Hard Ball

by Heather Stone

  I release her hair, shoving her head forward to give myself deeper penetration. I feel her tighten around me, signaling she’s almost there too. I pump once, twice, and the third time’s the charm. We both fall heavily to the couch, sated, and I give myself a moment to come down from the high before it hits me like it always does. The emptiness that comes after yet another meaningless fuck. I pull out of her and start to clean up.

  “Where are you going?” she asks me with doe eyes.

  “Playtime’s over, you know the drill. You’ve gotta go.”

  “But I—”

  “But you what, Val?”

  A fucking nickname. What the hell is wrong with me? I see the glimmer of hope flash in her eyes. I’m going to crush her. I have to smash all of that hope. It will never happen. I don’t do relationships, let alone commitments. Might as well get it over with.

  “Tonight was the last time I call you. This is done.”

  Her head whips back as though I slapped her. “What? But you… What the hell, Reed? We’ve been together for a month!” she shouts in her high-pitched screech.

  My ears sting from the sound and I lose my patience. “Valerie, we’ve been fucking for a month. I’ve also been fucking Anna and Stacey and what’s the short, dark-haired girl’s name? Sierra? Yeah, and Sierra. So what’s your point?”

  Her eyes go round. It’s sinking in. I’m not sure who she thinks I am. I’ve been intimate with half of her friends. I turn in her direction just in time to duck to avoid a shoe being flung at my head.

  “What the fuck! You’ve lost it,” I say to her.

  As she’s pulling the dress up over her hips, her lips begin to quiver. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I can’t handle a crying girl.

  “Why? Wasn’t I good enough?”

  There’s the million-dollar question. What do I say to make this end? “Valerie, I’m sorry. I’m just not that into you.” There I said it. Dick move quoting a horrible movie, but fuck it. It worked like a charm.

  “You’re such an asshole, Reed,” she says while clumsily trying to stuff her feet into her stilettos. I’ll never understand why girls subject themselves to that torture, but hell, I won’t complain. Nothing is sexier than a nice pair of legs in a hot pair of fuck-me heels. I almost take back what I said. Almost. There are plenty more girls to be had. This is New York City.

  She rushes out the room, slamming the door behind her.

  That went well.

  As much as I love this club, the last thing I want to do is socialize with the patrons, so I take my sweet ass time getting dressed. L.E.X. is an upscale club. Only the elite and best looking in New York City are allowed entry, and with that comes a whole different set of problems. They can all afford the real party. I’ve banned the use of drugs in my club, but enforcing that rule isn’t always so easy. This clientele rarely enjoys a night without your standard line of cocaine. I despise it, and I despise them.

  It wasn’t always like that. I used to be the life of the party scene. Hell, that’s how I ended up a club owner. But things change, shit happens. One of my biggest regrets came at the hand of one line too many.

  I shake the thought from my head and ready myself to deal with the mayhem that awaits me behind these doors. My office is my sanctuary, but down there is my hell. People think I have the life they’d kill for? I’d kill for it all to go away.

  I run my hands through my dark hair, trying to tame the just fucked look. Rolling my sleeves up to my elbows, I look out to survey the scene below. One entire side of my office is one way glass, so I can always see down into the crowd. It’s a packed house. Nothing new there. The girls are dressed in their best, putting everything on display. Classy clearly isn’t a requirement at Club L.E.X. They obviously haven’t figured out that the men who frequent this place are looking for one thing only and it’s not a commitment. They wouldn’t be caught dead bringing a girl dressed like that home. Their trust funds would be on lockdown indefinitely. How do I know this? I’m the product of such a household.

  Club girls are perfect for a quick blow job or an occasional bang in the bathroom, but my mother would never meet her. Marilyn Monroe is the sidepiece, but Jackie O gets the ring. If I were ever planning on damning myself to that.

  Which I am 100% not.

  Ever.

  I’ve got to get going. I’m wanted in Napa for a business conference the rest of the week, and my flight departs at the crack of dawn tomorrow, so I need to check in with Damon and get the hell out of here.

