Molly, one of my roommates, suggested I apply for a bartending job that was available at the dance club, Pulse. She worked there prior to her stint as a stripper and said the tips were pretty decent. I took her advice, and Juan, the club owner, hired me on the spot saying I was hot and would definitely bring the guys into the place.
I make really good money there and not because of the high wages, but because of the really good tips. On a busy night I can easily pull in up to five hundred dollars. I don’t think I get them for my great customer service, though. I tend to get a little lippy with the club-goers, especially if they try to manhandle me, which happens quite often. Sometimes I think some of the guys get off on the way I act; to each his own, I guess. A couple of them have even received shiners—courtesy of me—because they tried to cop a feel.
So, how do I get my tips you ask? The answer’s quite simple. I get them primarily because of the sexy uniform I have to wear. All female Pulse employees are required to wear either a skin-tight tank or t-shirt with either a mini skirt or form-fitting jeans. Both of which totally accentuate our assets—our tits and ass.
I unlock my front door and enter the quiet house. My roommates are still in bed because they both worked a late shift at Climax last night. I walk into our cutesy little shabby chic kitchen with bright yellow walls and white cabinets (which is totally not my style, I prefer a contemporary modern look) and grab a glass, filling it with cold water. Taking the glass with me to the bathroom, I dig out a bottle of ibuprofen, dump two pills in my hand, and swallow the pills with a sip of water.
Looking in the mirror, I almost scare myself to death. Yikes! I looked like this in the diner. No wonder the waitress made that face. My hair is all over the place, looking kind of like a bird’s nest, and my mascara’s smudged around my eyes, reminding me of a raccoon. God, and do I ever feel dirty. I grab a towel and lay it on the floor next to the shower, then strip my clothes off, reach into the shower to turn the faucet until the water’s hot enough, and hop in. I get my body wash and loofa and scrub last evening off of my body. I take unusually long showers, and it seems like I can’t ever get clean enough before the water turns icy cold. Today’s no exception. I turn off the cold water and step out of the shower.
I dry off and slip on the well-worn Mayhem Motorcycle Club t-shirt that’s hanging on the hook on the door. Okay, I stole it from Jack the very first night I stayed at his place. It’s so comfortable that I basically have it washed out because I wear it to bed almost every night. It’s just too bad that it doesn’t still smell like him. Snuggling down in my comfortable queen size bed, I reach over to my nightstand and set my alarm for 5:00 p.m. I have to work tonight, and I’m going to need all the beauty sleep I can get.
Chapter 2
VIP
I’m in the employee dressing room at the back of Pulse, putting on some finishing touches before heading out to the bar for my shift. My long, golden blonde hair’s down, falling just past my shoulders in big loose curls, and it looks freaking huge. The men tend to like that around here—the bigger the better. I apply my smoky black eye shadow rather heavily, which makes my brown eyes really pop, and accentuate the drama with a deep red lip-gloss. To finish it all off, I spritz a bit of coconut body spray behind my ears, between my breasts, and on both my wrists.
Tonight, I am wearing a light-wash jean mini skirt with a frayed hem and a black Pulse tank top. To make it a little sexier I have it twisted and tied in a knot in the back, exposing my midriff. And no comfy shoes at this place—I’m wearing black leather knee-high boots with a four inch heel to complete my ensemble. I do another quick inspection in the floor length mirror to make sure all my bits and bobs are properly covered, which they are, and make my way out on the floor.
As I walk out through the dark, dimly lit hallway toward the main floor, I hear my name being called from Juan’s office. I turn around and lean into the doorframe. “You want to see me?” I ask the owner of the club. He puts out his cigarette on the side of his desk and looks up at me, exhaling a plume of smoke.
“Simone just called in sick, so I need you working the VIP section tonight. I’ve got some very important clients coming in, and they need to be well looked after,” he says in his usual harsh, raspy Spanish accent. I hate VIP clients; they’re the worst. They think they own the place and can do or say whatever the hell they like. That’s where I usually dish out most of the shiners. “It’s a bachelor party, and they want some entertainment, so I’ve hired strippers for the night,” he adds.
“Can’t Martine do it?” I ask.
