“You’re a pain the arse.”
“I know, and you’re fucking boring. You’re thirty-two, not seventy-five.”
“Thanks for the maths lesson,” I seethe. I don’t need my irresponsible little brother criticizing me on my life choices—especially when his own could do with some work.
We stare at each other. A smirk plays on Zack’s lips. He’s got a plan; I will him to disappear.
“Go on your own, you don’t need me any other day of the week.” I zip up my suitcase and place it on the stand out of the way.
“Come on, Harry. Mum wanted us to spend sometime together. She thinks it’ll be good for me,” he pouts.
I narrow my eyes at him, irritated that he’s using her words against me.
“One drink.”
“One drink,” he confirms, but it’s anything but sincere. I regret my decision instantly.
* * *
“Have you got to wear that farmer’s jacket?” Zack asks as we descend to the first floor.
“It’s not a fucking farmer jacket. It’s Armani.”
“It’s shit, is what it is.”
I shake my head and follow behind him.
It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust from the bright artificial light out in the hotel reception to the darkened atmosphere inside the Little Black Dress Bar. The slow beats of the music filter through me as the scent of expensive perfume mixed with equally pricey liquor hits me. There are booths and tables littered around, and customers who are dressed up to the nines, sipping on fancy drinks, enjoying their time in the city of sin.
“Oh, fuck, yes! That’s what I’m talking about.” Zack says ahead of me. It clearly meets his approval.
I take one step to follow him towards the bar when something—or someone—crashes into my side. I turn and reach out, but it’s too late. She goes tumbling to the ground, followed by her tray. Glass shatters on the almost mirrored tiled floor beneath us, and scatters in every direction.
“Fuck, are you okay? I ask, bending down and lifting the tray from her stomach.
“Yeah, I—” her words are cut off when she looks up at me. Fuck, she’s beautiful, and her eyes are mesmerising. They’re so light blue, they’re almost silver.
Our eyes stay connected as I reach out to help her up.
“Oh, shit. Don’t move,” another of the waitresses says when she comes rushing over with a dustpan and brush.
The waitress I’m still staring at goes to step forward once she’s on her feet, but changes her mind at the last minute when she sees some glass beneath her foot. She stumbles once again. I steady her with my hands on her tiny waist and her breasts gently brush my chest. I suck in a sharp breath at the contact, and my pulse starts racing. She slowly lifts her head and it feels like I’m slapped around the face once again when her eyes land on mine. My hands tremble with need as I continue holding her to me.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers and looks away, her cheeks flushing red.
“At least get a drink down your neck before you start molesting the waitresses,” Zack says, but his eyes remain glued to the arse of the one bent down, sweeping up the mess left behind.
Hearing another voice drags my waitress’ attention away from wherever she’d drifted off to, and she instantly jumps away from me as if she’d been burned. She drops to the floor and starts picking up the larger shards of glass.
“You don’t need to help,” she says when she notices I’ve lowered myself down beside her.
* * *
After walking to the bar and waiting a few minutes, I watch as my waitress walks over and heads in our direction.
“What can I get for you both?” she asks, her voice quiet as she keeps her eyes on the polished bar between us.
Unfortunately for her, Zack sees her vulnerability immediately. He looks her up and down, and a small smirk appears on his face.
“A blowjob would sort me right out,” he says with a wink.
Her chin drops and her face flushes bright red as she stares at him. I take the opportunity to look over her properly. Her golden blonde hair is pulled back into a smooth ponytail. Her make up is perfect, red lips emphasising her flawless milky skin. I continue down her long, slim neck and take in each and every curve covered by a tight little black dress.
“Don’t be a dick,” I mutter, although what I really want to do is punch him.
“What? It’s a cocktail bar; you do blowjobs, right?” he asks, turning back to the girl.
I focus my stare on the colourful bottles lined up behind the bar as embarrassment flows through me. One look at the shy, sexy waitress, and as soon as Zack mentions something slightly sexual my brain is straight in the gutter.
“Uh…yeah,” she says as she fiddles with her necklace nervously.
“We’ll have two then, please.”
“Actually, I’ll just have a sparkling water.”
“I’m sorry, please ignore my brother. He’s going through somewhat of a dry spell; it makes him a little cranky,” he says to the waitress. Her blush extends down her neck. “A fucking sparkling water?” he asks, turning to me.
I don’t return his attention. I’m too enthralled by the shy waitress in front of me. She seems horrified by Zack. It’s understandable; he’s a prick—but I’d have thought a cocktail waitress would be used to his kind of idiocy.
“I’m sorry about him. I’ll have a gin and tonic, and whatever you’re having,” I offer in apology.
“Oh…no, we can’t…”
“She’ll have a manhattan,” the other waitress calls as she saunters over.