  I see Damon at the bar chatting it up with what must be the new girl. I received a call from the girl’s sister, Leah, asking for a favor. Typically, I would have told her to fuck off, since I can’t stand Leah’s fiance, however, Leah is currently working with the DA and you never know when a returned favor may be needed.

  I look at Damon and grin. He’s his typical animated self. Women love him. Men love him. Hell, I believe my grandma would even love him. I can’t see the girl’s face, but she’s probably eating him up. Most of the new girls do. Poor girl. When she finds out he’s gay, her night will be ruined, but it will make her more productive.

  My eyes wander down her backside. It’s something to behold. Her long brown hair falls in waves around her shoulders, but it’s when she turns around that my breath literally hitches.

  That face…

  Her big blue eyes can be seen from across the room. They’re wide as she takes in the mayhem that is Club L.E.X. And her full lips are pulled up in a smirk at something Damon says behind her.

  God, she’s beautiful.

  I can’t explain my reaction. I experience insta-lust often, but this is something different. I’ve been with many beautiful women. It doesn’t make any sense. What. The. Fuck? She’s clearly a siren. I don’t have time to contemplate my body’s visceral call for her. I’m going to chalk it up to…

  Yeah, I’ve got nothing.

  I shake my head to clear the fog I appear to be in and decide to forgo checking in with Damon. I’ll send him a text. It wouldn’t be the first time. These are the moments where being the owner has its advantages. Tonight it’s allowing me to avoid the fresh meat that I absolutely have no business lusting over.

  Bailey

  I can’t remember the last time I clicked so well with someone. After only one hour, this beautiful bartender was in line to be my new BFF. Granted, he really didn’t have any competition. I haven’t been much of a social butterfly since sobriety happened. More like a lonely recluse. It’s a funny thing to be living in a place so big, yet have no one to talk to. Even with Leah being so close, we certainly aren’t friends. I can’t confide in her. She’d never agree with any of my decisions. She’d stand by me, but she’d never understand. Besides, she’s well on her way to becoming a prosecutor, and I’m just another prosecution.

  It’s bad enough she always has to loan me money and get me out of jams. Imagine finding out your kid sister is as bad as some of the people you are trying to lock up? I don’t know what would be worse: Leah finding out about my past, or my two cop parents realizing that their baby girl is a recovering addict. I really am such a prize.

  A movement to my left has me leaving that thought behind. Damon is trying his hand at juggling, but failing miserably. I can now add clearing the floor of broken bottles to my list of things to do tonight. Damon passes a gorgeous smirk my way. My lip involuntarily rises into a large goofy smile of my own. Straight, gay, doesn’t matter. The guy is undeniably some exquisite looking eye candy. I must have been standing here for minutes, just starting, when I hear Damon call out to me.

  “Hey, earth to Bailey. I know I’m hot, but can you please stop staring? And for the love of God, close your mouth. The drool is not attractive, love. We can’t be friends if you keep looking at me like that.”

  Shit, was my mouth open? Lifting my hand, I go to check for drool and Damon bursts into laughter. Great, not only am I caught gawking, but now I look like an idiot, too.

  “Um, sorry lost i
n thought. What did you say?”

  With a wave of his hand, he manages to move into work mode. “Nothing. Can you take a bottle of Goose and the usual mixers to table three?” I must still look confused because he narrows his eyes at me and lets out an audible sigh. After a shake of his head, he resumes berating me with directions. “It’s the one toward the middle of the room.”

  I start to head in that direction, but clearly I’m not going the right way because I soon hear, “No, to the left. To the left. Right next to the table with the blinds closed. See the guys?” I throw my hands up to signal that he can stop now. Geez, am I really that clueless?

  Heading toward my target, I take in the scene. My brows furrow at the thought of what they could be doing behind the seclusion of the drapes. It’s a sickness and I can’t force my eyes away. I search for a sign of debauchery. Any sign. This is what I loved: the partying, the sense of excitement, the chance of being caught. It was a rush in and of itself. The high from the drugs was just the icing.

