by Lory Wendy
As I’m dancing with Pierce, our bodies are moving from side to side and in sync with the other, but over his shoulder, my eyes are locked with Julian’s and his are on mine. His arms are loosely thrown over the back of the booth, and he’s doing a bad job of pretending to listen to whatever the girl next to him is saying. Together we continue our dance—the four of us, Julian and I connected, while the other two are merely props in the scene we’ve created.
Something passes in the air, in our eyes, in Julian’s stare.
Pierce turns me around, switching up our positions. He’s dancing behind me, an arm low on my stomach, his breath on the back of my neck. But my grasp on the reality of what’s really going on doesn’t take away the overlapping fantasy of being in Julian’s arms instead.
Now on full display, Julian doesn’t bother hiding his stare—his perusal of my body. And try as I might, I’m not sure I pull off hiding that I’m really dancing for him.
“Be careful with him,” Pierce whispers in my ear.
I freeze.
I know what I’m doing—how I’m moving against him, and more than that, I know it has nothing to do with him.
The guilt forces my gaze to the floor. “I—”
He puts a finger under my chin, forcing me to twist around and face him. “I’m not blind.” He drops his hands to my hips to get me moving again. “And I’m not stupid either. He might be the reason you’re dancing against me like this, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re dancing against me.”
His words snap me out of my trance at the same time the song changes. There’s a corner of my mind that feels bad about the way I’m acting, but that part isn’t dominant enough to make me regret anything.
Hand in hand, Pierce and I walk back to the table. Julian’s chick is still sitting there with an indecipherable yet determined look on her face. I understand her game when she wedges her way in between me and Julian before I can sit down. I snort when he doesn’t say or do anything to check her. I guess she’ll be his “sure thing” for the night.
The guys jump into a conversation that I tune out until Julian gives Pierce an intense gaze, effectively changing the mood. “We’ve got something going on at Lotus in a couple weeks, you in?” Julian asks.
To my left, Pierce fidgets. “I haven’t figured out if I’m going or not.”
My gaze volleys back and forth between the two, trying to follow along.
“Oh, you’re going.” There’s no malice in Julian’s voice, nor is it harsh. I can’t figure it out until he continues. “You’ll also be playing. We all have a lot of money on the line.”
Finality.
That’s what comes to mind.
He’s spoken, and for whatever reason, Pierce has to listen.
“That we do.” Pierce’s words hold something else as well, though he doesn’t quite pull off intimidating the way Julian does. It wavers, as if from fear, but the undertone of challenge is undeniable. Standing up, he reaches a hand out to me, and I stare at it for a minute before I realize he wants me to take it.
“What’s going on?” I lay my hand limply in his.
“We should go.”
“But I’m not ready to go.”
“But I am.” He squeezes, not rough, but enough for me to get the point. He drove. It doesn’t really matter if I’m ready or not. My ride is leaving, which means so am I.
“Right.”
“What’s going on?” Blaire walks up with Rocky, but her smile fades into one of confusion when she sees the hard set of my lips. “What’s wrong?”
“Apparently, it’s time to go.”
“But I’m not ready to go.”
Join the club, sis. “Yeah, well.” I look over at Julian for… I don’t know, maybe for him to intervene? It’s clear that’s the last thing on his mind. He’s leaning back against the booth again, arms stretched over the back and the new girl curled into his side.
“You guys getting ready to head out?” Julian asks.
Oh, we sure as hell are now. “Yup. Have a good night.”
“We will,” he says.
The jealousy burns, churning in my gut. Julian’s arched eyebrow tells me he knows what’s up. He knows what he’s doing, and he likes that I’m pissed.
Just as quickly, my smile is back and my arm loops through Pierce’s.
If Julian likes the challenge, wants to play games, he has no idea how willing I am to play them with him.
Chapter Ten
“Selena, I need you to work tomorrow,” Chantel says, catching me while I pack up for the night.
“What?” No way. “I just worked five days in a row!”
“And now you’ll be working six days.”
“Fine. Whatever.” I bend back down to wipe a table. I almost want to argue with her, but I scale it back, something I’ve vowed to do only out of respect for Rocky.
“Be here by eight, and wear a dress.”
“Why?” I dress up for work anyway, the demand wasn’t necessary.
“Just don’t be late, or he’ll have my ass.”
“Who, Rocky?”
“I’ll let that be something you figure out on your own.”
“Cryptic,” Blaire says when I tell her about my conversation with Chantel and the reason I have to cancel our plans for the night.
“I know, right?” I slump on the edge of her bed. “Maybe we could do something next weekend?”
“No, I finally agreed to meet Rocky’s mom. How about the weekend after that?”
“I’ll probably be working.”
“Damn.”
My heart clenches. For the most part, I think I’ve done a good job of pretending nothing’s changed, but there’s been a noticeable shift these past few weeks with me and Blaire. I can’t really point to one catalyst, but it’s hard to keep up that façade when the evidence is surrounding every moment. We can barely find time to hang out anymore.
