Dirty Deeds (Get Dirty 3)

But with Shane, I feel such a connection. And I’m no fool. Chemistry like that is rare, and if once was all I got, I’d go for it and pay the emotional price later.

So I spend the night alternating between ignoring him and glaring daggers at him.

Marco doesn’t slow down, though. He’s got drinks to get ready and customers to serve. Still, he’s not heartless. “Hey, Meghan, here’s your pitcher for table forty-five, but what’s up with you tonight? You okay?”

I huff, trying to make my voice light and bubbly but failing miserably. Still, I gotta try. “Yeah, I’m fine. You?”

Marco laughs, shaking his head. Good bartenders are half-baked shrinks, and Marco’s no different. “Nice try, sweetheart. Last night hit you harder than you thought?”

“No, it’s not that,” I reply, hoping he doesn’t push the issue. What Shane and I did in the back was probably close enough to being over the line, and as pissed as I am at Shane and his sexy bad self, I don’t want him to get in trouble. “Just one of those nights, I guess.”

“I can dig that,” Marco says with a chuckle. “We all get them. By the way, I heard you put the smackdown on Mr. Creepazoid last night. That right?”

I grin a little, showing Marco my knuckles. “Yeah, I got one good punch in before Dominick sent me home.”

Marco takes my hand and looks it over, giving a small whistle. “Sweet. Glad that Shane and Dom took care of the rest though. You mad at that?”

He looks at me questioningly, and I know that he’s giving me an evaluating question, one that might have multiple layers to it. But regardless of the legality of the beating, my reply is quick and honest. “Oh, heck no, definitely not mad at that. I appreciate their having my back. Tonight’s just a weird night.”

Before I can stop it, I glance over my shoulder at Shane, who is watching my exchange with Marco with eagle eyes, even from across the room.

Marco follows my eyes and sees Shane looking our way. “Hmm, not really my business to get involved in. But Meghan?” He waits for me to look back at him before continuing, “Don’t go barking up that tree. He might’ve saved you a couple of times, but he’s no Prince Charming. And you know the rules.”

Marco’s eyes pointedly flick up to the camera at the corner of the bar. I understand. Dominick’s always watching. You just never know when. “Best to stay in your own lane, especially around here. I wouldn’t rat you to Dom, but I’m also not going to lie to the man if he asks.”

I sigh, nodding. “I would never ask you to. Not trying to court trouble. Just . . . a weird night.”

I know I’m repeating myself, but I don’t want to take the risk of exposing what happened backstage. At least I can be assured that Dom didn’t see that. He’s never put a camera back there to give the girls some privacy. Or that’s what we’ve been told. “Okay,” Marco says, giving me a shrug. “Just be careful.”

“I will, thanks. Thanks for listening,” I reply. “Anyway, back to work.”

I grab the pitcher Marco poured for me and deliver it to table of what looks like personal trainers, who seem to be out for more work talk than to watch the performances on stage. At least, while they remark on Tina’s dance on stage, they’re peppering their comments with remarks about her ‘intercostals’ and ‘core stability’ as much as her boobies.

After another hour, I’ve managed to push Shane from my mind, too busy slinging drinks to see if his eyes are still following my every move.

At least he’s not positioned in my section anymore, the security team’s rotation putting him on the other side of the room now. Thank goodness for small favors. Besides, I’m nearing the end of my shift, and I can’t wait to go home, slam a Nytol to put me out quick, and dream of a tomorrow without a certain bad boy both frustrating and arousing me.

I come back around, checking on one of my loner tables, a single guy. He’s my age, maybe, but his eyes look wiser than my twenty-five years and his suit easily costs more than my car. He has a worldliness to him, watching the performances almost as though they are artistic displays, not tawdry fantasies of the flesh.

As I come nearer, he raises a manicured hand. “Can I get another Macallan, miss? Actually, I’m headed back for a private dance with Allie. Can you bring the bottle back, Rare Cask Single Malt?”

I nod, surprised. Allie’s very particular about her private dances, and her rates are pretty exorbitant. “Of course, sir. I’ll keep your table reserved for after?”

He dips his head, rising to stride confidently to the back, and I head back to Marco to order the bottle service. With the bottle and a fresh glass on my tray, I head back to Allie’s usual private dance room, the one closest to Dominick. It’s the best room in the back too, mirrored and with a pole, but with a luxury feel to the supple leather seating and soft lighting.