Last Call (11 page)

I leave the doors open and walk to my kitchen where I pull a bottle of red wine from the fridge and pour myself a glass. My eight thousand square foot home seems lonely this time of night. The beach is quiet, all my neighbors are sleeping soundly in their own homes, and I’m left here with my thoughts. The nightclub in LA and New York briefly passes through, but it’s Mariah and her bold gesture that has me reeling.

No one has ever stood up to me the way she did. Usually, when I hand money out, people are more than willing to take it. I don’t really see why it is all that insulting. Okay, so maybe it was a dick move, but I thought she could use the money. I mean she works in a bar. A junky, rundown bar, for that matter; she could probably use the money. I have money, why not give it to someone who’s going to put it to use? It’s not like I was paying her to have sex with me. I’ve never had to pay for it before. I was simply trying to be nice.

I finish my wine and move to take a shower. While I stand under the water, I really think about the word lonely. I’ve been alone my entire life and never reflected on the word. However, now it’s a word that has me disgusted. I’m disgusted with myself because I shouldn’t be feeling like this. Alone is all I know and what I’m comfortable with. But then why am I wishing I wasn’t alone right now? What is it about her that makes me want to seek out something more from life?

I turn off the water, dry, and quickly pull on my boxers. After brushing my teeth, I look at myself in the mirror. I look old, way older than thirty-two. I look tired and worn down. My lifestyle isn’t an easy one—running a multi-million dollar business—but I’ve never looked so drained.

Shaking my head, I walk from the bathroom and shut off the light. Like every night, I open the balcony doors and allow the sounds of the ocean to take me into a peaceful slumber.

M
ariah

S
ix weeks have passed since my last encounter with Jason. The bold gleam I felt was short lived, and now I’m back into the same slump I was in before I met him. I’m moving through the motions of life, being the best mother I can to my son; however, I feel the loneliness as it consumes me at night.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I thought Jason would come charging into the bar and demand me to be with him. I was picturing him as a white knight, storming in to claim the woman he desires and all would be roses. But this isn’t a fairytale, and if it were, Jason wouldn’t be the white knight. He’d be the charming yet vindictive prince charming, waiting to take over the kingdom. God, is it sad I’m thinking of my encounter with him like a fucking twelve-year-old girl?

On the positive side, Howard offered me the fulltime day shift at Smitty’s, and I only have to work a night shift one weekend a month. I arrive at ten, get the bar ready for the lunch rush, and work through happy hour, usually getting home by seven-thirty. The schedule is not as good as when I worked as a processor, but at least I can put my son to bed at night. Maggie picks him up from school and watches him until I get home. Although her parenting style is dramatically different than mine, I appreciate all her help. Besides, she loves my son unconditionally, so why wouldn’t I want her around him? On the weekend I do have to work, he will have a sleepover at Maggie’s house or sometimes stay with Giselle or Shelby. The weekend I work has replaced girl’s night, and I really do miss hanging out with my friends, but they understand.

Tonight, I start my weekend to work after dropping Royce off at Maggie’s around six. I drive to work, arriving to a jam-packed bar. I smile, knowing the tips will be pouring in. I’ve managed to be my snarky, sarcastic self, and the regulars here love it. In fact, I really love working here. Now that the hours are better, I have really begun to fit in so much more than my previous job—everyone who worked there were assholes.

Some of the men are perverts, but most of them are old timers with great stories. They appreciate hard work and it shows in their generous tips.

Shelby gives me a hard time about working here. She tells me my job is nothing but a glorified cock tease and a cruel punishment because I’m going to give them a heart attack from my prancing around the bar.

I put my purse in the locker in the back hallway and tuck the key into my pocket. I make my way to Paul, who’s smiling as he fills drafts of beer. I walk to the side and start taking orders and exchanging money. The night moves at a quick pace, and before I know it, hours have passed by and I have my first time to breathe.

“You owe me ten bucks,” Paul says when he points to Randy. When I look, Randy has his head resting against his hand and his mouth wide open, snoring with a small trail of drool beginning to pool on the side of his mouth. Nasty!

Paul and I have this ongoing bet on how long it will take Randy to pass out at the bar. He’s been a regular since the year it opened in 1976, and over the years, he has built up a tolerance to the booze. I sort of feel bad because he’s obviously lonely and really has nowhere else to go, but when he tried grabbing my tits a couple of weeks ago, I lost all sympathy for him.

I roll my eyes and look at my watch. I said he’d pass out at ten forty-five and Paul chose midnight. The rules are, whoever has the time closest to the actual time he passes out, wins.

I shake my head and pull ten dollars from my pocket. “God, you’re such a lucky bastard lately. How much have I lost to you so far?”

“Oh, I’d say around one hundred.” Paul laughs with delight. What a fucking dick.

I swat him on the arm and go back to washing glasses and reorganizing behind the bar.

Turned away from the bar, I get a new bottle of vodka off the shelf, twist the cap off and put the stopper on. When I turn around, I am staring at Jason. My palms immediately drench in sweat and the bottle slips from my hand, shattering on the tile floor.
Shit!
I shout in my head and kneel down to the floor. Paul comes to my side and starts covering the vodka with towels.