“We’ll make time.” She hugs me, but something about the hug seems off. Stiff. Forced. “It’s not like we have to go out. We live together. Let’s just plan to watch a movie here or something.”
I thought that’s what we were trying to do now: make plans.
“And…” She smiles. “I have the perfect idea of what you should wear tonight. It’s the best of both worlds. Business in the front and a party in the back.”
Where have I heard that before? It takes me a second, but I crack a sarcastic smile once it dawns on me. “So what you’re saying is you want me to wear a mullet?”
“Yes.” She rolls her eyes. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
Naturally, after spending most of the day obsessing about being on time, I’m running late by the time I need to be at work.
“Shit!” I run out the door, one shoe on and the other in my hand. My car jumps when I start it at the same time my phone starts going crazy in my purse. “Come on,” I say to the car and whoever’s calling me at the worst possible time. “I don’t have time for this. Move, fucker.”
Ten minutes later, and almost twenty minutes late, I’m doing a speed walk through the employee entrance I only use during moments like this. When I’m on time or early, I still use the front door despite what Rocky has to say about it.
“What did I say about being late?”
I jump at the sound of the voice and whirl around, screaming and swinging my purse in the air. “Hiya!” I shout, throwing my hands in the air in a faux martial arts ready move.
“Really?” Chantel stands with hard eyes and a hand on her hip, lips twitching. “Should I hire you as security tonight, Bruce Lee?”
“Funny.”
Handing me a name tag, she says, “I sure thought so. Now hurry up. They need your help upstairs.”
I hesitate. “Uh… do you know who's up there?"
“Yes, the same people who always are. And then some."
My heart starts racing. That can really only mean one thing—at least to me.
Julian's up there.
; On shaky legs, I make my way upstairs through the back way, shocked when I see Quincy blocking the door and looking downright lethal. I hesitate for only two seconds, the whole idea of him being “ruthless in the ring” bouncing to the forefront of my mind, but it quickly disappears in the excitement of seeing my new friend.
“Hey you!” I step up to give him a hug, but he shakes his head as someone walks right past me and through the door.
“You look great. Go in.” He winks and nods, face stoic.
He’s playing the bouncer or security guard role well. If I didn’t know any better, I might be afraid of him.
“You got my back?” I ask, teasing.
“Always.”
Through the doors, I’m greeted with yet another different scene than when I was last up here weeks ago.
The guys are in suits smoking cigars; the ladies in short cocktail dresses, some with their hair slicked back. There’s an extra section of the room open, a partition I hadn’t realized was there.
Everyone is dressed to perfection—decked out, looking in their own right fabulous and glamorous. This time there is someone behind the once isolated bar. A girl I don’t recognize in sequin shorts and a tuxedo top is walking around with a tray in hand taking orders. The whole scene transports me into what I always imagined an old-school supper club would look like.
Terrence, our bar-back and sometimes bartender, waves me over with a wide smile. I love the few nights I get to work with him downstairs. Personal conversations have always stayed at a minimum, but what I know about him is enough. He’s a nice, married guy, who's polite and never hits on anyone. When guys get weird, I point and tell them he’s my protective older brother—something I get away with since we look alike. From a distance. If you’re drunk and squinting.
“Hey, do you have any idea what all this is about?” I ask, leaning over the bar. “It all seems so… elaborate.”
“Have you ever heard of the expression ‘don’t ask, don’t tell?’”
“Yeah.”
“With this crowd, that’s always been my motto.”
Nodding, I tap the top of the bar. “Got it. So what do you need me to do?”
“Can you just bring this tray over there?” He points to the middle of the room at a couple of guys sitting on the couch.
“Sure!” I turn, only to still when right behind them, in my direct line of sight, I see Julian in the corner of the room standing and talking to Pierce.
Julian looks calm, as usual, taking slow, calculated sips of his drink. Meanwhile, Pierce looks the complete opposite. His shoulders are stiff. There’s a prominent vein on the side of his neck, and every few seconds, he rocks forward like he’s ready to attack. Two girls, who I can’t decipher whether or not are bystanders or dates, stare on at the duo with barely veiled arousal. Basically, the girls are eye-fucking them and while I want to gouge their eyes out, I’m not all that sure if the attention is unwanted, either.
I edge closer to them, hoping to “accidentally” overhear their conversation. All I pick up is some old guy asking one of the girls if she’ll sit for him once the game starts.
Whatever that means.
With as sweet a smile as I can muster, I walk over to the guys on the couch, focusing on averting my attention away from Julian. I say nothing to them as I set the tray on the table, but the sound of it hitting the table draws their attention to me. Julian and Pierce’s conversation ends abruptly.
Pierce storms past me, making a beeline for the door.
“Great seeing you too,” I mumble to myself.
“Hey, beautiful,” Julian says, openly appraising me.
I do the same, and the black on black suit he’s wearing makes me more than thankful I decided to tuck myself into this dress. It’s a second skin, also black and has an open back. It’s the dress Blaire almost wore the day of my party. Julian and I kind of match, not just because of the color but also the style of our outfits.
I like it.