“No, she’s working the bar downstairs. I want you up there because you’re the best I have, and I need you to look after them.”
“I don’t know. What time are they expected?”
“Around nine,” he answers.
“You owe me for this. You know I hate the VIP section,” I inform him.
“I know you do, Payton, but it’s going to be a busy night, and like I said, Martine’s working the bar downstairs, and none of the other girls can put up with the bullshit that goes on in there like you can. I’ll make it up to you with a bonus and all the tips—you won’t have to share,” he promises me. Well, how can I say no now? I’ll be able to do a bit of shopping with the extra money. Who doesn’t like to shop? Lord knows I do. Maybe I’ll buy that new Coach bag I was eyeing earlier this week.
“Fine, but if they get out of hand, you know what’ll happen,” I warn him.
“Don’t worry. I know, Rocky. I’ll be watching all night, so if they do anything out of line, I’ll take over.” I believe him when he tells me this. One thing’s for certain: Juan Mendez makes sure the staff’s well taken care of here. He’s in his mid-forties, and he can be a mean motherfucker when it comes to protecting us girls at his club. I have faith that if anything happens tonight, he’ll have it covered.
“Okay, that works for me. Thanks Juan.” I turn and walk out of his office and meet up with some of the other staff at the main bar before the club starts getting busy for the night.
“How’d things work out for you last night? Will we be seeing more of Liam?” Shelly asks. Unbelievable, she remembers the guy’s name, and I don’t. And I slept with him.
“Fuck no. You know I have a one night only rule,” I tell them.
“Payton, honey, you’re so beautiful, smart, and funny. Why won’t you let a guy love that about you? If it was me, and I was fortunate enough to have guys falling at my feet like you do, I’d take full advantage of it and find the one,” she advises me. Here we go again. I don’t know why she keeps pushing this on me. What’s it to her if I find the one or not?
“Babe, if only it was that easy. No man wants someone like me, so just drop it,” I tell her as I turn and walk toward the stairs leading up to the VIP section, trying to get away from the girls and this conversation as quickly as possible. I hate it when they get on with that kind of bullshit. I wish it were that simple. I’d love to share my life with someone, but that’s never going to happen. I’m disgusting and tainted. I’ve learned to live with it.
I don’t need a constant man for that. I pick them up in all sorts of places. I even picked up a guy at the car dealership when I needed a loan to buy my car. He ended up giving me a little more than I needed, so I could get all the extras on my baby. Plus, he gave me the lowest interest rate and monthly payment possible. I ended up purchasing a brand spanking new Dodge Charger.
The sleek fire engine red convertible’s my most treasured possession. I fucking love my car. Every time I get into my car and start her up, I get ridiculously turned on. The purr of the engine reminds me of Jack. God, I wish things were different, and I was looking for something more, and he wasn’t who he was. To think I was falling for this sexy, badass biker, and then I discover that it was all a fucking lie. He wasn’t really a biker, just an undercover cop pretending to be one. Hell, he probably only slept with me so he could keep up the biker image and not blow his cover.
I finish getting
the prep done for the VIPs and look at the time; it’s 8:50 p.m. With a few minutes to kill, I sneak a shot for some liquid courage to face what I have to do tonight. I have to try to pretend that I like the guys staring at my body and flirt with them, even though they gross me the fuck out. Hopefully, since Juan hired strippers for the night, their focus will be on them and not me.
While I wait for the party to arrive, my thoughts stray to Jack again. Oh man, does he ever make my body catch on fire. I remember what it felt like for his hands to be on my body as he stroked over my stomach, ribs, and breasts. He squeezed them and rolled my nipples with his fingers, then he’d move those talented fingers down to my sex and swirl them around my clit. Eventually they’d find their way inside, where they worked me over, until I lost all control.
“Hey Rocky, VIPs are here,” Juan yells from behind me, interrupting my erotic daydream.
Well shit! Now I’m all hot and bothered thinking about Jack. I’ll have to take care of that in the bathroom on my fifteen-minute break. Pushing all thoughts of him out of my head, I send Lexi, the server, over to the table to get the drink orders. The group of casually dressed men look like they range in ages anywhere from their late twenties to early fifties, and they already look like they’ve been drinking for a while. Fucking fantastic!