“No, really…I shouldn’t.”
“Be wild, Sum. Max isn’t here,” she encourages.
“You’ll have one with us, won’t you?” Zack asks the other waitress, shamelessly staring at her tits once again.
“I’ll have a screaming orgasm,” she says with a wink. “Scarlett.” He takes her offered hand and kisses her knuckles like the gentleman he most definitely isn’t. “And this is Summer,” she adds.
“I’m Zack, and this pussy here is my brother, Harrison.”
They walk off to sort out the drinks, and Zack turns to me. “See, I told you this was a good idea. They’re fucking smoking. And that shy one,” he says, biting down on his knuckle just to prove his point. “What I could do with that…”
The thought of Zack putting his hands on someone so pure and beautiful sends a wave of disgust through me. I grit my teeth to stop me from saying anything.
“I’m sorry. It’s best to just ignore him,” I say when Summer returns with a tray of our drinks. Her hand trembles as she places the glass in front of me.
“Hey,” Zack complains, but soon gets distracted by his blowjob.
I’m reluctant to leave when Zack announces he wants to go and try his luck on the slots, but I finish my drink and follow him out, knowing I can’t just sit here and watch her all night.
The look on her face as she watched me leave haunts me all the way back up to the suite. Zack tried to convince me to join him, but I think he realised he’d pushed his luck with getting me into that bar. Although, I have to admit, I’m glad he did.
I’ve had a semi since having my hands on her, so as I stand under the torrent of the waterfall shower in my en suite, I’m not surprised when my hand wraps around my cock and slowly works it up and down as I think about how her little waist felt beneath my hands. In only a few minutes I feel my balls start to draw up as the tingles of my impending orgasm erupt. I cum on to the tiles below with the image of her beautiful face in my head.
I’m still frustrated as fuck as I lie in bed with the sheets draped over my waist. I tell myself that it’s the jet lag. It’s only early evening in London; on most days, I’d still have hours of work ahead of me. I wouldn’t even consider attempting to fall asleep. But I know that’s not the reason for my sudden bolt of insomnia.
It’s her.
Summer.
The manhattan cocktail waitress with the incredibl
e eyes and the flushed pink cheeks.
Fuck if the thought of her shy, innocent face doesn’t make my cock stir back to life. I’ve always had a thing for the quiet ones. I love being able to bring them out of themselves and see what’s hiding behind their façade. My balls ache with the need of another release, but my hand’s not going to cut it.
I’d been coping okay with my recent lack of female attention, but one look at her and my balls are bluer than I can ever remember them being. I’m lying here like a teenage fucking boy dying for my first touch of a girl.
I sit up with a growl, the frustration getting the better of me. I don’t put any thought into my actions as I begin pulling the suit back on that I’d only just hung back into the wardrobe. If I allow myself to think, I’ll realise this isn’t the right thing to do. My head knows I shouldn’t be going back down there for her. She isn’t the kind to accept a proposition of one hot night, I’d put everything I own on that. But that doesn’t seem to matter; my cock is in charge of my actions right now, not my head.
Running some wax through my hair, I quickly wash my hands before leaving the safety of our suite.
As the lift doors slowly close so I can head towards where she is, my heart starts to pound. I’m not sure why I’m so worried about this not being her kind of thing, because it’s not like it’s mine. I’ve never propositioned a woman before in my life, and until recently, I didn’t think I’d ever have to.
I watch as the numbers descend and my palms start to sweat at the thought of having my hands on her again, of being able to look into those eyes while I make her moan my name.
Fuck. I reach down and rub myself through the fabric of my trousers.
I can see her as vividly as if she were in front of me, and as the lift dings to say I’ve arrived, my heart jumps into my throat as adrenaline races through me.
I keep my eyes down as the doors open, focusing on where I’m going. A shadow appears at the entrance to the lift and my mouth goes dry as I decide it’s her. That she knew I was coming for her.
That’s all shot to shit when I do look up and find none other than a very amused looking Zack staring back at me with his hands in his pockets. The smirk on his face tells me he knows exactly what I’m doing out of our suite. I panic as I stumble back to allow him to join me.
“Going somewhere nice, big bro?” he slurs slightly.
“Yeah…uh…I was coming to find you, actually.”
“Aw, were you coming to tell me it’s past my bedtime, Daddy?” he laughs. “And here I was thinking you were heading to find that sexy little waitress you couldn’t keep your eyes off.”
I narrow my eyes at him, hoping he’s drunk enough that he won’t remember this in the morning, but I don’t think I’m gonna be that lucky.
“I didn’t think you cared that much, Harry. It’s sweet, really,” he says, staggering from the lift and bouncing off the walls towards our suite.
I let out a sigh as I unlock the door and push him towards his room.
Clearly, I wasn’t destined for a wild night of hot sex.