  I feel the familiar need clawing through my veins, begging me to let it loose. God, I need a drink. Shit, no that would be bad too. My first day here and I’m already jones-ing to join the party. It never gets easier and working at a bar is going to be a constant battle. What was I thinking?

  The constant insecurity and fear of relapse crushes my soul and tears open old wounds. Doubt is something I’ve lived with my entire life with. My parents lack of presence in my life from an early age always had me second-guessing myself. Why didn’t they care enough to be there? Why were they always working? It was their constant threat of incarceration that drove me to do the bad things I did. In a sense, it was my way of trying to get them to pay attention. Good attention, bad attention, any attention at all. But I was good at hiding my secrets, and thus, they never knew, which only made my addictions worse.

  I shake off all thoughts of my parents and the drugs. I need this job. I need the money. I can do this, I have to do this.

  I weave my way through the throngs of people rhythmically moving to the beat that infiltrates the air. The club is charged, sexual energy coursing through it. You can literally smell the arousal, it’s intoxicating. This feeling is all consuming, and in a different life, I would be right there with them swaying my body, searching for that high.

  I pause just for a moment to watch a couple to my left who are locked in a sensual embrace. I stare enviously as they devour each other’s mouths. The way they’re going at each other in the middle of a crowded club is somewhat animalistic and obscene. Feeling like a voyeur, I make my way to the VIP table. As I step into the alcove, I notice four men in business suits conversing. They barely acknowledge my presence. Not even a glance up as they lift the empty bottle of vodka toward me and wave it around.

  “We need more Goose,” a handsome man slurs at me.

  That’s not any old bottle of vodka. That’s Grey Goose Magnum and it comes at a steep $800 a bottle. One of my dealer friends back in the day had an infinity for the stuff. These men are clearly wealthy. I decide to play nice to hopefully garner a nice fat tip.

  “Um, of course. Sorry I grabbed the wrong bottle of Grey Goose.” I flash my biggest smile at him only to be met with a sneer.

  “You brought us that cheap shit? Don’t you know who I am, girl? Jace Morgan doesn’t wait for anyone.” His antics draw laughter and hoots from the other men at his table. “Go fix your error and ask Damon to see if Monica is available to wait on us.” He dismisses me with a wave of his hand. “Monica knows what we like.”

  More laughter follows me out of the VIP room. He’s drunk, I remind myself while trying to hold the tears at bay. All my life I’ve only been worthy of trash and leftovers. Friends, men, hell even my own parents never had time for me. It was always about Leah and all of her accomplishments. How perfect she was. And then there was her beauty…

  I was never seen.

  The insecurity claws at my stomach. I know I’m not a super model, and I don’t expect much, but I can’t help but feel offended. That was a blast to the ego.

  I run into Monica outside of the room. “Monica, can you take over this room? They specifically asked for you.”

  She looks at the room and raises her perfectly manicured eyebrow. “Jace giving you a hard time already? He’s a big flirt, but he’s harmless. I’ll take care of him all right. Go let Damon know we’re switching rooms, but help me fill their water glasses first.” I shudder at the idea of having to go back in there, but I’ll put on my big girl panties.

  I do my best to not make eye contact with them, but they are so deep in conversation they don’t even notice I’m there. Making quick work, I place the bottle and pitcher down and then proceed to make my way around the table until their glasses are filled. When I’m finished, I get the hell out of there. I don’t need to surround myself with people who give me reasons to want to use.

  On my way back to the bar, I stifle a yawn. I’m such a lightweight these days. I check my watch. It’s not even 2:00am and I’m already exhausted. As I’m doing my best to stay awake, the patrons of the club are in full force party mode.

  The club is barely at full capacity, but you would never know from the feel of the place. It’s the crowd that makes L.E.X. so special. Word around town is the owner shuts the doors and only allows entry to the best of the best. The clientele here is a million steps above what I’m used to. Old money, new money—this place is just dripping in it, and I’m no better than the shit off their shoe. I was nicely reminded of that by the men who didn’t even have the decency to say thank you. It’s a good reminder that I’m simply the hired help.

