Infidelity: Incentive (Kindle Worlds)

by Pam Godwin

  Text copyright ©2017 by the Author.

  This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Romig Works, LLC. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Infidelity remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Romig Works, LLC, or their affiliates or licensors.

  For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds

  INCENTIVE

  An Infidelity World Novel

  By Pam Godwin

  pamgodwinauthor@gmail.com

  DEDICATION

  Thank you, Aleatha Romig, for inviting me into your Infidelity World.

  Your brilliant writing and amazing friendship means the world to me.

  It’s the friends we meet along the way that make this crazy journey so much fun.

  CONTENTS

  DEDICATION

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  ABOUT PAM GODWIN

  OTHER BOOKS BY PAM GODWIN

  CHAPTER 1

  DECKER

  “You look worse for wear tonight, man. I know how you feel.”

  The comment sets my teeth on edge. This guy—I think his name is Evan—perches on the other side of the bar in his fancy suit and presumes to know me? He knows fuck all about how I feel. He’s just one of the countless patrons who shuffles into a musky bar, hoping their local mixologist will talk them off an emotional ledge. I might be a lot of things, but I’m neither a therapist nor a friend.

  I blink and relax my jaw. Christ, I need to chill out. With a deep breath, I wipe down the workspace behind the bar and attempt to be civil. “Just tired.”

  Evan’s a nice guy, perhaps a little too chatty, but he tips like a high-roller. I’m certain he bats for the home team, yet in the few months he’s been coming here, he’s never hit on me.

  “Want another?” I lift my chin in the direction of his empty glass.

  He pulls up something on his phone and considers his answer with a furrowed brow.

  For a Saturday night, the bar is quieter than it should be. I’ve worked here since it opened six months ago. Long enough to know that fifty-percent occupancy isn’t going to pay the premium rent. I’m beginning to wonder if Blue Dixie has what it takes to survive Manhattan’s booming bar scene. More and more buildings are being converted into craft breweries and artsy hipster bars, while Blue Dixie clings to a charming antebellum ambiance that belongs in the South.

  This place can burn to the ground for all I care. Except I need this job. I have too many friends struggling to find work, bussing tables, collecting trash, something, anything in this pathetic job market. I can’t stomach the thought of being unemployed. Again.

  “I’ll have one more.” Evan slides the empty glass toward me and rests his forearms on the wooden ledge. “Beats going home to a lonely apartment, you know?”

  I do know, but if that was an invitation to go home with him, he’s eying the wrong guy.

  His dark stubble is thicker than usual, the creases around his eyes deeper. Given his exorbitant tips and high-dollar suits, he’s rolling in money. Maybe he spends it all on liquor and drugs, because at the end of the day, the size of the bank account doesn’t matter. Life shits on everyone.

  An old bearded man two stools down stares into his full pint, seemingly lost in his own woes.

  I turn to refill Evan’s top-shelf whiskey and collide with Shelby’s bony body. She reaches up to touch my chest, and I jerk back with a growl. The owner of Blue Dixie struggles with simple concepts like business ethics and personal space.

  “What do you need, Shelby?” I pour Evan’s single malt with a scowl in my voice.

  “Need to see you in my office.” She crowds closer, brushing her hips against mine.

  Frizzy bleached hair, wrinkles bracketing her mouth, and underweight in all the wrong areas, she’s not my type. In her late thirties, she’s ten years my senior. She’s also an easy lay—another major point against her.

  “I have customers.” I pivot away, slide Evan his drink, and move down the bar toward the pretty brunette who just settled in. “What can I get you, gorgeous?”

  “Um…” Her gaze travels down my chest, lashes fluttering and cheeks deliciously flushed. “How about something…” Biting down on a nervous smile, she returns to my face. “Hard?”

  My dick twitches. Oh, I’ll give her hard. If she hangs around till the end of my shift, I’ll chase her sweet ass right into her bed and fuck the shyness out of her.

  “Decker.” Shelby’s voice scrapes against my senses. “My office. Now.” She waves at the waitress working the tables on the far side of the dark room. “Tracy, can you cover Decker for a few minutes?”

  “In five,” Tracy calls back and returns to her table.

  “Five minutes.” Shelby drags an acrylic fingernail down my back. “Don’t make me wait.”

  She sashays toward the rear of the building in a spectacle of black leather, bird legs, and knobby hips.

  God only knows what petty bullshit she’s contrived this time to get me alone. Every stubborn bone in my body vibrates to leave her waiting all night. But my rent is two months late. If I lose this job, I’m as good as homeless.

  I prepare one of my custom cocktails for the pretty brunette, going easy on the Cuban rum and Everclear. I want her sober when she’s riding my cock tonight.

  “If you’re looking for something harder…” I set the wine goblet in front of her. “I’m off the clock at midnight.”

  I leave her with a startled squeak in her throat and move to the other end of the bar to check on Evan and the quiet bearded guy. Both are nursing their drinks.

  “Mind if I ask you a question?” Evan props a fist beneath his chin, studying me with sharp eyes.

