“Nemy-girl,” Clancy shouts from the end of the bar. I turn to look at him, and he flashes a big toothy grin. Oh brother. That means he wants another drink. Just cola, though. He never drinks at work, but the man owns the damn place, so why he can’t get up and walk behind the bar is beyond me. I stroll down to him, pick up his glass, take two steps back and grab the gun. Fizzy goodness dispels into the glass, and when I’m done, I place it in front of him and head back to my paying customers. Okay, so he pays me, too. I’ve worked for him for a year now. He claims I’m the best bartender he’s ever had. I think he’s full of shit and roll my eyes every time he says it, which makes him laugh. He has a nice laugh.
“You’re right, Clancy, she does have a nice ass,” says Scott, the club’s manager, as he leans into Clancy to peer down behind the bar.
I turn around and raise my right brow while placing hands on hips. “The two of you are just now noticing this?”
Clancy howls with laughter and slaps his hand on the bar. Then he pushes Scott back to his seat. “Mine,” he says so soft that I almost don’t catch it because the music is so freakin’ loud, but there was that slight pause in the midst of the song that allowed the word to travel to my ears. His? Are you kidding me? He’s out of his damn mind. I’m half tempted to moon them both, but then that would defeat the purpose of working behind the bar where I get to keep my clothes on. The look on Clancy’s face tells me that he knows my thoughts and is disappointed that I don’t do it. My fingers slip into the ice bin as I walk by and I quickly toss the piece over my shoulder. I hear a faint clink and a splash before Clancy laughs again.
“Damn, Nemy-girl,” he shouts. “Was that just a one-time thing, or what?”
He’s the only one who calls me Nemy-girl. It’s part of my nickname, but most people just call me Nemy; short for Nemesis. I hate my real name. I got the name because I was born on Friday the 13th and because I’m a fighter. I’m certain there was a full moon that night, too, which would explain my need to shed my human skin and go full mega-bitch on people at times.
I turn and lean against the bar, and then give him a nod upward, silently asking, “What of it?”
He smiles, and it weakens my knees. It’s a good thing I’m leaning against the bar.
“Can you do it again? I bet you can’t.” Clancy makes all men look bad on every level … so far. Not quite perfect, but damn close. He shouldn’t even exist. In fact, I frequently remind myself men like him don’t exist outside of my imagination. He’s tipping my theories on men completely over the edge of the scale. The man is drop-dead gorgeous with that typical long black hair, light green eyes and chiseled face with a cute dimple in his chin. He looks like the damn cover of a romance novel. I hate those covers.
My lips curve up and I push away from the bar with all the strength I can muster. “What’s the bet?”
“If you miss, you strip for me,” he says, that wicked grin of his stretching across that handsome face. This is always the first thing he offers in our bets. I never take it.
“I told you I only strip in the bedroom, Clancy,” I say. “Not gonna happen.”
“Someday you’re gonna say yes.”
“Bet’cha I won’t,” I reply. His eyes have gone purely, deliciously evil at this point, and damn it if that isn’t a weakness for me because my legs are about to go Jell-O. “Well?” I say, trying to hide my distraction of the visual of that man with his hands all over me, because those eyes are already there, and they have been for a while.
He concedes and bows his head. “Okay, if you can hit my glass again, I’ll give you a raise.”
I let out a short laugh because by now I’m making twelve bucks an hour due to these lovely little bets of his. Most bartenders make much less. “How much?”
His brow rises. “Another dollar?”
“And if I miss?” I ask.
His eyes scan the bar, and then move out to the rest of the club. They return to me and have taken on the evil glint once more. Oh, God help me. “Take charge of the girls.”
“Fuck you, no bet,” I shout and toss another piece of ice at him, a small one, which hits him right in the center of his forehead.
He jumps from his seat. “Fuck, Nemy-girl, you could’ve hit me in the eye!”
I cross my arms over my chest and lean against the bar once more. “I wasn’t aiming for your eyes.”
