Page 11 of 1 Last Shot

"I wasn't surprised because I didn't think you could live here," I say, hoping he’ll believe me. "I just… didn't expect to run into you. Small world and all that."

He scoffs and grabs his motorcycle helmet in his other hand. "Sure, let's go with that excuse."

There’s hostility in his tone, but I’m too caught up in the fact that Kane, the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, is myneighbor. That I’m going to be seeing him regularly, that I’ll be able to talk to him without seeming like the new girl who stops and lingers at the gym for no reason—

My thought process is cut off when Kane climbs the steps and stops in front of me, too close to be polite, his eyes flashing with something I'm too inexperienced to recognize, but too desperate to not get turned on by. His focus drops to my lips, only for a split second, but he seems to get angry with himself for even that. Locking eyes with mine, he says, "Tell me I’m wrong, princess."

I don’t bother to correct him, since it’s clear he’s somehow already made up his mind about this. Instead, I ask, “Are you nervous for your fight on Friday?” I don’t have to fake my concerned tone.

Kane jerks back as if slapped. His eyes are wide, the surprise clear on his face.

“I don’t know how you do it,” I ramble on. “I’d be so scared to do what you do. Do you get hurt when you fight? I’m assuming they have medics there in case something—”

He turns away from me, frustration emanating like waves from his tense body. It doesn’t occur to me until later that he’s unlocking the apartment door right next to mine.

I hurry to get my last words out. “If we’re neighbors, then you should know if you ever need anything, I’m in apartment 2B—”

Kane slams the door in my face.

5

KANE

The club has already been open for hours by the time I get to work. When I walk inside, the music is blaring, and the strobe lights are everywhere. The usual aroma of perfume immediately invades my nostrils, just as it always does. I can make out one girl dancing on the pole in the center of the club.

I stride toward the couch room in the back, only taking the time to nod to Joe in the DJ booth on my way over. A silent greeting is the extent of my friendship with any of my coworkers, and even that's just because Joe and I agree on not wanting to be buddy-buddy with anyone we work with. We both just want to do our jobs and get a paycheck.

Not that I hate working here. Bouncing is an easy job for me most days, and with Joe playing a lot of the songs I like, it's a pretty laidback gig. I basically just listen to music and make sure no one gets fresh with the girls. If they do, I get to throw a few punches and manhandle a few drunks. And get paid to do it.

"It's pretty slow back here right now, but it should pick up soon," Marcus, the guy I'm taking over for, says as he stands from his place behind the monitors. "Indy and Natasha are coming in soon, so you know they're going to take over all the dances. Crystal is already pissed that she has to share a shift with them again."

I'm shaking my head as I slide my leather jacket off my shoulders. The girls are nice enough, and almost all of them tip me at the end of their shifts, but the catfights are my least favorite part of the job.

"I'll keep an eye out for her," I tell Marcus as I take my seat behind the high top.

He nods and starts to walk off. But then he remembers something and spins back around. "Oh, and just a heads up: there's a weird guy who’s been on the floor for a while. I can't get a read on him, though."

"Weird, how?"

He scratches his chin as he answers. "I don't know. Not weird as in awkward, just weird as inI don't know why he's here. He's gotten a few dances from the girls, but he mostly just seems to want to talk to every dancer in here. Hasn't touched a drink, though, and I don't think he's on drugs. It's just weird because I can't figure out what he wants. Doesn't seem like the typical lonely guy who just wants company, because he's young and good-looking."

I look at the screen in front of me. It takes me three seconds to identify the people I've never seen before, and another two to spot the guy we're talking about.

"Black suit guy with his shirt unbuttoned down to his chest?"

Marcus nods. "Stands out like a sore thumb."

"I'll keep an eye on him. Can you tell Bobby on your way up front? He's manager tonight."

Another nod. "Sure thing. Good luck, man."

I don't bother responding to that. And Marcus doesn't expect me to. It's been six months of working here, and by now, everyone knows to only talk to me about work—anything else typically doesn't get an answer.

I settle into my shift, alternating between watching the monitors that cover the couch rooms, and taking money off the lonely bastards who look to a lap dance for some female affection.

It starts slow, but like Marcus predicted, it picks up as soon as a few more dancers start their shifts. Before long, all four rooms are filled, and my attention stays locked on the girls I'm responsible for.

"Crystal, get your hand out of his pants," I call out in a hard voice.

---