Page 11 of The Shadows We Keep

“I’ll take a Lambo Door, if you got it.” He gives me a ‘you’ve got to be kidding, right?’ look before setting the can in front of me.

“Anything from the kitchen?” he asks.

“Burger, Fries, side of BBQ sauce.”

He jots it down on a pad and disappears around the corner.

The dual screens above the bottles of booze plays ESPN sports highlights on one side and the news on the other. Neither interest me. Bringing the can to my mouth, the cold, fruity bitterness touches my tongue, and I swallow down half the can, flagging for another while I wait on my food.

My phone vibrates against my thigh. Digging it out from my seated position is a bitch. I stand, grabbing it and readjusting to sit again. A notification flashes from my lock screen. A new email forwarded from the dummy account I set up this morning.

An anxious grin reaches my lips.

Please tell me she took the bait.

A few clicks later, I have confirmation. I didn’t take her for someone who would enter a random giveaway online. While a private car might sound appealing to most in the city, it’s not always worth the hassle of Taxi-crowded streets.

The bartender sets the plate of greasy goodness in front of me with my next beer. I’ll get back to her tonight.

SIX

KEIRA

Sinner - DEZI

“If you don’t hurry up, we’re going to be late!” I yell from my living room couch to Stace, who’s still getting ready in my bedroom.

“Girl, it’s a club, not a movie. Chill,” she sasses.

‘It’s a club, not a movie,’ I mock back, rolling my eyes.

“I saw that.” Stace stands in the doorway, hands on her hips, eyebrows raised.

“Whatever.” I laugh. “You want to pregame?” I stand, heading for the kitchen, pulling out the bottle of vodka from the freezer.

“Do you have anything to mix with that?” She eyes the bottle warily.

“What are you, forty? Take a pull and stop being a little bitch.”

Yanking it from my outreached hand, she twists the cork free with a pop and tilts the bottle back. Five seconds pass before she takes a breath and gives me a death glare.

Touché.

I copy her, but limit myself to a couple of seconds. I might have a great tolerance, but Stacey’s got six inches and thirty pounds on me. It sucks to be tiny sometimes.

“So, how do I look?” She twirls in slow motion. “This is the only thing you had that fit right!” Stace did a little digging into the dress code, turns out my closet was more suited to their tastes after all.

I whistle a catcall. “That dress looks better on you. Hate you.” I fake a pout.

The silky black slip dress lays perfectly over her tall thin frame, hitting mid-thigh. With her velvet thigh-highs and lace stockings sticking out, she’s sex on a stick. I look down at myself.

“Don’t you dare do that. You look hot. Every guy’s teenage, wet dream.”

That’s what I’m afraid of.

On my small frame, it’s hard to not look like I’m dressing out of my sister’s closet. But I don’t think the club would let me in wearing my favorite ripped skinny jeans and black hoodie.

The black-laced corset bodysuit pairs perfectly with my leather mini skirt that laces up the sides, showing off my ink. On my right side, an exotic garden of flowers and greenery cover my ribs, down to my right thigh. Two snakes slither between a skeleton's eyes from my hip to my knee on the left. It’s the reason I bought the skirt in the first place. If you’re going to spend thousands of dollars on ink, you might as well show it off occasionally.

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