One of the older men walks over to the bar for his drink. “Well good evening, stud,” I purr. Ugh! He’s disgusting, so obviously ogling me. “What can I service you with tonight?” I hate that stupid fucking line that Juan thinks is so funny and makes the female bartenders ask the VIP guests.
“Well, your mouth would work for a bit,” the old fart answers.
“So sad for you because tonight isn’t your lucky night.” I shoot him my trademark don’t-fuck-with-me look, but it’s lost on him because he’s currently staring at my tits. “Eyes up here, pal,” I say, snapping my fingers and then pointing to my face.
“Ahh, yeah, suuuure,” he sloppily says, his eyes red and bleary as he finally looks me in the eyes.
“What kind of drink do you want?” I ask, rudely. He gives me his order, and I quickly mix his rum and coke and give it to him so he can return to his table. Lexi walks over with the other orders, which I promptly fill, and she carries them over on a tray just as the show’s starting, and all their eyes are focused on the stage.
Brooklyn, aka Molly my roommate, is only stripping to pay her way through college. When she’s finished school and earns her Bachelor of Fine Arts degree, she plans on trading her gig as dancer in for a career in Graphic Design. I’m sure she’ll succeed because she’s not just a pretty face. She’s got brains to boot.
I watch her as she struts out onto the stage, wearing an almost non-existent hot pink, faux leather, skintight halter-top, ultra-short mini skirt with garters, fishnet stockings, and neck-breaking stiletto heels. The song “Crazy Bitch” by BuckCherry starts thrumming through the surround sound in the club, and the lights flash to match the beat of the song. She starts working the pole in the middle of the stage. Every thrust and sway of her hips effectively sets off all the men in the room.
Their eyes start bugging out of their sockets, and they start whistling and yelling out all the vile things they’d like to do to her or that she can do to them. These guys are pathetic. None of them realize that she’s a smart, beautiful woman, and not just a piece of meat. All they see is tits, ass, and va-jay-jay. Assholes!
Rolling my eyes in disgust, I wipe the bar-top down and do a quick visual inventory of the bar while waiting for my guests to be ready for another round of drinks. Noticing that we’re out of Jack Daniels, I decide to get some from the main bar downstairs. I grab a bottle from the stock room behind the main bar on the lower level and head back up to the VIP section. When I get back upstairs, I look over toward the stage and see Molly’s finished her routine. That’s when I also notice another table seated with five men. What the hell? I thought it was only supposed to be one party tonight.
“What the hell, Juan? I thought it was only supposed to be one table tonight?” I ask sounding more than a little pissed off.
“They just showed up, babe. You know me, I can’t say no to high paying customers,” Juan says.
“Yeah, yeah,” I huff at him, heading back behind the bar.
A petite auburn-haired girl, who I’ve never seen before, saunters out on stage wearing what amounts to be a white string bikini and a fish-net cover up with red knee-high leather boots as the song “Cherry Pie” by Warrant begins to play. I scan the room for Lexi, but I can’t see her anywhere. I hate to do it because I have a feeling it’s not going to end well, but I walk over to the newly seated table to take their orders anyway. I don’t know why, but as I approach the table one of the guys catches my eye as he turns away, walking toward the washrooms. All I see is his back, but there’s something there that draws me to him. Pulling my eyes away from the mysterious man, I look ahead at the remaining ones.
This group’s way different from the first group. They’re all fairly attractive and wearing what looks to be expensive tailored suits. Awesome—these guys might even be worse than the other group of guys. They look like a bunch of smug, arrogant assholes that think they can do whatever and whomever they want.
“Nice,” one guy says, scanning me from head-to-toe. Creeper. “Where can I get me some of you later?” He grabs my ass, pulling me toward him. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. I slap Handsy McHandserson’s paws away and immediately scan the room looking for Juan. Where the fuck is he?
“Don’t ever touch me, unless I ask. Got it?” I hiss.
“I know you want it, sexy,” he slurs, taking my hand in a stealth grip and pulling me onto his lap, driving his small hard-on into me. One of his hands slides up my outer thigh and under the edge of my skirt. That shit’s not going to happen. I’m getting ready to plant my other fist in his face, when I feel someone approach me from behind. Great, Juan’s finally here. He can take over. I really don’t want to chip another nail punching some asshole in the face.
