Lev (Shot Callers 1)

Whining Mina was back. “I still don’t understand why I need to know this stuff.”

Then Nas said the magic words. “I guarantee your tips will triple.”

Well, that caught my attention. I listened intently.

She began. “Rule one: Lean in. Close the gap. You’re going to want to get close to the men you’re flirting with. Smile and give them your undivided attention. Don’t forget to make eye contact.” She leaned over the table and, smiling shyly, batted her lashes, touching my arm. “Slight touches are okay, just make it look like you couldn’t hear their order over the music. If they compliment you, lower your lashes and smile shyly. Men love the innocent types.”

That seemed straightforward. “Okay. That doesn’t sound too hard to remember.”

“Never—and I mean never—give your name on the first drink. It’ll keep them coming back for more and they’ll order again and again just to have a minute of your attention.” She went on, “I’d advise you to start calling yourself Gypsy from now on, sort of like a stage name. It has men thinking you’re all wild and free-spirited and shit.” I rolled my eyes and she scolded me. “Hey, these men are helping pay your wages.”

Oh, she didn’t need to tell me. I knew it, and I was beyond appreciative, but it kind of seemed like we were treating these men like they were stupid.

“If a guy gives you a solid tip, thank him, fold up the money, and put it in your bra right in front of him. It’s like putting on a little show for him. If he’s feeling generous and leaves a ridiculous tip, lean over the bar, grab his shirtfront into a tight fist, pull him close, and kiss his cheek real slow. Men go bananas for that crap.” I wasn’t sure I’d ever do that, but it was good to know. I listened intently as she explained the art of flirting. “Words of caution though: Don’t offer anything you’re not willing to give. You give them an inch, and they’ll take a mile. Don’t ever kiss a patron on the lips. He’ll take it as an invitation and possibly get grabby.” Her brows rose. “It won’t end well.”

I nodded. Yeah, I could see that ending badly.

Nas finished up just as our meals arrived. “And that concludes our lessons for the day.” She grinned, watching me eye my fettuccini Alfredo with avocado hungrily. “Eat up.”

I ate with gusto, and she chuckled as I moaned throughout my meal. When we were done, I groaned and clutched my belly. “Oh, God, I’m so full.” Then I laughed. “I never thought I’d hear myself say that.”

She smiled, jerking her chin toward me. “You’re looking a lot better.”

I rubbed my belly proudly. “Already gained four pounds this week.” Her lips pursed as if she were impressed. “Eighteen more to go to get to my regular weight.”

Her fond smile warmed me. “We’ll get there, Mina.”

She said it as if we were a team. As if she would see me through. Like we were more than associates. Like we were friends.

It rippled like a bang right in the center of my chest. I valued friendship, especially as I hadn’t had it in such a long time. I realized I was no longer alone, and no one would ever understand how humbling a feeling that was. Most would take it for granted.

I never would. From the bottom of my heart, I vowed it.

Saturday arrived and, aware I would be attending to eight rowdy men, I dressed accordingly.

I wore my tight blue jeans, a white gypsy blouse that showed a tiny amount of my belly flesh, and strappy, white, leather flat sandals. The blouse was thin cotton, long-sleeved, and decorated in navy blue embroider flowers. Nas had given me a headband she had bought but had never worn that she informed me was boho chic.

I didn’t know what boho chic was, but Nas swore it would finish my gypsy look.

The headband went across the center of my forehead and over the crown of my skull, was made of a thin silver chain, had another strand of chain trailing down the middle of my part, holding it up, and had small coins attached to the sides by my brows. The coins jangled lightly, and it was a little distracting, but when I looked at myself in the mirror, it didn’t look as ridiculous as I thought it might.

Nas instructed me to apply three coats of mascara to lengthen my long lashes and finish off with the bright red lipstick she’d given me.

It took a lot of correcting to get the lipstick right, and I felt the need to run my tongue over my teeth a bit. The thought of smiling brightly with red-stained teeth was downright mortifying. I checked my teeth ten times before I made my way downstairs, coat in hand.