Page 44 of Plum

“Hey. Maybe I got female problems. Did you think about that?”

“Igot female problems. Go make me some money.” Before I can answer, he’s on his way toward his office, his phone in his hand, scrolling. Jackass.

I sigh and hobble off to the booths. I’m wearin’ my pink rhinestone leg straps tonight in an attempt to boost my tips—it usually works—but that means I have to wear my pink rhinestone stilettos, and they’re unstable as fuck. I got to put all my weight on the balls of my feet and tiptoe around like I’ve got Barbie doll feet.

I’m frowning again by the time I reach the first booth. It’s a group of business men. For some reason, their suits make me sad. They’re talking shop. One of them waves me off with a “Maybe later.”

The next booth is more my type. Bikers. Not Steel Bones, just recreational riders, but they’re friendly. I’m chatting, perched in some guy’s lap, finally getting somewhere, when someone grabs my upper arm and hauls me to my feet.

I yank and spin, ready to pop the motherfucker, but as soon as I see the black hair and glasses, all the wind goes out of my sails.

He’s here.

Suddenly, I feel naked. I realize that’s ridiculous. Still, I fold my arms across my tits. “What?”

“Hey. He botherin’ you?” The biker I was with half-rises from his seat. I wave him off.

“He’s a friend.”

“A friend?” Adam arches an eyebrow. Yeah. Point taken. He sure as shit don’t look friendly. He’s wired, and his blue eyes are hard. Mean. His black suit’s rumpled like he slept in it.

“Listen—” My gaze skitters around the room, searching for what, I don’t know. Something to say besides, “You’re here.”

Adam tilts his head likeI’m waiting.

Shit. I got nothing. Besides, my mouth is bone dry. My heart’s fluttering. I know it’s probably the fear of getting busted, but there’s this lifting, bubbling sensation in my belly, too. Like happiness. Don’t make sense.

I’ll just stand here. He’s gonna tell me what he wants eventually.

“You owe me.” His voice is almost a growl, and it’s got a nasty edge. Oh.

Taking the bottle was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“I’m sorry.” I try to look contrite, but I’ve got no control over my face. I’m gawking at him, eating him up with my eyes. I didn’t think I’d see him again. I gobble up every detail. The dark smudges under his eyes. His poorly tucked shirt.

His jaw is tight, and his shoulders are squared in fighting stance.

“You know what?” he says. “I think this is now a pre-paid gift card kind of deal.”

Huh? I vaguely remember saying that to him when he came back the first time. So, this is about the bottle, and he’s gonna be a predictable ass. The happy feeling sort of fizzles flat.

“I’ll give it back. I ain’t sold it yet.”

He seems surprised for a second, and then he shakes his head. “I want a lap dance.”

“Um. Okay.”

He steps forward, closing the space between us. He bends close to my ear. “And then you’re going to suck my dick. And ride my cock. And then I’m going to fuck your ass.”

My heart trips, and I forget to keep my weight on my toes. I lurch. He reaches out and steadies me. I shake his hand off. It’s a reflex, but he reads it like I’m being a bitch. He snarls. Actually snarls.

He’s so pissed, it’s coming off him in waves. From the tautness of the muscles in his neck and his jaw, he’s barely containing himself. He wants to wring my neck. My blood starts racing in my veins, and I’m flushing from what he said, but I ain’t new at this game. I don’t really know him. I need to be careful.

“Now,” he growls.

“Let me get Austin.”

“No. No Austin. No credit card. No cash. You owe me. Let’s go.”

---