  “You just did.” I focus on filling the drink orders Tracy sent through the system.

  “How about a personal question?”

  “First Amendment protects your freedom to ask, as well as my freedom to tell you to fuck off.”

  A smile cracks his face, his dark eyes glittering with interest. “Fuck, if I weren’t already committed—”

  “I’d still be a straight guy.” I move the cocktails to a tray and slide it across the bar to Tracy.

  “Thanks.” She blows me a kiss. “I’ll be back in a couple minutes to cover for you.” She tosses her black hair and saunters off, swaying her curvy hips.

  I tapped that ass a few times, but I lost interest when the chase turned into her chasing me.

  “Why are you working here?” Evan sips his whiskey.

  “Why are you drinking here?”

  “You won’t like my answer.” A vulnerable smile.

  I concentrate on mixing drinks, keeping the aggravation out of my tone. “Didn’t you just say you were committed?”

  I’d rather have a root canal than continue this conversation, but he needs to make his play so I can reject him and move on.

  “Committed… Technically, yes.” He rubs his whiskered
jaw. “I come here for the view.”

  His gaze sweeps over me so quickly I almost miss it. Almost.

  “Right.” I grip the edge of the counter and lean toward him. “Let me make this clear—”

  “You have the wrong idea, man. Just hear me out.” He reclines against the back of the stool and drums his fingers on the armrest. “You could make so much more money than measly tips in a bar.”

  I let out a humorless laugh. I already did the whole chase-my-dreams thing. Sank every penny and second of my life into it. Ten years of blood and sweat left me bankrupt, betrayed, and sick to my soul.

  “I’m serious. Look at them.” Evan tilts his chin at the tables of women across the room. “They can’t keep their eyes off you. And the meek little mouse at the end of the bar? I’m pretty sure she soaked her panties the instant you looked at her. Not to mention the lady boner your boss is sporting beneath her skirt. Every woman in this place is breathlessly aware of you.”

  I don’t like where he’s going with this. “If you’re suggesting that I whore myself…” My blood heats. “I’m fucking offended.”

  Two stools down, the old man lifts his head, narrows beady eyes, and returns to his full pint.

  “You’re an idiot if you don’t know how ridiculously good-looking you are.” Evan openly and leisurely peruses me from head to groin. “You could model.”

  “Vanity’s a neurotic disorder.” I already have enough personality problems.

  Why does he care anyway? I’m not used to this weird role reversal. Usually, the guy bellying up to the bar is asking me for advice, not giving it.

  I move to the computer screen and print out his check. It’s time for Evan to go.

  “How about stripping?” He smirks.

  If he knew what I used to do for a living, he’d swallow his fucking tongue.

  I slap the bill on the counter in front of him. “Have a good night.”

  Moving to the other end of the bar, I focus on the brunette. “How’s the drink?”

  With a timid smile, she nods stiffly, wrestling to maintain eye contact. Women like her, all delicate bones and bashful glances, tend to be hellcats in bed. My dick pulses at the thought of defiling her long and laboriously.

  “Hurry back, Decker.” Tracy slides in behind me and covertly caresses my ass. “I have tables waiting.”

  I knock her hand away. That’s the problem with boning women I have to see again. Once I let them touch, they never stop.

  On my way to the back room, I wink at a table of gawking women. They blush and sigh, and their giggling whispers follow me down the hall. Maybe I should strip. Can’t seem to stop myself from flirting with uncharted territory. I love the hunt, but once I catch them and fuck them, I’m done. I blame it on the male sex drive and the primal need to spread my seed.

  When I reach the office, I lean against the door frame and rest my fingers in the back pockets of my jeans. “What’s up?”

  “Close the door.” Shelby glides around the desk, her expression a bit too eager for comfort.

  “Close it yourself.” I give her a bored look.

  “While your orneriness is unacceptable out on the floor…” She sidles up to me and reaches back to shut the door. “I’d love to rile up your temper between the sheets.”

  I cringe at her proximity. She smells like all my drunken regrets. Good thing I’ve never been drunk enough to add her to that list.

  “Not interested.” I brace an arm against the door above her head, preventing her from closing it. “What do you need?”

  Her bottom lip pouts out. “Don’t play hard to get, Decker.”

  I don’t have the energy for this. As I turn to walk out, she cups me between the legs and purrs.

  My muscles tense, and before I can stop myself, I grab her neck and slam her against the office wall.

  “Touch me again,” I seethe past clenched teeth, “and I’ll file a sexual harassment charge.”

  “Do it.” She claws at my hand around her throat, her eyes glistening with fear. “The camera in the ceiling will back up my assault charge against you.”

  Goddammit. I release her and glare at the lens in the upper corner of the room. “What the fuck do you want?”

  She rubs the fingerprint marks on her neck. “You fuck every woman I hire.” Her shoulders curl forward, and she shoves them back. “I’ve been more than patient. It’s my turn.”

  Jesus fucking Christ, she’s clueless. But I spare her the hurtful words and give her the full force of my glare.

