Restless Night (Insomniac Duet 1)

MICAH

Present…

Music blaresin my ears and vibrates my bones as I walk through Roar.

Hot, sweaty bodies rub against each other in time with the music. Hands grope and lips tease and hips grind. Alcohol drains from glasses faster than refills can keep up. And clothes get looser. As do inhibitions.

I weave through the crowd, brush arms with several women, and toss out my flirtatious smile. Some smile in return. Others reach out and graze an arm or my chest. And I let them. It comes with the territory when you manage a night club. Can’t work in a place like Roar without being groped or hit on at least once a night.

I love and hate the attention in equal measure.

Love it because I have easy access to women. Love it because most of the women that come to Roar are hot as fuck. I have a different woman between the sheets each week. None complain when we go separate ways. And none beg for another round. They know the hookup is a one-time deal. No names, no numbers exchanged. Just sex.

Which is part of the reason I hate it. Hate my official manwhore status. A badge I wear often because of my cheating ex, Rochelle.

I hate that I let her tear me down. That she still holds power over my thoughts and life. That her actions still sway my decisions.

After walking in on her, I should be free. Free of her and the bullshit. Small things I didn’t notice until after she was caught in the act. I had been her pawn. A middleman in her game to get an even younger guy. Cougar isn’t an appropriate term for Rochelle. More like super cougar. Jaguar. Maybe she likes it when he calls her mommy.

A shiver rolls up my spine and I shake away all thoughts of Rochelle. I may be down to try new shit in the bedroom, but that isn’t one of them.

“Hey, man,” I shout as I approach Dan, one of the bouncers. “All good?”

Dan, a man twice my muscle mass, gives a thumbs-up. “Yeah, boss. Busy tonight.” He scans the crowd with a straight, serious face. All business once he punches his time card, Dan is one of our best bouncers.

Outside of work, Dan is all smiles and laughter. But I appreciate his professionalism inside the Roar walls. Never know what someone will do after too much alcohol.

I pat his shoulder. “Let me know if you need anything.” He nods and I move on.

Several times a night, I weave through the club. Check on each staff member. Make sure everything is on the up-and-up. And I always end each round at the bar. Where Peyton pours drinks like a bartender from Cocktail.

Peyton Alexander. The bane of my existence. Pure, undiluted, sexy-as-sin torture.

She glides around her end of the bar. Flirts with males and females alike. Bats her lashes and pushes up her breasts to enhance her cleavage. Licks her lips and leans in close.

I fucking hate her. Hate that she flirts with every goddamn person who sets foot in Roar. Every person but me.

Most of all, I hate that this eats at my psyche. Keeps me up at night while I fist my cock between the sheets.

I step behind the bar—where I hang when not doing rounds on the floor or managerial tasks in the office—and unleash my undesirable jealousy.

“Peyton,” I shout. And I know she hears me because her spine straightens. Her fingers coil, then flatten out.

She glares past Adam, another bartender, and curls her lip a beat. “Yeah, boss,” she shouts back, voice saccharine.

“Quit fucking flirting and pour drinks,” I bark out. Adam cringes beside me as he pours a beer from the tap.

Peyton lifts her middle finger to her forehead and mock salutes me. “You got it, Micky.”

“Bitch,” I mutter.

She turns her back to me and goes back to flirting. Goddamnit.

Like every other night I work with Peyton, I regret the day I hired her. But one of the owners interviewed and loved her before I had a say in the matter. So now, I grit my teeth, make her life miserable, and trudge forward.

Peyton actually tends the bar better than the other employees. People gravitate toward her each night. Loiter at her end of the bar and wait patiently. Buy more drinks when she tosses them a bright smile and flirts without care. And her tips are proof the crowd loves her. She earns double, if not triple, what the others do in tips.

Her only downfall… she seems to hate me to the pits of hell. The I want to gouge out your eyes kind of hate. And I have no idea why.

Unable to witness her endless flirting any longer, I exit the bar and distract myself with another round. Engage in idle chitchat with the staff and patrons.

On the dance floor, I pass a curvaceous blonde. Her golden locks remind me of a certain feisty bartender across the room. So, I step closer and do a little flirting of my own. One song fades into another as she grinds her ass against my dick and wraps her hands around the back of my head to keep me close.

I’m not going anywhere.

Ani and Sean, the club owners, don’t mind if the staff join the scene. In fact, they encourage it so long as the partying doesn’t interfere with business. Drinks are acceptable, but we don’t go past tipsy. Grinding patrons on the dance floor is fair game, but we don’t make anyone uncomfortable or assume it will go further. If it does go further, it happens outside these walls.

So, I dance with the woman who grabs and rubs me like she would fuck me in the middle of the room. I kiss down her neck and fist her hips. When the song transitions into the next, I step back. She spins and pouts and it is adorable as fuck.

I bring my lips to her ear. “Gotta work, sorry. Stick around till close?” She nods. “Wait for me. We can have fun after.” I back away and she smiles.