Prologue
Shane
I lean back, keeping an eye on the club from my position near the wall. On the far side of the club, Marco the bartender is mixing up a pitcher of margaritas for one of the tables while looking cool as a cucumber in his dress shirt and vest, the sleeves on his cranberry-colored shirt rolled up to just below his elbows. Seeing me, he gives a little salute with two fingers. I return it, knowing that within a few minutes, I’ll have some refreshment myself.
“Hey, Shane, you want to switch?” Nick, the guy I have working the door right now, asks. “I gotta piss.”
“Yeah, I’ll cover the door for a bit. Just hurry. I want to do a walk-around.”
“No sweat,” Nick says, heading toward the back. I take over the door, leaning back in the stance that allows me to keep an eye on the floor while still keeping the door under control.
Nick takes his time. He always does, which is one of the reasons I’m the bouncer in charge here, but I’m not upset as I see a tight, petite blond make her way toward me. “Hey, Shane,” she says, handing me a big beer mug filled with Coca Cola. “Marco said you were looking thirsty.”
“Thanks, Meghan. You doing okay?” I ask, taking a moment to appreciate the wide-eyed cuteness that is Meghan. She’s only been here about a week, but there’s something about her that draws my eyes to her again and again, and not because I’m doing my security job. “No troubles with the tables?”
“Of course not,” Meghan says, giving me that shy, sweet-girl smile that I’ve started looking forward to. “Actually, I’ve got a friend coming in later. Uhm, if a tall knockout chick comes in asking for me, you mind pointing her my way?”
“Sure enough,” I promise her, an unfamiliar smile crossing my face. I almost never smile at work, but Meghan seems to pull them out of me without even trying. “You two gonna discuss cookie baking or something?”
For a split second, I see the most beautiful shade of pink as her cheeks blush, but then she ducks her head shyly. “No, she’s just having a tough time with a guy she’s seeing and wants my advice. I think she mostly needs girl talk, you know?”
“Sure,” I lie through my teeth. “I’ll keep an eye out. Be safe out there.”
Meghan nods, sashaying away. She tosses her hair back over her shoulder, her hips hypnotizing me with each swing left and right. On her, the sexy moves seem unintentional, not a practiced performance like the other girls here. Nick comes back and I drain my Coke before patrolling the floor. It’s not really needed, but letting the customers have a silent warning helps stop about ninety percent of the shit that can happen around here before it even starts.
As I move around the floor, my eyes tick back to Meghan as she works her tables. It’s almost like I’m circling her, edging ever so closer, tempting fire and keeping the best view of her that I can. Her uniform miniskirt hugs her tight ass like it was painted on her, and as she bends down to put a pitcher of beer on a table for six, I swear she’s showing off especially for me, popping her ass out in a fantasy-come-to-life move.
Maybe it’s just me, or maybe it’s Meghan’s natural charm, but I can’t help watching every move she makes. The way she licks a thumb when she splashes something on it, the way she shows her cleavage as she moves in her uniform bustier corset . . . it’s all so damn seductive, and the contrast between the shy girl she is around me and the sex kitten she acts like while working makes me wonder which is more real.
Meghan straightens up, turning and looking over her shoulder at me, adjusting those thick-framed ‘nerdy’ glasses that push her from cute to hot as fuck. She seems surprised to find me watching, her eyebrows lifting behind the frames, but I catch her biting her lip to hide the little smirk tugging at her mouth. She’s fucking with me, she’s got to be. I have to hold back a growl as she goes over to her next customer, striking a pose beside the table as she takes their order.
I’d never let any of the fucknuts who frequent this place lay a hand on one of the girls, but I keep a special eye on Meghan. It makes some of the long shifts a bit easier, and stocks my spank bank with plenty of imaginary material . . . Meghan bent over the bar as I take her from behind. Or maybe twirling around a pole in one of the private rooms just for me. The dangerous fantasies are the ones where I picture her in my bed . . . hair a mess with flushed cheeks, wearing nothing but the smile I just put on her full lips.