Dirty Deeds (Get Dirty 3)

After the girls are gone, I head back inside, seeing Meghan swinging through the saloon-style doors from backstage. She looks young, even more so than usual in her sweats and oversized T-shirt. She could pass as a college freshman on any campus in the US.

She’s ‘just’ a waitress, but in my opinion—not that anyone asks me. I’m not paid to have an opinion—she’s the best-looking girl working here. She’s absolutely gorgeous when she’s done up for a shift, all poufy blonde hair, big doe eyes with fake lashes, puffy, kissable pink lips, and a sexy rack atop a tiny body. She usually favors a sort of ‘naughty innocent’ look, and there’s a reason she’s getting more tips than any other waitress.

But my favorite is her ‘after shift’ style, when she’s fresh-faced with her hair pulled up, wearing her big owlish glasses and jeans or sweats. She looks cute and sweet, and small enough I could pick her up and put her in my pocket . . . or over my shoulder. She’s almost shy, walking into the main room like she’s making sure she’s allowed to come in before committing to the movement. She sees me and smiles, walking with more confidence.

That smile feels like a secret view not many people get, like it’s a lazy morning at home with a lover look, even though it’s damn near three in the morning and we’re at a strip club. It makes me . . . Shaking my head to let that train of thought go, I call out to her. “Meg, you ready to go?”

She nods, giving me a little wave and a thumbs-up. “Yep. G’night, Marco. See you tomorrow night.”

I have the urge to stick my elbow out for her, gentleman style, but the no-touching rule extends to staff. Unless asked, don’t. And I’m the enforcer of the rules, so there’s no way in hell I’m going to let myself break them. So I clamp down on that urge and have to be satisfied with opening the door for her. Still, I do let myself take a moment to admire her pert ass as she walks through. I can’t help it.

Outside, I ask her the same generic question I asked Marco, but I hope for a better answer from Meghan. “You have a good night tonight?”

Meghan gives me a nod, adjusting her glasses and giving me a tired smile. “It was okay. Good tips, even from that one table,” she says, and we both know exactly what she’s talking about. “Thank you for that, by the way. I didn’t even have a chance to react before you swooped right in.”

I shrug, not letting Meg know that when she’s on shift, I always keep an extra eye out for her. She’s just so . . . innocent. “That’s my job. Already had my eye on that table anyway. They were giving bad vibes.”

She nods in understanding. She’s been here long enough to get those gut feelings too. “Well, I appreciate your being the bad guy so I could be the good girl.”

I tease her, knowing it’s a bad idea but unable to stop myself. “And are you a good girl?”

My voice has dropped a little, low and gravelly. Meg always makes me feel this way, like a caveman on the verge of dragging her off to have my way with her. She makes me yearn to control the situation, control her, but I have to settle for controlling myself.

She giggles, but it’s not the false one she gives guys in the club. She sounds nervous and . . . flirty, maybe? “I try to be, but sometimes, it’s hard to be good.”

There’s a hint of sex to her voice, but it feels like there’s more truth to what she said than a casual coy response. It’s maddening, the way we seem to dance around each other, half innuendos and comments that just toe the line between ‘playful banter’ and ‘outright suggestion,’ but I can’t go further. It’s too dangerous, and not because of her.

Before I can think on it too much, we reach her car and the silence of the early morning dark is broken. “Hey, honey! You ready to go?”

I’m instantly on alert, shoving Meghan behind me as I turn to see the finger sucking asshole who was putting the moves on her earlier. Considering that it’s now a good hour after the last patron was out the damn door, we’re way, way past the bounds of appropriate behavior.

He’s leaning up against the car next to hers like he’s waiting for her. While it’s against the official rules, some of the girls will do date-nights with patrons on the side, almost sugar daddy style. But Meghan isn’t the kind to do that sort of thing, and I don’t consider for a second that she told him anything but a polite version of “fuck off”.