Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 64617 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64617 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Getting tips had never been a problem for me. I was a pretty girl, and I used it to my advantage like any other good bartender would do. I’d been working at Danté’s club on and off ever since he opened the place six years ago, but I’d decided it’d be best to keep it off my résumé.
Too many questions would arise that I didn’t want to answer.
First and foremost, how I got paid.
I grabbed a bottled water from the fridge and locked up my apartment. Nodding to the Little Man who was playing with his firetrucks outside his door in our hallway, while his mom tended to her “guests” inside, waiting for it to be over.
“You watch my place, alright? Make sure no one tries to break in,” I told him, smirking.
“I got you, Camila,” Curtis replied with the swagger of a man, when he was only nine-years-old.
I hid back a laugh.
He hit on me like always, babbling, “I got some new hotrods in my house if you want to check them out when you get back.” Already acting like he was grown.
“Curtis! How many times do I have to tell you? I’ll be an old lady by the time you’re my age.”
“So … you ain’t an old lady now.”
“And you’re only nine.”
“Age is just a number.”
I laughed, rustling up his dreads as I made my way down the stairs.
“Be good, Little Man! Use the key to my place if you need it!”
“Thanks, Camila! Go make that money, baby!”
“Curtis!”
“Yeah, whatever,” he grumbled, making me chuckle again.
As soon as I stepped out in front of my complex, I ignored the hooting and hollering and the intense stares of the men standing outside. Ogling me like I was theirs to gawk at.
I bit my tongue, wanting to give them a piece of my mind, but ultimately, I chose to keep my mouth shut. In the long run, it would only get me in trouble, and the last thing I needed was for Sean to find out about it and be the reason for bloodshed.
For them.
It didn’t take long for me to get to the club, walking in at the exact moment the beat was going off. The D.J. was dropping loud and fast, causing heads and bodies to shake every which way all around me. Making my hips sway to the Reggaetón music as I shuffled through the mass of people who were there to have a damn good time.
Knowing Danté would provide exactly that.
“Camila!” he shouted, lifting the hinged section of the counter up so I could walk behind the bar. “Ah, shit! I see you, mamita! Take it down! Hands on your knees! Show me what’cha workin’ wit’!”
And I did.
Dropping it low to the ground in front of him, only to slowly roll my hips back up to grind right against him.
“There’s my girl,” he whispered into my ear, rocking his hips to the same rhythm as mine.
It was harmless fun. Danté was my oldest and dearest friend, and he also went to bat for the same team, not that it mattered to me. Men flocked to him like bees to honey. He was thin but built, had flawless cocoa skin, and a pretty boy face with his big honey-colored eyes that had lashes for days.
Always wearing the new fashion in clothes, shoes, accessories. He reminded me a lot of Lafayette in True Blood, looked a lot like him as well.
I was proud as hell of him for the success of his club. It may have been in the shitty part of town, but this was always the place to be on any given night.
“I knew you couldn’t stay away,” he teased, turning me toward the bar to get to work.
And once again, I did.
Loving every second of the tunes blaring from the speakers, and the energy of the crowd losing their minds.
“I’ll take a Corona!”
“A rum and Coke!”
“I’m getting married this weekend! Woooohoooo! I’ll take a round of shots for my girls and me!”
“Patron on ice!”
I listened to every order coming in from my section of the bar, nodding and making eye contact so they’d know I heard them, and they wouldn’t try to order from someone else.
Round after round, I laid out drink orders in front of my customers. Never stopping to rest for even a second during my shift, taking orders as swiftly as my body moved to the sound of the music. Finding my steady pace.
I was Danté’s girl for a reason, being the best bartender this place had ever seen won me that title.
Minutes turned into hours, and right when I thought I’d made it through a night at the club without seeing the man who claimed I was his queen, I felt him before I saw him.
Gazing straight up through the crowd of people, our eyes locked as if he could feel me too. There Sean was, all six-feet-four inches of him, wearing baggy jeans that hung off his waist with a black button-down shirt that I just knew was concealing his Glock. The one of many he didn’t have a license for. Sean was always packing, and I wasn’t just referring to the gun tucked in the back of his jeans.