Page 35 of Nightmare

8

Awoman’s screechingtone has me whipping around to see a beautiful lady storming into the club. We’re nearly closed for the night, and only a few people linger around, one of them being Western. He’s generally the last to leave. Tonight, I finished up an hour earlier and sat down to have a drink with him. Of course, he isn’t saying much, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to throw the towel in, so to speak.

Actually, all that happened is that I ended up drunk and he ended up still not saying a damned word.

Painful.

But at least I’m happy.

Unlike the woman who is seemingly charging toward ... us?

“I swear to god, Nightmare, I’m about done.”

Wait, she’s talking to Western?

I give Luna a look, just as she finishes taking her own shot. She’s nearly off the clock, and it has been a quiet night, so we’re allowed to have a few drinks right on closing. I could have left when my shift was done, but the decision to hang around was far too strong. It has actually been quite fun, sitting here, being served, laughing with Luna as she walks by, attempting to talk to the statue beside me.

Lord, I really am drunk.

“Not now, Hazel.”

Western’s voice comes out in a low growl, and my eyes get big as I swivel on my bar stool to see that the woman has come to a stop in front of Western, her eyes zeroed in on him. This is his wife, Hazel.

She’s beautiful.

Not that I thought she wouldn’t be.

She has long mousy brown hair that is tack straight and perfectly styled. It pairs well with her soft blue eyes, the scatter of freckles on her tiny little nose, and don’t even get me started on her full lips, soft skin, and gorgeous body. She’s everything you wish you were as a woman. Full breasts, a tiny waist, and I’m certain if she turned around, a perfectly round bottom.

I huff.

Damn her perfection.

“Oh,” Hazel laughs, waving her hand in Western’s direction. I can see her bright red fingernails, perfectly polished. “Yes now. I haven’t seen you in three days. Three fucking days. I have called, gone to the club, and every single time you’re not there. Then, I go ahead and hear you brought a woman in. A fucking woman.”

Oh boy.

I give Luna a small look, and she tips her head to the side, brows raised, because I know what she’s thinking. She wants to know if that woman was me, and the answer to that would be, yes, yes it was.

I shoot down the rest of my drink, praying I’ll shrink down into my stool and Hazel won’t notice I’m here.

I’m not sitting close enough to Western to raise suspicion, I hope.

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