“Damn, girl. What the hell was that?” Paul asks as he picks up large shards of broken bottle, throwing them into the trash.

“Sorry. I just lost my grip.” Yeah right! I lost my grip all right. It’s with the reality of Jason Cain standing in front of me. I see that bastard and lose all control of myself. He must be on the prowl, looking from some tail. Well, he came to the wrong fucking place for that. That ship has sailed buddy.

It takes us a few minutes, but I manage to get the mess cleaned up. While Paul walks to Jason and they shake hands, I walk as far away from him as I can and help the man sitting at the end of the bar. I ignore Jason. I know his eyes are on me, but I completely snub him, keeping my back to him as much as possible.

What the hell is he doing here? I haven’t seen him since the night we fucked in the bathroom, and I don’t want to see him. After giving me that money, I know what kind of prick he is. I won’t subject myself to someone like that.

I can hear him and Paul talking sports, so I take that as my cue to use the restroom. Only this time, I’m going to be more cautious.

J
ason

I contain my amusement just enough when Mariah drops the bottle of liquor on the floor. She obviously wasn’t expecting me, the look on her face one of pure delight to me. Paul and I are in a discussion about the Dolphins when I notice Mariah slip away to the back room. I abruptly excuse myself from my conversation with Paul and follow her. She has no idea I’m behind her; therefore I wait like I did the last time I was here.

Over the last several weeks, it’s been impossible for me to function without her being on my mind. I’ve realized she needs to be a staple in my life, and I need to make her a proposal; nothing like that movie with Demi Moore in it, but to offer her my company, so to speak.

I don’t do relationships because I have no desire to become a dickless, asshole that swoons and dotes all over an ungrateful woman. I don’t want to open my very private world to a person I know nothing about. And I refuse to get a girlfriend purely for fucking. Which brings me to why I’m here; I’ve found the perfect fuck, and I’m going to ask her to be my regular thing. I won’t have to waste time trolling for ass when the perfect ass could be putty in my fingertips with a single touch. It’s a pretty bold move on my part, but I can sense she needs this as much as I do.

When the door opens, Mariah looks murderously at me. I only smile because she’s so fucking hot when she’s angry. Her tits wave up and down from her intake of angry breaths and the fiery look in her eyes awakens my cock. It’s very similar to the look she gives off when she comes—glazed over.

“Get away from me,” she seethes. Her posture is poised in rage, and I think she’s going to attempt to slug me in the face. After the dick move with the money, yeah, I probably deserve it.

I hold my hands up in surrender, letting her know I didn’t come back here to fuck her, only to make a suggestion. “Look”—I take a step closer as she moves farther into the bathroom—“I’m not here to bother you. I only want to talk to you about something.”

“I’m at work. I don’t have time to talk, sorry.” She tries to push her way past me, but I prevent her. I will not be refused. I have never been refused when it comes to sex, and I’ll be damned if she will do it to me now, especially when she doesn’t know what I want.

“I don’t want to bother you at work. Can I pick you up when your shift is over? I have something I want to discuss with you.” She is studying my face, her navy eyes glimmering in the muted lighting. She looks absolutely radiant. I release her arm and slowly run it down her side until my hand lands on her hip. “Please. Nothing is going to happen unless you make the first move.” I shed my public façade and give her the look on reserve for no one. I simply look at her with a pleading gaze. “I just want to talk to you.”

Her angry face falls, and I know she recognizes my weak moment. “Fine, but so help me God, if you try anything, I will rip your balls off, got it?”

I step away from her with my hands back in a surrender position, but I can’t keep the smile from my face. I let off a little laugh and soak her up. She is so damn sexy when she’s mad.

“What time shall I come back?”

“Three.” With that, she moves past me and disappears around the corner.

I walk back out to the bar and wave to Paul. The air is crisp tonight with rain on the horizon. With a couple of hours to kill before she’s off work, I go to my car to sit and wait.

I am able to distract myself with work as I scroll through my phone, checking emails. It doesn’t feel like long before I look up and see Mariah and Paul exiting the bar, Paul locking the door behind him. They stand and talk for a moment, but I’m ready to get this show on the road. I open the door to my car and walk over to Mariah.

She looks as she did earlier; very sexy, yet guarded. Damn, do I really freak her out that much?

I give Paul a wave as I escort Mariah to the passenger side. Thankfully, Paul gives me a sideways glance, but chooses to keep his nose out of it. After I walk back around to the driver’s side and turn my body, facing her, she keeps knotting her fingers, which are resting in her lap. I can tell she is very uncomfortable. Suddenly, I am really nervous to speak to her.

What will I do if she says no? How can I react to that? I’ve never done this before—asking someone to be my sexual partner. Normally, all I have to do is flash a smile and the ladies come, but Mariah is very different. She has pride and self-worth, not like the bimbos I’ve bagged in the past. Yes, she did come up to my office with me and then have fun later in the bathroom, but when she refused to accept my money then stormed out of my life, I knew there was something very different about her. This entire situation is different. Plus, she’s been with me longer than the night we hooked up at the club. She’s been the woman in my dreams for many years.