Clancy just stands there at the opening that lets me back here, like he’s gonna come after me, and the glare slides off his face in seconds and is replaced by that sinister grin of his. My eyes glance at the top of the bar to gauge the damage I may cause if I hop up and slide over it. It’s Sunday night and the place is dead. I wasn’t supposed to work tonight, but Chris needed the night off for something. And of course, Clancy’s here. He’s always here. If he’s not here when I arrive, he shows up shortly thereafter. It makes me wonder what kind of life he has outside of the club, if he has one, because I work full time. My eyes flick back to Clancy, and he gets this little sparkle in his eye … and sits down. I stare at him for a while, which I’m sure is the exact effect he wanted to have, and finally, I go back to my duties. This is far from over, I can tell. His eyes are still glinting with that delicious evil that I have on many occasions wished would consume me.
Jesus, why does he have to be my boss? He’d at least be a nice little one-nighter, maybe all-nighter. Just the mere thought of it makes me giggle, and then I tell myself to shut the hell up.
I work at a strip club called The Fox Den. Laugh all you want; a girl doesn’t have to take off her clothes to make bank. I’m pretty sure Clancy makes bank, too, but that kind of stuff doesn’t matter to me. Not when it comes to men. I’m not a gold digger like some women I’ve met. I look for more important things in a man, things like how he’s going to treat me. Of course, my track record isn’t the best. The neurotic strippers I work with crack me up, though, thinking they can find Prince Charming working at a place like this. I await the day Prince Charming walks up to me because I’m going to punch that fucker dead in the face. If he sticks around after that, he’s a keeper.
No, I have not punched Clancy … yet.
Closing time hits around midnight, and I’m cleaning up and cashing out my drawer. Clancy sends Scott to check on the few girls working tonight, and when Scott’s out of sight, his gaze settles on me.
Oh man, am I in trouble.
Scott reappears a minute later and distracts Clancy while I finish my duties. Cherry (real name Christine) comes out to the front and sits at the bar in front of me. I smile at her and place a glass of good wine in front of her. She’s actually a bit too refined for this gig, but I guess shit happens and you do what you can to make ends meet. Christine is probably the only one I can deal with because she’s intelligent. Well, much more intelligent than some of the other girls. They say beauty is only skin deep, and I say that stupid goes all the way to the bone.
“So, Clancy digs you, huh?” she says in a soft tone with a wide grin. Did I say she was intelligent?
I hmpf at her and say, “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Oh no, I saw the way he looked at you earlier, Nemy,” she says and lifts the glass to her lips. She stops just short of reaching them and winks. “That man wants you bad.”
“Right,” I say and wipe the counter down in front of her. Although, I’ll admit that his playing has been turned up a notch or two this evening. It’s gone a bit beyond the norm.
“Too bad you’re such a bitch,” she remarks, her light brown eyes sparkling.
“You know why I’m this way,” I reply. “It’s pretty much because of men. I hate them and their whiny lame-ass excuses for everything under the sun.”
She giggles. “They pretend to still be involved while they try to find a way out. It doesn’t matter how much you love them, or how much you’ve done for them; they don’t see it, right?”
“Exactly,” I say. “They tell you that you need counseling. Ha! I know just how broken I am, thank you, and I’m fine with that.”
“I’m sure you are,” she says. “I don’t think you’re broken, sweetie.”
I glance up and grin. “Then you’re more broken than I am, honey.”
She laughs aloud and sips her merlot. “Well, I am a stripper, aren’t I?”
I nod with a smile. “Yeah, you definitely win the broken contest. Seriously, though, the last two men: one treated me like his own personal mental punching bag, the other tossed me to the curb like a cigarette, with a nice little flick of “fuck you” thrown in before I hit. Four years with one; five with the other. That’s just a hair less than a third of my lifetime, you know?”
Cherry lowers her glass to the counter. “Yes, but you still have time left to find the right one.”
“Not much,” I reply. The last one moved to Colorado. I was supposed to go with him, but things drastically changed within a very short amount of time. My instinct tried to warn me, but we women never listen to our gut when we’re in love. Not fly-by-night love, or new-relationship love. Four years of unconditional love with an engagement ring on my damn finger. So much for unconditional. I still wear the ring, only for the fact that it keeps most men away from me. It’s my excuse for getting out of dates when they see me dressed in a leather corset and low-rise jeans, looking like something reminiscent of a Bettie Page poster.