“Get your fucking hands off her now … and don’t ever fucking touch her again!” I freeze as an oh-too-familiar voice resonates through the air. It’s the voice that I’ve imagined hearing day and night for over two years. It’s also the voice that I hear when I make myself come. It belongs to the only man that has ever made me come. And when I say come, I mean earth-shattering, breath-stealing, mind-numbing orgasms that’d take me hours to recover from.
I don’t feel anything when I sleep with other men, but I don’t let them know that. Since my senior year of high school, I’ve become a pretty stellar actress. Charlize Theron, eat your heart out! I can fake orgasm with the best of ‘em. I know all the right moves and sounds to make. I just moan and groan like they do in porno movies and clench and flex the muscles in my pussy, and voila, instant fake orgasm. I’m pretty sure I’ve fooled every one of the idiots I’ve slept with, but with this guy, it was all too fucking real.
He puts his hands on me and pulls me off the man’s lap. I turn around and come face-to-chest with Jack fucking De Luca. I can’t help but quickly scan him over. Holy fucking hell, he looks smoking hot! His wavy dirty blonde hair’s cut short and is styled all messy-like, and his jaw has just enough of a five o’clock shadow to make him uber sexy. I take a second to imagine him between my legs, scratching the sensitive skin on my inner thighs with his jaw. A quiet rumble comes from the back of my throat. Did I just purr? Yep, I totally fucking did. Hope he didn’t hear. His emerald green eyes are boring into mine, and his expression is unreadable, so I’m not really sure. I continue with my quick body scan.
Instead of wearing his denim and leather that I became accustomed to seeing him in when we first met, he’s also decked out in an expensive black tailored suit that fits his hard body in all the right places. Unfortunately, for me, since he’s wearing this suit, all of his sexy-ass tattoos are completely covered, but he still manages to make me wet for him.
“Conners, man, cool it. I was just playing,” the man t
hat groped me suddenly says, snapping me out of my thoughts. He must be on the job or something, considering the man just called him Conners.
“Yeah, well enough. Stay the fuck away from her!” You can hear the venom in his words, and it is hot-as-fuck. I turn and run back toward the bar. Oh God, this isn’t good. My body’s reacting to him like it did the very first time I laid eyes on him. I’m so hot right now. All that’s running through my mind is Jack and the serious fucking we can do. I feel the moisture forming between my legs, dampening my panties. I can have him here—it’s not like I haven’t ever fucked anyone on the job before.
“Payton, we need to talk,” he says, coming up behind me again. I jump and move away from the bar and out in the open. I can’t stand to be backed into a corner or against something, unable to have a way out.
“What’re you doing here?” I ask, not using his name. If he’s on the job, I don’t want to blow his cover.
“I’m working. What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks, sounding even more pissed off. This is not going to be a good night, not at all. Fuck my life.
“What’s it look like, Conners? I’m working, too,” I hiss at him.
“Don’t do this, Payton. I meant what the fuck are you doing in Del Mar? Are you living here now?” he demands.
“I don’t think that’s any of your business now, is it?” I return with my own question, walking away, making sure to put an extra bit of sway into my hips. I head over to Juan and inform him about what just happened and that I’m done with the VIP section, so he better get one of the other girls to take over. He’s not happy, but I tell him to let the customers be and finish their night. I don’t know why, but if Jack’s working undercover then I don’t want to compromise his mission.
I head downstairs to work as a server on the main floor, and the rest of the night goes by in a pretty fast blur. I manage to successfully avoid running into Jack again. I’m still stunned that I saw him tonight and wonder if Ella and Ryder know that he’s back in town. I guess not, because I’m sure Ella would’ve told me. But she might not have considering she knows how pissed off I was that he lied to me. When the bar clears out and we finish doing the nightly clean up, balance out the cash, and divide the tips for the night, I go back to the dressing room and swap out my dominatrix boots for flip flops. I’m the last one to leave through the employee entrance, so I lock the door and walk toward my baby. God, did I ever mention how much I love my car? A lot.
Sweet Ride Page 2