I close my eyes in anticipation of it and I think I feel our mouths almost,almost, grazing, when I hear something. Footsteps, angry and loud and suddenly, he’s jerked back. We’ve been ripped apart and he’s been hauled away from me. By his twin brother.
What the hell? Where did he come from?
Not only him but also the girl we were just talking about, his fiancée, Isadora. And then before I can even blink and confirm that this isn’t some nightmare, the brothers start fighting and all hell breaks loose.
Part I
Chapter One
Present
I’m a Bard’s Muse.
Which is just a fancy name for waitresses at the Bardstown Strip Club. I think it’s to keep things classy and exotic. And in light of that, all the Muses are supposed to wear a short skirt and a tank top—both white—with a sparkly halo on our heads.
While the halo is non-negotiable, the management lets us be creative with the uniform. As in, short skirts can beubershort skirts. So uber that your butt cheeks could hang out if you wanted them to. Instead of a tank top, you could wear a tube top, baring your midriff and your shoulders. Or a bikini top even. And if there happens to be a little nip slip while serving your drinks, no one is going to blame you. It only helps with the tips.
“Okay, what do you think?” Lively, one of the waitresses, turns around from her locker to face me. “Too much? Too little?” Then, looking down at herself, “Or maybe even less than little?”
I’m sitting on the long bench, between the row of what used to be white lockers—now they just look discolored and even rusted in places—and putting on my lipstick before my shift. It’s a bright red shade that I think helps with my pale skin andcinnamon freckles. As in, if you’re blinded by my lipstick, you may not notice my million freckles, but who knows. I’m not an expert at makeup.
I look away from the compact mirror and focus on Lively. It’s her first day being a Muse. I met her a few months ago at one of the catering events that I do on and off along with my other regular jobs and we immediately hit it off. When she expressed her desire to pick up more work, I connected her to the manager of this place, George. But only because I had no other choice. As in, this isn’t the best job in the world. You get ogled at. You get groped. Men think they get a free pass at you just because you’re serving them drinks. But it pays well. And from the looks of it, Lively needed money. I mean, she works multiple jobs like me so it wasn’t hard to guess. It’s my worst job but it’s also my best paying job, so here she is. Plus George took one look at Lively’s long blonde tresses and light brown eyes and declared her muse material. Just as I knew he would.
And dare I say, she’s taking to it better than I ever did. Her skirt is short and frilly but not so short that you can see glimpses of her butt cheeks. Her tank top is a cami with lace work around the shoulders and spaghetti straps that curiously keep falling down her arms, baring the slopes of her breasts. It’s not the most revealing outfit I’ve seen, but I think it will work.
I nod. “This is great.”
“Yeah?” She pats her skirt, looking down at herself. “You don’t think I should show more skin?”
“Nope. Just let that strap do all the work and you could be making your next month’s rent by the end of this week.”
She beams. “Yay.” Then, getting serious, “Have I thanked you today?”
I chuckle, going back to my lipstick. “You have, and like I said before, no need to thank me for it. Because that’s what friends do.”
“Not my friends,” she mumbles.
I don’t know what her story is but I know she’s new in town and that she needs the cash. She’s pretty reserved that way, and since I have a few deep dark secrets of my own, I can relate to her desire for privacy.
Once ready, Lively leaves for the floor while I hang back to call my sister like I always do. She picks up on the first ring and says, “I’m in bed. Reading. But don’t worry, I’ll go to sleep before midnight like some kind of boring Cinderella.”
I smile at her sassy tone but still decree, “You’ll go to sleep before eleven.”
“Ugh, come on,” she whines. “This book is good. If I power through, I can finish it tonight.”
“Power through tomorrow.”
“But—”
“No, hon,” I say in a gentle tone. “You know the rules. Lights out by eleven.”
She sighs. “I hate when you get all responsible and big sister-y.”
“Iamyour big sister,” I retort.
“Yeah, but you’re the fun sister,” she reminds me. “Not this rule-following disciplinarian who’s allergic to putting even a single toe out of line.”
“Well, I’m the rule-following disciplinarian only because I’m afraid, remember?” I tell her, my fingers clutching the phone tightly. “Once I recover from the biggest scare of my life, you can go back to being all rebellious and staying up all night reading. Until then, indulge me, okay?”