“Right, because you’re such an old hag now,” Cherry responds.
“Shut up and drink your wine,” I return and lift a bottle to wipe it down.
She giggles and does exactly what I told her to do. When she’s finished, she drops a twenty on the bar before I can stop her and heads out the door. The woman already tipped me out for the night, so this is extra for me. Manny the DJ and the other girls have already left, and Scott yells “Night, Nemy” down to me. I nod at him and wave my hand before looking around to be certain I’ve done everything I need to do. The bouncer, Mike, returns inside and walks up to the bar near Clancy while he’s going over the numbers.
“Nemy, you need me to walk you out?” he asks. The strip club doesn’t sit in the best of neighborhoods, and Mike walks all the girls out on a regular basis. Clancy’s rule, day or night.
Before I can answer, Clancy does. “I’ll walk her out, Mike.”
Mike nods, but looks at me when Clancy goes back to his paperwork, and I nod in return. “Okay,” he says with reluctance. “Have a good night then.” Mike definitely has a thing for me, but I don’t date bouncers anymore. Besides, the man’s name is Michael, and I absolutely don’t ever date guys named Michael. They have the unfortunate aspect of bearing my father’s name. It’s a girl thing; we either look for someone like daddy dearest, or run like hell from him.
“Night, Mike,” I say and gather up the used towels. It’s the last thing I have to do before leaving. As I walk toward Clancy, whose eyes leave his paperwork for a moment, I notice the glint is back. I can’t move fast enough and a nice chunk of ice hits my cleavage and sinks down into the black lace corset I’m wearing.
Clancy’s arms shoot up into the air as he shouts, “Goal!”
“Mother fucker!” I yell and drop the towels. The ice is sitting right between my breasts now, sunken down into a spot I can’t reach with my fingers, the damn thing is so tight.
“Want help?” he asks with a sly grin.
“You’ve helped enough,” I return.
He laughs and shakes his head. “You should be more careful with the ice.”
I look up at him, twisting in ways he probably didn’t think were possible in order to get the ice cube out. It still proves fruitless, which sucks because it’s cold as hell against my skin. “Fine, next time I’ll throw a glass at you.”
The right eyebrow goes up as he glances at me. “Just remember, whatever you throw will come back to you.”
My hand shoots out for the tray full of various fruits that’s missing because I put it in the fridge. He howls at that one. “Damn it.” Finally, I grab the top of the corset between my breasts and the bottom at my navel, suck in a breath, and yank the whole thing forward. The ice hits the floor.
Clancy’s head shakes. “Impressive. I’m going to have to find something that’ll get you out of that. Obviously ice doesn’t work.”
“Don’t think you’ll be getting me out of anything, Mr. Dolan,” I reply while throwing a snide glance at him and picking up the towels. I head into the back to dispose of them in the laundry bin, leaving his laughter behind. After doing so, I turn to head back into the club, but the mess in the girls’ dressing room distracts me, so of course, I have to clean it up. If Clancy saw it, he’d be pissed and they’d never hear the end of it. Anyway, I’m kind of neurotic in my own right with needing things to be in order and clean. Once I’m done, I hear his voice, soft and smooth to the point that I can actually hear the smile on his lips.
“I’ve always wondered what takes you so long to dispose of towels,” he says.
I turn around and look at him, and he pushes away from the doorjamb. That glint is in his eyes again. “Well, I certainly can’t leave it a mess, can I?”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “No, I don’t believe you could, Nemy-girl.”
I let out a short laugh and try to walk past him, but he gently takes my arm in hand and leans over. Did I mention he’s really tall? I’m somewhere around six feet tall, and Clancy towers over me. I could wear five-inch heels with the man and almost meet his eyes.
“I need your help with something,” he says.
“What?” I ask, looking up into those gorgeous green eyes. If he didn’t own a strip club that I worked for, I’d be all over the man, and it wouldn’t have taken a damn year, no matter how I feel about men right now. Hey, a girl has needs, but I’m not stepping on the toes that pay me. It’s a damn dangerous flirtation, though.
