The bartender materializes in front of me. He’s dishy and bushy…well, his eyebrows are. I should give him the number of Roberta, the girl that waxes my entire body. She can do miracles with a pair of tweezers.
“Hello.” It’s incredible how, with a single drawled word of greeting, he lets me know all his filthy thoughts. It’s an art that he masters very well, but alas, I’m here to help Gabe with the drug case and the butt kicking.
“Hey. What would you recommend for a thirsty bloke with a propensity for fun?” I flirt right back because bartenders and wait staff are the ears and the eyes of an establishment like this. They know more than they think, and they let it slip out when they’re not happy with their working conditions, which they never are. Serving pompous pricks is tough.
“That depends. Is it your first non-member event?”
“Am I that obvious?” I flutter my eyelashes at him.
“No. But you’rethathard to forget.” He wiggles the furry brows, which now look oddly like two hairy caterpillars trying hard to get to a finish line.
I put a flattered expression on my face, and my amazing lips do the rest.
“Someone told me I should try the champagne.” He gives me a long, scrutinizing look, and then turns to grab one of the already filled flutes from behind him. He slides a card under the glass bottom as he places it in front of me. “When you’re done here, give me a call.” I tip the long flute to him and slip the card withhis number inside my bag as I take a small sip. The bubbles hit my tongue first, followed by the slightly bitter, fruity taste. This champagne has a strange aftertaste though, almost metallic.
“I will.” I smile flirtatiously at him. “How long have you been working here?”
“Since it opened,” is his short reply.
“You must like it.”
“It’s just a job.” Caterpillar Brows doesn’t reveal much.
“It’s quite a place.” I look around.
“Wait till you see the shade rooms,” he cryptically tells me, making it sound alluring.
“Shade rooms?”
“Go to the ruby one, you’ll definitely enjoy it.” Before I can ask him more, he adds, “You won’t have to wait much longer. One of the members will secure you soon enough.” Then he leaves to serve another customer.
Secure me? What am I, an apartment?
My eyes fall on Gabe again. He has a wench hanging from his stiff arm while talking to some Mr. Hot Shot in a fancy suit. The bloke looks high-class and sly, with an air of command surrounding him. Tall, bald, and tattooed, he must be someone important and good at faking it since he’s smiling at Gabe.
Gabe, with his acquired taste and propensity for offending people all too easily with his cold stare and flat tone.
His smoky eyes suddenly lock with mine. That deep, haughty gaze feels like he’s looking too far inside me.
I always thought gray was a blah color, an unhappy, dull union of black and white. That is until I saw it in his eyes, those bottomless, inscrutable pools, the color of smoke flying over a dormant city. Always alert of their surroundings. Never revealing any of his thoughts.
They have the power to freeze my lungs and pump my heart full of blood. It’s more than a subtle, I-loathe-you, high-level attraction that overwhelms me every time I see him. I don’t like him much, but I don’t have to, to fuck someone. I must admit, though, that I’m not generally picky—the caterpillar-browed bartender would do as well.
I’m suddenly hit by a strange feeling, like an ominous clusterfuck is pending over my head.
I down my glass, trying to shoo it away, when a fifty-something-old bloke slides his elbow onto the counter, obscuring my view of the room.
“Good evenin’, can I interest you in a drink?” His Southern accent is charming, as is his one-million-dollar smile and rugged appearance. A cowboy, interesting.
“Good evening back.” I dip my words in honey and slightly pucker my lips.
He signals to the bartender without taking his eyes off me, but Caterpillar Brows is too busy on the other side of the counter.
The cowboy sniffs, but doesn’t lose his relaxed smile. “Would you like to try a fifty-five-year-old whiskey? I have some in the carmine room.”
The whiskey is probably as aged as he is. If I was into much older men, I’d be intrigued. He looks pretty hot. Although I’mnot picky, I’m not an anything-goes buffet either. Still, he can be my ticket to see what’s going on behind the slick curtains of this sex club, and I can put him to sleep with two punches and a kick.
I open my mouth to answer when a familiar rich, woodsy cologne envelops me from behind. Perfectly manicured, strong fingers land on the counter near my hand, and for the first time, I feel Gabe’s firm chest push slightly against my back. A light shiver runs down my spine and the hair on my nape stands.
