Most of it coming from men who kept saying what a classy joint Judy Boobies was and that they wished they had the money to pay the cover charge.
“Yeah,” I answered, backing out of the parking spot.
I didn’t know what I expected. It sure as hell wasn’t for Darby to follow me into ‘Judy Bosoms’ not, might I add, Judy Boobies.
But he did.
Right on my tail.
I ignored him and walked right up to the bouncer with a smile on my face.
“Can I help you?” he asked curiously.
I nodded. “I want to talk to the manager about a job.”
He blinked. Then blinked again, raking his eyes over my body as if he found me lacking. Or maybe he expected a woman that was applying for a job as a stripper to wear less clothes? I didn’t know, but I did know that I didn’t like the look he was giving me, making me jut my chin out in annoyance.
His eyes went from me to the man at my back and back to me before shrugging and opening the door for me.
I grinned and walked inside, surprised to see that the interior was bright and airy, and much too beautiful to be on the particular block that it was on.
“Why are you following me?” I asked curiously.
Darby shrugged in answer.
I came to a stop right inside the door and took everything in.
After spending all day at the diner like I had, I hadn’t expected the grandeur of Judy Bosoms.
But what I saw was nothing less than extraordinary.
“Wow,” I said, staring in awe at the place in front of me.
Everything was made of glass.
The walls. The ceiling. The floor.
Some of it was frosted while others gave the idea of a funhouse of sorts.
It had to be the coolest place that I’d ever seen.
“It’s cool,” Darby said. “I haven’t seen it since the new owner fixed it… ahhhh, there he is. Gibson.”
I looked up to see a tall, dark and dangerous man headed our way. This man, Gibson, looked like he’d just stepped out of GQ. There was no way in hell he wouldn’t stand out in Kilgore, Texas.
“Valentine,” Gibson said, walking up and grasping Darby’s hand. “You’re looking well.”
Darby snorted. “Whatever. I like what you’ve done with the place. It looks really nice. Much classier since we were here last.”
Gibson laughed at that, his eyes turning to me and then back to Darby.
“This your girl?” he asked, offering me his hand.
“Um, that’s a big fat no,” I said, taking his proffered hand and shaking it just like my daddy taught me. “This man followed me from the parking lot.”
Gibson’s mouth twitched up at the corner into a small smirk. “Did he now?”
I was already shaking my head. “Yep. I’m here to apply for a job.”
GQ’s head tilted as if he couldn’t quite believe I’d just requested the information that I had.
“You want to work… here?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Why?” he wondered.
I fought the urge to cross my hands over my chest and instead tucked my fingers into my back pocket before answering.
“Because I need a job,” I said, not seeing a point in lying.
If I didn’t need a job, would I be applying at a strip club? No. No, I would not.
But the simple fact was, I did need a job. And I wasn’t a stuck up snob—unless there were roaches involved. I would work and do what needed to be done.
“I don’t have any openings,” he admitted. “Not as a stripper.”
“But you do have openings?” I asked.
His lips twitched. “I have an opening for a bouncer.”
I was already shaking my head.
“As much as I’d like to say I can handle that, I can’t,” I told him. “Unless you let me bring my gun…”
He snorted. “Yeah, that’s a no.”
Darby crossed his arms over his chest.
“What about the Apache?” Darby pushed.
Apache? What was the Apache?
I didn’t say that aloud, though, because GQ got thoughtful for a second.
His eyes turned to study me, assessing me from head to toe.
“You think she could handle the Apache?” he wondered, flicking his eyes toward Darby.
Darby turned his gaze to me and nodded once.
“Did you hear about that almost-bank robbery yesterday?” Darby asked.
GQ nodded.
“That was her,” he said. “With the gun.”
GQ’s brows shot up to his hairline.
“You’re shitting me,” he said.
“Nope,” Darby denied. “Not the least bit.”
“What about the incidents?” GQ asked.
I sighed.
“How about y’all start talking in actual sentences that make sense, instead of riddles,” I suggested.
GQ’s eyes turned to me with a frown.
“You’re supposed to be quiet and let me be the boss,” he said.
I shrugged.
“I’m impatient, set in my ways, and not a girl that you can push around,” I told him honestly. “I grew up in a single-parent household. All I had was my dad. He raised me in a trailer and forced me to do shit that any normal girl wouldn’t do. Trust me when I say, I’ve found it easier just to say what I want and mean what I say.”