Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
I did try one on once, but it had to stretch so far around me the glittery printing on the front was so freakishly pulled out of proportion it was barely recognizable. All the fucking chicks that worked here were like a size 2, except me, and most of them treated me like something they just trod in and needed to wipe off their six-inch fake Louboutins.
I’m sure if Jesse wasn’t my brother's best friend, I would never have gotten a job in a place like this.
I fished in my bag for my phone, and unlocked the screen to check my messages only to find a text from Jenette, one of the dancers. She'd been working the back room tonight, which is a shitty job among shitty jobs, but one that pays better than dancing out front for tips.
Jenette: Gotta go. Not sure where you are, but I'm leaving. This dude's offering a fucking grand if I show him and his friends a good time tonight :-) Can't turn that down! You’re gonna have to find someplace to crash besides my couch!
Jenette and I weren’t exactly friends, but she was one of the less bitchy employees at Diamond Rocks. She loved her gummies and an occasional blunt but unlike a lot of the other girls, was relatively sober, and when she found out I'd been kicked out of my apartment she'd offered a lumpy sofa and a warm blanket.
And a shower. With hot water, no less.
See, I wasn’t too great at paying my bills. Most of my spare time was spent with my friends Grey Goose and White Claw. It wasn’t a combination that made for a super successful financial portfolio.
After Kent got hit by a drunk driver, there was a year or more that I barely remember. Wandering around drunk, staying with friends. Sometimes waking up in someone’s house and having no idea how I got there.
Jesse was away back then on a tour that ended in his squad being wiped out in an ambush, and Jesse’s knee being shattered by a bullet. He could have taken a desk job, but that wouldn’t have been Jesse.
Besides, he saved the life of his youngest squad mate, the only other survivor from his unit. The guy’s dad was so grateful, he gave Jesse the only thing he owned – a failing strip club named Diamond Rocks.
When Jesse healed up and we re-connected finally, I was a true and honest mess. I was one step away from losing myself completely, and suddenly there he was, offering to let me stay with him. Well, I say offering, but really it was more like a demand.
It took all my strength, but I refused.
I told him I had a place of my own, that I was doing fine without him. He didn't accept that, though he didn't force me to move into his place. Instead, he gave me a job at the club, and that was a score. Money and booze. So there I was, the fat bartender at a skinny-ass strip club.
I think it made him feel better to at least keep an eye on me.
Jesse had bought other businesses since, but Diamond Rocks was his first, and I guessed it had sentimental value because he'd never let it go.
Now, I was stuck. No ride, no place to stay. And if Jesse found out, I had no doubt he would insist on taking me back to his place. That might sound like the dream on paper, but truth is I'd be this close to the only man I'd ever wanted, and the whole time I'd know he saw me as nothing more than an obligation.
So, I hatched a brilliant plan.
I would just stay here, in the back room, until they cleaned up and closed. Then I could grab a drink from the bar, maybe a couple of bags of salted peanuts for dinner, and head to Jesse's office for the night.
The office was really nice, and it had a big, clean sofa. Better than the one at Jenette's place. Plus, his wasn't crusty. I’ll just leave that there.
See, for a guy that owned a strip club, Jesse sure didn’t let himself get down in the dirt with the staff. In fact, from what I saw working there, and everything Jenette had told me, Jesse never once sampled his own wares. Not even a hand job.
No one. Never.
And he could. All he would have to do is tip his head and call out a name, and they would come running. They would have done whatever he wanted, for as long as he wanted. He could have had his dick in every hole that place had going. And if he wasn't interested in strippers with tiny waists, wide hips and big fake tits, what chance did a girl like me have?