  I throw my towel onto the bar and fling myself onto a stool. “Those guys were real pricks. Monica’s taking over for me,” I say, Damon raises an eyebrow and follows my gaze to the VIP room I came from. Turning back to me, he shrugs.

  “Jace is an ass. Welcome to the party. Either they want to fuck you or you’re so far beneath them, you’re not even worthy of their dicks.”

  Hearing his words doesn’t soothe the tension collecting in my back. Even though the rational part of my brain knows it’s nothing I did to warrant their indifference, I can’t help feeling dejected. It’s hard enough being in a new city, living a new life, but then having the demons from my past being thrust upon me on my very first day is almost too much for me to handle. I already feel so unworthy; the reminder doesn’t do anything but push me further into my misery. Working here is a horrible idea. I know I shouldn’t. I know I’m not strong enough.

  But for Leah, I’ll try.

  Turning my face away from Damon, I focus my attention on the table of assholes. I shouldn’t continue to torture myself over what a few douchebags in overpriced loafers think of me. I’ve never had a problem getting a guy. In fact, my problem is quite the opposite. I take a deep cleansing breath and resolve not to give the jackasses from table three any more of my thoughts.

  Hours later, I can barely stand. My whole body aches, every muscle wrung so tight that one missed step will bring me down. It’s after 3:30am, and thankfully the base is no longer hammering through my ears. However, as my gaze shifts around the room, I realize the music was the least of my problems. The V.I.P. tables, the bar…

  This place is a fucking mess.

  Reaching under the cabinet to grab a rag, I let out a larger groan. The sound reverberating off the walls is so loud it causes Damon to turn his whole body towards me from down the bar.

  “Damn, girl. You okay?” Our eyes meet and his eyebrow raises.

  “My whole body feels like it’s been hit by a freight train.” I stretch my arms out toward my sides and cringe for emphasis.

  “Your body will get used to it.”

  “Promise?” I say and he winks at me.

  “Yeah, I promise. You did good tonight. Now we just have to finish sorting the bottles, and the cleaning crew who comes in at five will handle the rest.” I can’t even suppress the sound coming out of my mouth. I sound like a dying animal that
just wants to be put out of my misery.

  A boisterous laugh leaves his mouth. “Need a pick me up?” he drawls out, his lip quirking up into a large grin as he reaches into his back pocket. As he pulls his hand out, my stomach begins to churn. Through the confines of his gripped fist, I can still see that there is something in his hand that he’s clutching hard. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know what he’s hiding.

  “A small bump is just what the doctor ordered for clean up time, and with boss man gone, no need to hide in the back storage room.”

  A shiver runs down my spine and I feel a wrinkle forming in between my brows. His eyes narrow.

  “That’s the second time you got weird tonight. There’s definitely a story here. So come on, Bailey, what’s your deal?”

  “I-I um…” My hand lifts to pinch my nose.

  “I might seem a bit flaky, but I’m trustworthy. I know we don’t know each other, but I’d like to change that. If you want to talk…” He trails off as he gauges my reaction.

  “It’s too late to go there right now, and there’s still way too much to clean. But maybe after?”

  He nods. “Okay, how about we clean and reconvene in thirty minutes. There’s a great diner down the street. It might be too late in the night, but it’s never too early for coffee.”

  I can feel my teeth gnaw on my lower lip as I think about how nice it would be to have a friend here. Someone to talk to. “Yeah, I’d like that.” I turn away, but before I leave the bar I look over my shoulder, catching his gaze one more time. “Thanks, Damon.” He smiles broadly, and for the first time in forever I feel good about the possibility of unloading my burdens on someone else.

  Surprisingly, the time passes at a rapid speed, but as we sit quietly at a small booth in a twenty-four hour diner, I can feel my heart leaping in my chest.

  “You okay?”

  Lifting my gaze to his, I start to rub at the back of my neck. “I guess I’m a bit nervous.”