Page 11 of His Promise

ABI

Neon Nights is packed.

It isn’t really surprising with it being a Friday night, but we’ve ended up with two bachelor parties and a bachelorette party that my manager, Tony, is one more busted glass away from having to shut down.

A piece of hair that escaped my side ponytail dampens from the sweat on my forehead, and I swipe it away with the back of my hand before returning both hands to the tray of shots I’m balancing. Bodies brush up against me, and my teeth chatter from the loud music. You’d never be able to hear anyone in this place if you were standing more than a few feet from the bar, but it’s what makes my job easier. If anyone was to catcall me, I’d never hear them anyway.

A hand brushes the curve of my ass where my miniskirt ends, and I don’t bother to turn around to see who it is. I push forward through the crowd until I come to a side table with a group of college aged guys.

“Woo!” One of them yells, holding up a glass when he sees me. I smile wide, showing my teeth, and set the tray on the table. Excitement booms when more of the guys notice the shots have arrived, and they grab glasses before I have a chance to take all of them off the trays.

“That’s one fifty!” I yell into the ear of the handsome shaggy-haired guy who ordered. He pulls out the bills and looks me up and down, a wicked grin lighting him up.

I will never get used to this job.

My ears heat as he tries to slip the wad of cash in the corset that’s part of my “uniform”, and I snatch the cash from his hand with a forced playful snicker.

He leans toward me so his mouth is to my ear. “Keep the change, babygirl.”

I give him a nod of appreciation and then move back through the crowd with my tray at my side. When I make it behind the bar, I toss the tray on the back counter and slide my loose hair behind my ears.

“Babe, can you hand me a box of napkins?” Kirsten asks, walking behind me. She’s moving in a hurry to get people’s orders and doesn’t look back, so it takes her a few moments to grab the box from my outstretched arm when I go to hand it to her.

“Thanks, love.”

“Welcome.”

“Making good tips tonight?”

I glance through the wad of cash the college boy gave me and nod my approval. “Yeah, you?”

“You betcha. Those bachelors are horny fuckers.”

I laugh and stand up straight, ready to go take another order. I take a step away from the bar, and when I do, the hairs stand up on the back of my neck and a shiver races through me.

I feel him before I see him. I don’t know how I know it’s him, but those seafoam green eyes flash into my mind, and I freeze. My eyes sweep over the patrons at the bar until I find the man from last night leaned against the bar with his hand wrapped around a glass of bourbon.

It’s chaos all around him, but he stands there calm, as if he doesn’t register the people.

Only me.

“The table in the back wants shots,” Braxton, the main bartender says to me, melting the icy hold Gruco has on me.

I blink and turn to look at Braxton. “W-what kind?”

“Tequila.” He raises a brow and looks me up and down while pouring liquor into a glass. “You good?”

“Yeah,” I spit out, hurrying to slam shot glasses on a tray and get the tequila.

“You look pale.”

“Yeah, well, I’m Irish.”

I sigh in relief when Braxton drops it and gets back to the customer he’s serving. We’re too slammed for concern about each other’s complexion and far too busy for any visitors.

I keep my eyes away from the right side of the bar area while I fill up the glasses, and when I’m done I make a beeline for the back of the club. My heart beats out of control, and for once I can hear something over the music—my own heart thudding in my ears. I don’t smile as I drop off the shots, and the thirty-something man who takes them gives me a strange look, like even in the glow of strobe lights he can tell something’s off with me. The invisible cloak I’ve worn all night falls off, and it feels like I’m exposed to anyone who looks my way. There’s a glowing sign on my forehead as bright as the neon lights this place gets its name for, and ‘whore’ is painted in big letters.

They don’t know.I tell myself this as I weave through the crowd, but it doesn’t help. My chest constricts, and my fingers go numb. I gasp, but air doesn’t enter my lungs.

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