”
Even though I like to think I talk a big game, it’s literally just that. All talk. Because the truth is, I don’t want to go back to Imperial. So the drive there today feels like the longest drive of my life.
Pulling into my typical spot, my scowl is deep and loathing. The building has always been small, but today it seems tiny. And I realize a building smack dab in the middle of a main road is better than one tucked in the corner of the world where no one can hear you scream.
“You’re back,” our bouncer acknowledges me when I walk in. “I didn’t think you worked here anymore.”
Widening my arms, I stare at him to get on with it, and after a half-assed pat-down, he waves me forward with his flashlight.
“Stretch is gonna want to know you’re here, by the way.”
My hand immediately shakes, and I have to gulp down several breaths as I try and calm myself. “Why?”
“Ask him when you get to his office.”
Whatever. I don’t know why I asked, anyway. I already know what he wants—it’s what he always wants. As I make my way back toward the office, my legs start shaking too. Before I can knock, my boss’s robust voice echoes through the door.
“Just relax, sweetheart. You're the baddest chick we’ve ever had in here. Give it time and you’ll see—every guy in this place will be eating out of your hands and coming here every day to see you. I swear.”
From behind the office door, I mouth the words along with Stretch’s speech verbatim. It’s the one he always uses on new dancers and, admittedly, one I’ve borrowed to pep talk a couple shy ones too. Rolling my eyes as he continues his monologue of false promises and unrealistic expectations, I slink away to my favorite spot, kicking aside some discarded cups along the way.
“Is it always this slow here?” a new dancer I don’t recognize asks, leaning against the same bar I’m trying to hide behind.
“Sometimes.” Though truthfully, it hasn’t been slow for a long time and never really this slow ever.
“Bummer.” She slinks away.
I watch her walk toward the guy who just walked in, vulturing around him along with two other girls working tonight.
It’s her turn, technically, since the other two have already been on stage and given private dances tonight. But it’s all about dog eat dog and survival of the sluttiest around here. So, I’m not surprised when the customer walks off with the most seasoned manipulator here, leaving the other two glaring behind them.
Looks like it’s going to be another rough night for them too.
A group of guys at a table nearby, the only full table right now, hoot and holler at the girl on stage, but when one catches my eye, he waves a dollar bill in the air. Of course.
“Yes?” I walk up to the table.
“Can we get some drinks?”
“You know the bar is right there, right?” I point at the bartender a mere ten feet away. “And would you look at that, there’s someone standing right on the other side of it.” I’m over working here, over being a waitress, over everything.
“Someone doesn’t want a good tip tonight, huh?” another one mutters, purposely loud enough for me to hear.
At this point, they’ve all turned to stare at me, more fascinated with my possible clap back than the tits on stage. They couldn’t pay me enough to give a shit tonight.
“Whatever. What are you guys drinking tonight?”
Two minutes later, I’ve slammed four beers down on their table, and I’m back in my corner.
Looking down at the bar, I crumple a napkin in my hand, laughing at the printed name.
Imperial.
It sounds so regal, so elegant. Yeah right. This place is a fucking dive—a black hole in the wall that sucks you in and holds you at its mercy.
Reaching for my phone, I sigh. A lot more time should have passed by.
“Umm… excuse me?”
Now what?
I turn toward the voice only to be met with yet another pair of wide, scared, and very young eyes I’ve never seen before.
“Can I help you?”
She leans in, whispering, “Umm. I’m looking for the person in charge?”
I lean back. “In charge of what?”
“The dancers?”
I want to ask her if she’s sure. She can’t even get the word “dancers” out. And truthfully, she doesn’t look any younger than some of our youngest girls here, but I’m still compelled to ask her how old she is.
“Eighteen.”
“Are you sure?” I reach my palm out. “Got ID on you?”
She takes a step back, gripping at the strap of the bag. “Okay, maybe not yet.”
“Then you can’t be in here.”
She opens her mouth slowly a couple times but never says anything.
“Listen.” I come around the bar. I hate being that person, but as I look around and see the normal every day Imperial I’ve become used to, I wonder what the people who come in here for the first time see. What they think of the chipped paint, dirty floors, and plastic taped-up chairs. I can’t judge her, though. I’m here too. But there are literally a dozen other—cleaner, safer—places she can go. Without thinking about it, I rattle off a few addresses. First to a shelter, and the second to Golden Lotus, knowing I’m one hundred percent out of line. Hopefully the guys turn her away with guidance of somewhere else to go. From the looks of the girls working the night I was there, I have faith there is no way they would disregard her age the way Stretch does here.
She walks off with a smile on her face, looking back to me one more time. She never actually says it, but the thank you is implied.
“Selena!”
Eyes wide, I whip my head around at the sound of my real name coming from Stretch’s mouth. His nicknames for all the girls here border on creepy and offensive, but I’ve gotten so used to being called “Salsa” I almost forgot he even knew my real name. He crooks his fingers, calling me to follow him as he turns away and heads for his office. My stomach clenches, and I physically have to push my hand against my middle to try and ease the pain. Smile through it. Just get through it.
Usually, he heads straight to the leather lazy boy in the corner, sits back, and waits. But today he rounds the corner to his desk and starts shuffling papers. This is new, I think, but nevertheless, I don’t plan on deviating from my part of the routine. Three hundred and thirteen seconds. That’s the average time I’m back here. I know this because I always count, and possibly prolonging that for even a se
cond to think about why he’s acting differently isn’t worth it. Taking a deep breath, I quickly roll my shirt over my head and kick off my pants.
“Whoa, whoa, stop.” He glances around the room, scratching at his scraggly beard before finally facing me. “That’s not why I asked you back here.”
“It’s not?”
“No, please put your clothes back on.”
With pursed lips, I follow his direction. While relieved, I’m also confused as shit. “So what did you want then?” I pull my pants back on.
“I think I’m ready to let you go.”
“Really?” I ask, fearful to let my hopefulness show. He may very well be fucking with me, taking sick pleasure in making me think I’m off the hook when really he has something far worse planned—Like us actually fucking or something. Still, before he can change his mind, I shrug my shirt back on. Just as the door creaks open.
“Just a minute!” we both shout.
“What the fuck?” a voice, booms through the room. No, no, no. This can’t be happening.
I spin and nearly make myself dizzy to face him. “Rocky?”
“What the fuck did we tell you?” He stalks passed me.
“Wait, wait! She misunderstood, she misunderstood.” Stretch jumps up from the desk, voice and body shaking. “I was just letting her go. I was just about to fire her.”
Nodding, Rocky crosses his arms over his chest, shooting a menacing glance at Stretch. “And what else?”
“And,” Stretch says slowly, looking back at me. “I wanted to apologize for the things I’ve done.”
Rocky looks satisfied by his answer, but my hope gives way to panic. “But what about Blaire’s—”
“I’ll take care of it,” Rocky says. “Let’s go.”
I right my clothes, trying in vain to hide how mortified I am about what Rocky almost walked in on, as I nod and follow behind him.
He said he knew why I worked here, but him knowing I’m working here because Stretch is paying off one of Blaire’s debts is one thing, but now—after seeing me without my shirt on—whether or not he knew before, he obviously knows now. “You can’t tell my sister,” I beg once we’re outside by the car.
The skin between his eyes crinkle. “She—”