The sound of two snaps breaks the intense gaze we have going on. When I see Julian flip his wrist, the two girls stomp off. Dismissed.
Gross.
“What are you drinking?” I ask, barely hiding my disgust. It’s always one step forward, ten steps back with him. Super sweet or kind of sleazy, no in between.
“Same thing I always drink.”
“I'll let your waitress know.” I walk off.
“You know…” I hear his voice behind me. If possible, it's even lower and deeper than usual. It stops my attempt at a dramatic exit. “The nasty attitude doesn't suit you. Neither does the jealousy."
I spin to face him. “Excuse you?"
He nods. “I saw the look you shot me and then those girls. Jealousy… it’s not a good look for you.”
“Jealous? Pfft. Don't flatter yourself."
“Oh, don't worry, sweetheart, I'm not.” He lifts one side of his mouth in a slow smile. "You getting all bent out of shape is flattery enough."
“For the record”—I fan my hands over the front of my body—“there was absolutely nothing for me to be jealous of."
The other side of his mouth lifts up, causing his face to split into a wide smile. "Now who's flattering themselves?"
I inhale through my nose, clearly not having a retort.
Julian: 1. Selena: 0.
"I need to get back to work.”
He nods but grabs my hand to pull me back. “For the record, you're right. There’s nothing to be jealous of."
“Good to know.” I attempt to walk away, again, this time with a huge smile on my face.
“Selena?”
Jesus. What now?
I turn slowly at Julian’s voice calling out to me. He’s making his way to the table now where an interesting cast of characters are already sitting.
One guy, sitting in the corner, sticks out to me the most. Wearing dark shades and a hoodie, with his hands tented on the table, he’s focused, silent. He’s not hard, not tough at all, but bless his heart, he’s really trying to seem the part.
Some look on excited while others do a good job of schooling their expressions. One guy in particular looks mean as hell—not Julian mean either, just… ruthless, like he's had a hard life. Or better yet, like he stepped off the pages of a mug shot.
My eyes flash to the older guy who’d been asking the girl to “sit” for him earlier. Sure enough, she’s standing behind him. Almost at attention? I lock eyes with Julian, and I think I get it. He gives me a slow nod as he takes a seat a few chairs down from the older guy but near the dealer.
“Come stand by me,” he commands.
From the varying reactions from around the table—annoyance off the girl standing behind the old guy, wonderment on a few others, and an almost unnoticeable pause from the guy shuffling the cards—it’s clear that Julian just asked something big of me. And even though I’ve really started to get used to our back and forth, I’m not stupid enough to deny him in front of all these people.
Not that I would want to anyway.
I take a deep breath and make my way over to him, hell-bent on hiding any nerves. Don’t let them see you sweat. That’s an unspoken rule of survival, right?
Head held high, smile in place, and eyes focused on everyone around me, I round the table and, taking a cue from two other girls, I lay my hand on his left shoulder.
Chapter Eleven
At times during the game, Julian holds the cards up higher as if to show me what he’s working with. It’s foreign to me. The only cards I operate have bright numbers and specific instructions to draw four.
With the ace being high, kings marrying queens, and jacks being wild, it all goes over my head.
I can’t understand what’s going down during the game and other than at the beginning when Julian winked at me and told me to watch and stack his chips, he hasn’t spoken to me again.
Right now, Julian and only one other guy are still seated. There are chips piled in the middle of the table, not counting the ones the other
guy has in front of him, and everyone’s eyes are bouncing back in forth between the two. In Julian’s hand, he has five cards—three queens, a ten, and a two. I have no idea if that’s good or bad. Still, I can hear my heart beating and taste the thickness in the air clouded with tension and anticipation.
Julian lays his cards first, and when the guy follows, lowering a queen, along with a king, jack, ten, and nine, a hiss comes from somewhere in the room.
“What’s that mean?” I whisper. No one answers me.
The guy in the middle—the dealer—says something I can’t hear, and Julian stands up, reaching across the table to shake the other player’s hand. It’s when everyone else clamors to shake his hand as well, and a big guy comes to stand next to him that I realize the game’s over and the other guy must have won.
A few people nod at Julian, but it’s so quick I doubt anyone else bothered to catch it but me.
“What are your plans for the rest of the night?” To my right, Julian speaks so low I’m not sure who he’s talking to—until he says, “Come home with me.”
His eyes look glazed under thick eyebrows that keep twitching and his smile is teasing. He’s drunk.
“Thanks for the offer.” I lean into him and smooth down his collar. “But you couldn’t handle me.”
“Baby, I bet I can handle anything you throw my way.”
“You wish.”
“You bet I do. I wish for it every single day.”
I shake my head and take a step back. “Get home safe.”
Licking his lips, he tilts his head to the side and slides both hands into his pockets. “You too.”
“Right.” I nod, swallowing hard, and look around the somewhat messy room. I’m upstairs for only a few minutes more, making sure things are settled before I head to the main floor.
Escorted by Terrence, we make our way toward my car, me hobbling a little at the pain in my pinky toe.
“You're all set, right?” he asks.
“Yeah, thanks. Goodnight!"