Summer
I’ve been working in LBD for a few months now, and every shift I receive some kind of proposition from a guy. Every time, it turns my stomach. I’m not cut out for this kind of job. I’m not a natural flirt like most of the other girls. I can’t turn it on and off when needed to ensure my tips keep coming.
I came here with one goal in mind: earn as much money as possible. Ireland insisted the tips and the unsociable hours meant I’d save enough in no time. Unfortunately, she was unaware of my inability to flirt these rich guys out of their hard earned cash.
This guy is different, though.
The moment I looked into his dark eyes as he stared down on me, it was like the wind had been knocked out of me. I’ve never experienced that electric moment when you meet someone for the first time that you read about in books and see in films, but there it was.
The other girls seemed to perk up, too, but they were probably just seeing dollar signs, as it had been a quiet night. I saw them giving their hair a shake and adjusting their boobs, readying themselves for action as I returned to the bar after cleaning up the mess I’d made.
I’ve overheard some of the other girls conspiring between themselves about how to use me to earn more tips. They send me over first, knowing all I’ll do is get them drinks. Maybe they think it’ll make them all seem more interesting when they eventually head over and start flirting their asses off. None of the girls see me as a threat to their pay packets at the end of the night. Nor do they worry that I’m going to head off into the sunset with the eligible rich bachelor some of them are desperate for.
* * *
I can barely put one foot in front of the other when Ireland and I head towards our lockers after our shift.
“Breakfast?” she asks as we make our way out of the hotel. Her heels click against the polished floor making me wonder how she keeps them on. The first thing I do after a shift is change into my sneakers, closely followed by an energy drink or two. My body wasn’t designed to go without sleep; it’s a constant battle to stay awake.
“I’m gonna head straight home.”
“Summer, you’ve got to eat.”
“Yeah, I will. I’ve got some noodles in the cupboard.”
“That’s not food,” she snaps, her eyes narrowed in my direction. “Look, I get it. I know you’re saving every penny you can, but there are certain things you can’t scrimp on—food being one of them.
“Alright, fine. I’ll just have toast or something.”
“You will not.”
I squint as we head out into the early morning heat. The little black dress I’ve been wearing for the past twelve hours sticks to my clammy skin. A shower and bed is what I need, but I can’t refuse Ireland’s offer.
“Mornin’ ladies,” Clive sings as we walk into his diner, only a few blocks from our duplex.
I can’t help the groan that bubbles up my throat when the salty bacon and sugary syrup hit my tongue.
“Oh, so good,” Ireland groans around a mouthful of pancakes.
“Uh huh.”
“What’s this about you walking into some British guy and smashing a tray full of glasses at his feet?” I groan at her question, forgetting she was in the VIP room at the time. “Apparently he was pretty taken by you.”
I think back to the man in question, and another shiver runs through me as I think about his dark eyes and full lips. He’s not even here and he affects me.
“I doubt it,” I mumble around a mouthful of food. I’m not interested in discussing his obvious interest, because I’ll probably never see him again. Plus, I have no desire to date—or anything of that nature—which Ireland is fully aware of. I’m here for the job and the money, and that’s it. Definitely not a British guy with eyes I could lose myself in. A guy who’s just a few years too old for me.
“Summer,” she snaps. “You’re killing yourself at the club. Would it do any harm to enjoy yourself at the same time?”
“I am enjoying myself. I love living with you, and Vegas is…nice.”
“That’s not the kind of enjoying yourself I mean.” I know exactly what she meant. I’m just not interested. “He was just your type—”
“How do you know my type?” I’m not even aware that I have a type, let alone that he’s it.
Ireland shrugs. “He’s just the kind of guy I always pictured you with. Older, smart, polite, drinks gin and tonic…British.”
I shake my head at her as I try to contain my smile because, damn it, she’s right. Images of his perfect nose and strong cheekbones filter into my mind, but I bat them away. I won’t see him again.
The second we’ve paid, we’re out of there and heading for our beds. I’ve been pulling twelve hour shifts since one of the new girls bailed a couple of weeks ago. I know it’ll be worth it in the long run, but damn, I’m exhausted.
Leaving Ireland faffing about with her purse, I head straight for the bath
room, kicking off my sneakers and unzipping my dress as I go. I need sleep too badly to be wasting time.
The water’s scorching hot and burns my skin, but the temperature is a welcome relief to my tight muscles.
I pull my hair down and make quick work of washing it and myself before turning the water off. Wrapping a towel around myself and scooping up my discarded clothes, I head for my bedroom. I just about manage the effort of dropping the towel and pulling on a vest and panties before I fall face first onto my bed. The cool sheets feel incredible against my heated skin. I briefly think about my shift, but I regret it when I fall asleep with his face on my mind.
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