Though, I am sure God isn’t listening. I haven’t been to church since the Sunday after my confirmation in tenth grade. This man’s olive toned skin, jet black hair, and expressive green eyes catch my attention immediately. It’s so not normal to have a hot flash at eighteen, but here I am, sweating like a whore in church.
“Can I get the groom up front?” I ask once I walk them back to their table. My knees almost give out in sheer relief when it’s not my mystery man coming forward, but I catch myself.
“I’m Destiny, I’ll be your hostess for the evening and Ginger will be your waitress. Diamond is first up with an exciting performance for you. Thanks for joining us and please don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything else,” I say directing that solely to the not-the-groom hottie. His eyebrow shoots up and he smirks at me.
As I move away from the table, a hand grabs my wrist. A huge, callused hand that causes me to shiver.
“Can I help you, sir?” I ask, my eyes popping up to meet his. The man who commands my body without me even knowing his name.
“What’s your real name, Lolita?” His voice washes over me and I close my eyes. My pussy clenches and soaks my panties. Just at the sound of his gruff, masculine voice.
“Autumn,” I say after I boldly lean closer to him and whisper in his ear. In doing so, I get to inhale a big whiff of his cologne. He smells like cedar and a spice I can’t identify. All man though.
“Pretty name for a beautiful girl,” he says finally releasing my wrist. For the first time ever, I want a man’s hands on me. Not just any man, this man. I can feel my blush rising just being near him.
I move away from their table as Ginger comes over and starts her spiel. I try to focus on my job, but every time I look over at him, he’s staring at me and not at the dancers. Interesting.
Those girls are gorgeous, so I am not sure why he is staring at me, but I feel naked every single time his eyes slowly roam over my body. Now that I am looking over there, the groom isn’t watching the show either. He’s looking down at his phone and smiling. With a smile like that, I’d bet anything that he’s talking to his fiancée. In the month that I’ve been working here, I can already tell who is gonna make it awhile. Richey Santucci not so much. Anthony Diaz, very much so.
Less than a half hour later, after taking the cover charges from a group of already drunk college guys, Clyde comes over to the hostess stand, looking me over.
“Have you gotten the stick out of your ass yet, princess? Richey is demanding that you dance for him. I’ve stalled him for as long as I can. You should know by now that you don’t refuse that kind of man. Get your skinny ass in that private room now.”
I am about to do it, though I definitely don’t want to, when he puts his hands on my bicep, squeezing them. I wince in pain. This sets off a chain reaction that shocks me to my core.
My mystery man comes barreling up from nowhere and rips me from Clyde’s hands.
“Keep your hands to yourself, asshole,” he says through clenched teeth. In his arms, I feel safe. Safety isn’t something I’ve ever felt in abundance, so I bask in it like any abnormal girl would.
“Who the fuck are you? Why don’t you mind your own business?”
“I’m Alberto Diaz, Junior, and this girl is my business.”
Alberto Diaz. Why does that sound so freaking familiar and so freaking hot?
“I apologize, Mr. Diaz. She didn’t tell me she was yours.”
“She shouldn’t have to. You shouldn’t touch what’s not yours,”
“Of course, you’re right, sir. Again, I apologize.”
“She doesn’t work here anymore, got it?”
“Of course. Of course,” he says practically bowing and backing away. Huh? I have never seen Clyde act like such a pussy.
“Wait, what?” I ask. “I need this job.”
“Not anymore, Lolita.”
“You don’t understand,” I say loosening myself from his grip and turning to face him.
“I own this club, Lo. You don’t work here anymore.”
“You own this club?” I sputter. What have I done to piss him off enough to fire me?
“It’s a family business,” he says shrugging.
“Be that as it may, I really do need this job,” I reply, trying to reason with him.
“I’ll take care of you,” he says, stroking his index finger down my cheek, which I lean into. I wonder just exactly what I’ve gotten myself into.
“If it was just me, I might take you up on your offer, but I have three babies depending on me.” I watch his features darken and finger drop from my face.