Page 20 of I'm Not in Love (I Promise)

“A strip club?” Jasper says as he rounds the corner. “So cliche.”

I chuckle and shake my head. He’s not wrong. We take a few minutes to get our shit together and stories straight—fake names, history of how we met, and a few other random facts. When we’re somewhat sure of ourselves, Leon gets out and leaves his gun on the floor of the car.

“No weapon?” I ask, adjusting my own. He paces for a moment then reaches for it. “Good choice,” I say.

“I don’t know. I’m sure they’ll pat us down. Feels useless to bring them.” He’s probably right, but I’d rather err on the side of caution. Plus, if they do take our guns, I still have a few tricks up my sleeve.

Weaving through parked cars, we approach the venue. Two huge dudes with scowling expressions flank the entrance. They wave us through without question. Leon seems to know where to go, so we follow him, but I stay on guard.

It’s a small club, not that I’ve been to many, but the ones I have been to were larger than this. There’s one main low stage in the center of the room surrounded by high-backed red armchairs large enough for two. The lights are dim with the exception of a few well placed spotlights directed at the two attractive women currently dancing to a remixed R&B song.

I don’t linger on them for long. There’s only one woman I want to look at. We head toward the bar and order drinks. Leon leans in and speaks low to the bartender.

“I don’t know about this,” Jasper says, eyeing the area. “I feel like he’s getting desperate and jumped on this too fast.”

Jasper’s never the anxious one. Our role reversal puts me on edge, but I trust Leon.

“He’s been on this lead for a while. It’ll be fine.” I take another look around at the men and few women occupying chairs and bar stools. Not one looks intimidating.

Leon hands us our drinks. “Okay, the bartender is going to lead us to the back. King owns the place… He’s back there with a few of his guys.”

“We have a meeting set up right? You told him we were coming?” I ask to be sure.

“Yeah, of course.” Leon’s eyes dart nervously; Jasper clocks it too. “What? Drink up.”

Jasper and I share a silent look before I narrow my gaze at Leon. “What’s with the face? Shifty eyes, clenched jaw, and do I see a bead of sweat?”

“You had the same look that time you stole my favorite shirt and stained it,” Jasper says. “We both know you suck at lying.”

He scratches the stubble on his chin and schools his face into the most fake neutral expression I’ve ever seen. “I’m not lying.”

“You look like the picture of guilt,” I say. “It’s actually freaky. Blink, man.”

He blinks dramatically. If we weren’t in a situation where we were possibly about to meet a brutal criminal, I’d laugh.

“Follow me,” the bartender says, coming around the side of the bar and laying a hand on Leon’s shoulder. Jasper and I follow close behind.

I whisper, “You better fess up right now. What are we walking into?”

“Fine. This may not be a scheduled meeting. And when I say may not be, I mean it definitely isn’t.”

I clench my fist. “What the fu?—”

“Come on, I didn’t want to bum around while these fuckers could know something. It’ll be fine.”

“Why does it sound like you’re trying to convince yourself of that more than me?” I reply.

“Told you,” Jasper says low enough for only me to hear. “My gut never lies.”

“Your gut is usually telling you that you ate too much Taco Bell. But I’ll give you this one.”

I suck in a breath and prepare for the worst as the bartender knocks on a door at the end of a long hallway. We step inside an office that’s roughly the size of our entire apartment. The space is a stark contrast to the rest of the club. Bright overhead lights, metal shelving filled with boxes and bins, one large wooden desk in the back of the room. It looks more like a storage closet than an office.

We follow the bartender over to the group of men around the desk. A few older guys sit in chairs holding glass tumblers, while two younger and bigger guys stand beside the desk. Sitting in a leather chair, eyeing us as we head his way, is who Leon’s been talking to.

He’s a middle aged white guy in a polo shirt. The type you’d expect to see playing a round of golf or shopping with his wife and kids at Costco. The one difference is his shrewd light eyes. He scratches his blond thinning hair and sets his hands on top of his desk.

The bartender introduces Leon, takes our empty glasses, and hurries back the way she came. “Gentlemen, as you can see I’m currently entertaining guests.” His words carry a hint of a Russian accent as he gestures to the men. Their posture visibly stiffens in response. “Unless the reason you’re here can’t waituntil tomorrow, I’ll have to ask you to leave.” He subtly nods his chin at one of the men standing beside him.

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