  She stands taller. “I’ll make it good for you.”

  I shake my head, repulsed. “You’re standing at the starting line, holding on to an abstract notion. Call it gratification, victory, whatever—that’s the finish line. What you don’t see is the race, the intensity in the pursuit, the competition. And the male ego’s huge fucking hard-on when he wins the prize.”

  Her face contorts. “I see everything, dammit. I’ve spent six months watching you chase every woman but me!”

  She’s been throwing herself at me since the day she hired me. She doesn’t get it, and at this point, she never will. Cruelty is the only way she’ll leave me the fuck alone.

  “Give me a raise.” I flick my gaze up and down her anorexic body. “Put on some weight, lose ten years, show some fucking dignity, and I might consider a hand job.”

  Her breath catches, and she stabs a blood-red fingernail at the open door. “Get out!”

  “Gladly.” I stride toward the hall.

  “Don’t come back.” Tears thicken her voice. “You’re fired, asshole.”

  I stop just outside the office, ears ringing and insides exploding.

  Fired?

  She fucking fired me. Now would be a good time to seduce her. I could do it with a flick of my tongue. One kiss and she’d melt against me. Followed by her mouth around my cock, my job reinstated with a pay raise, and probably the night off. In her bed.

  I shudder. That would be a new low, even for me.

  My breath quickens. Rent’s overdue. Electricity’s already shut off. Forget the astronomical attorney fees I’ll never catch up on. What about food? Do I have enough tip money to eat for a couple days?

  I’m so fucked.

  Fury and dread coalesces into a vicious tyrant beneath my skin. My arm swings out, and my fist collides with the hollow door, splintering the wood, shooting pain up my arm, and leaving a satisfying hole.

  “That’ll come out of your wages,” she shrieks.

  “Fuck you.” I storm down the hall, hands shaking and pulse hammering.

  Grabbing my leather jacket from the break room, I slow my gait through the maze of high-top tables and target the brunette at the bar. A younger man sits beside her with an arm around the back of her seat. Perfect distraction for my rage. I shrug on my jacket and prowl toward them.

  The thing about the chase is I don’t care if it’s quick or slow, as long as there’s an effort. A conquest. A victorious win. Fuck participation trophies. I want the gold fucking medal.

  I step behind her and swivel the stool to position her toward me and away from the man tickling her hair with his mustache.

  Keeping my hands on the armrests, I lean in and touch her with only my voice. “I’m in a mood, gorgeous. The kind of mood that guarantees hours of hard…focused…pleasure.” I breathe each word at her ear, low and full of heat. “You can try your luck with the mustache or you can follow me out.”

  “That man just assaulted me,” Shelby screeches across the bar. “Get the hell out, Decker, or I’m calling the cops.”

  I step back, and the brunette clutches the front of her blouse, lips parted, breaths shallow, and eyes dazed.

  I could convince her to follow me with just a few more words, but something inside me pulls back. I can’t be gentle tonight, and this woman is sweet and delicate. She deserves better.

  Without taking her eyes off me, she blindly reaches for her purse and shifts toward the edge of the seat, trembling with uncertai
nty yet gravitating. Toward me. She’s a breath away from surrender, and I’m tempted. So fucking tempted.

  “Another night, sweetheart.” I brush a thumb across her bottom lip and head toward the front door.

  In my periphery, Evan throws a wad of bills on the counter and chases after me. A chase I’m not interested in.

  I don’t slow as I hit the sidewalk and stride toward the subway, my exhales steaming in the chilly air.

  “Decker!” His footfalls close in behind me. “Wait up.”

  “Get lost, Evan.” I pick up my pace, eyes forward and hands shoved in the pockets of my jacket.

  “I have a proposition.” He catches up and darts into my path.

  Like I need another proposition. I veer around him, and he moves with me, his expression hard with determination. We do a blisterfeld dance on the crowded crosswalk, shuffling side to side in my attempt to pass him.

  Exasperated, I shove him away and charge toward the subway tunnel a block ahead.

  A dark unheated apartment waits for me in Greenwich Village. No electricity or food, but I still have a bed. Might as well enjoy it, since I’ll have to evacuate the place as soon as tomorrow.

  My stomach tumbles. What the hell am I going to do? Without family or friends to take me in, I’m back where I started a year ago.

  Rock.

  Fucking.

  Bottom.

  With time, I’ll find another shit job, but not before I’m evicted and back on the street without a pot to piss in. Thanks to a string of misfortune and a few poor life choices, I’m the quintessence of an Eminem song. Maybe my worthless mother was right. She’d love to see me move all my belongings into the pit of never-gonna-amount-to-anything and make a home there.

  “Decker,” Evan calls after me. “I can get you an interview.”

  That halts my feet.

  “An interview for what?” I turn and find him standing several feet away, hands anchored on his hips.

  “Have you eaten tonight?” He points at the narrow cross street that cuts through to Ninth Avenue. “There’s an Italian place. A little dive in a basement. Kind of rough around the edges, but they make the best gnocchi.”