He nods to the door leading to the front of the club and lets me go, so I walk through. Then he ushers me to where I’d last seen him sitting and pulls out a barstool for me. I sit and notice that he’s finished his paperwork, but now has something entirely different sitting there.
“Floor plans?” I ask, and he nods. “For what?”
“My new house,” he replies.
My right brow goes up. “And why do you need my help?”
His head tilts to the side and he smiles. “Well, I’d like your opinion on some things.”
“Okay, why?” I ask and place my arms on the bar, crossing one over the other.
“You’re always talking about houses, your dream house, where you’d like to live,” he says. “I figured you might be able to help me decide on what I need.”
My forehead creases. “Yeah, but that’s what you need, not what I want.”
He leans forward. “Maybe I trust your opinion.”
I stare into his eyes for a moment, and well, I just can’t say no to the man. He’s never outright hit on me, like ask me out or touch me without my permission, so I haven’t had to say no … yet. “Okay, show me.”
“Excellent,” he says and sits up. He takes one of the papers and places it in front of me. “This is the one I want.” He points to the best elevation as he moves his barstool closer, and by best, I mean the most expensive. “What do you think?” I can smell his cologne and it’s a dizzying scent of wild musk.
My nose crinkles upon looking at the paper because, in all honesty, even if it’s the most expensive elevation, it’s also the blandest one. I look at the one above it and point. “This one’s better, in my opinion. I like the rock face on the front. Gives it a bit of a villa feel.”
Clancy chuckles and shakes his head. “You would think that.”
“Hey, you asked for my opinion, and I gave it,” I return. “Don’t get it if you don’t like it.”
He throws his hands up in jest. “Whoa! Chill, Nemy-girl, I’m just teasin’ ya.” One hand lowers and runs up and down my bare arm.
Oh shit, we’ve now moved into the realm of more playfulness, that which is entirely too close to foreplay for my taste. I roll my eyes and he laughs again.
“What else did you want to show me?” I ask. He pushes the floor plan in front of me. I study it for a minute or so, following an invisible path with my eyes from the front door—oh wait, there’s a courtyard before that, which I absolutely love—through the house and into the Master Bedroom. Nice Master Bath, too. Big, like I like them to be. Mine’s so freakin’ tiny. “What’s the square footage?”
“4,167,” he replies.
My eyes bug out. “Do you really need a house that big?”
He smiles. “I want children someday.”
“Getting married soon?” I quip.
“Not likely,” he says. The glint hits his eyes again. I swear they change color when that happens, just a bit. It must be the lighting. “I have to find the right woman first.”
Oh, he’s single? How does that happen when you’re the owner of a strip club? “That’ll be tough.” Sometimes I just can’t stop my mouth and its opinions.
His brow creases. “Why do you say that?”
My eyes grow wide and I lift my hands from the bar and display the room around me. “Um, hello? What woman in her right mind wants her husband to be the owner of a strip joint, or even work in one?”
He frowns and bites his lower lip. Damn. “That’d be a turn-off for you, huh?”
“Absolutely,” I say, not realizing the depth of that question. I’m a little slow at times, even if my IQ is above average.
“I don’t fuck or date strippers,” he insists.
“If you want to marry a good woman, it doesn’t matter,” I reply. “The temptation is still there.”
He chuckles. “Oh, Nemy-girl, you’re a funny one.” His hand slips over to cover mine. “I see tits and ass every fucking day. It’s not what turns me on.”
Oh shit. I climb off the stool. “I need to get home,” I say quickly. Probably a little too quickly. “Can you walk me out now?”
He hides his laughter, but I can see it in his eyes. “I’d be honored,” he says and stands up. I reach around the bar to grab my purse and jacket while he waits for me. “So, should I buy the house or not?” he asks while we head for the front door.
“Honestly, I’d have to see it in person before making that decision, if it were me buying it,” I reply, and instantly want to kick myself.
“It’s a date, then,” he says and opens the door for me.
Kick. Kick. Kick. Crap.
