Last Call (9 page)

J
ason

I
t takes several moments before I can finally peel myself off Mariah’s back. After another impressive orgasm, I fall over her, overtaken by the feeling. This is the second intense orgasm in less than a week, and I don’t think it’s happenstance she is working in this very bar. I also don’t think it’s a coincidence she was in my club last Saturday night. There is a reason I’ve been dreaming about her for all these years. My subconscious is telling me this woman is meant to be in my life—not for love, but for lust, of course.

She has been put on this planet to become the ultimate pleasure for me. It may sound arrogant, but nothing else explains why our paths have crossed. Nothing else explains why she’s been starring in my dreams and it’s always me chasing her and trying to fuck her. It’s been a prequel to Saturday night’s invitation in my office and to today’s activity in the bathroom. My dreams have been preparing me to have this woman any way and anywhere I can.

After we right our clothing, Mariah looks down to her watch. She leans over the counter, looking in the mirror, and fixes her hair; also making sure her shirt is in place. When she turns around, our eyes connect once again. She looks so lost yet like she’s finally been found. The uncanny look is impossible to decipher.

She moves to open the door, but I stop her from exiting. I lift my hand to her cheek and run the pad of my thumb over her flush skin. “Until next time, Mariah.”

She releases a nervous, quiet giggle then pulls the door open. And just like last Saturday night, she’s gone. Without another word, she’s just gone. However, this time, I know where to find her, and I think I know how I can bring her back to me. For now, though, I need a drink.

Turning my plan over in my mind, I pull open the door and exit the bathroom. When I walk to the bar, she looks to me with the same flushed cheeks as she hands me my bill. I guess I will need to get a drink somewhere else.

When I pull out my card and pass it over to her, she turns, running the plastic through the machine, punching in numbers, and then yanks the printed receipt from the slot. While she’s looking for a pen, I take the opportunity to stare at her ass. Damn, she’s fucking hot.

Feeling generous, I look down at the bill and give her a tip while she finishes pouring another man his beer. Then I walk away from the bar, only pausing to look back and wink before I make my exit.

Strolling down the sidewalk, I feel incredibly relaxed and satisfied. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this satisfied. Kudos, Mariah, kudos.

M
ariah

I watch as Jason strolls from the bar and get a view of his amazing ass. Then I pull the receipt off the counter and look at the paper. In his masculine script, he’s written a note on the bottom saying, “
For the perfect afternoon” ~ Jason.
Inwardly, I think how sweet for him to leave me a personal message, but then, I get a look at the dollar amount of his tip. That can’t be right. There’s no way this is right. The tip he left has two extra zeros.

Paul comes to my side and looks down at the receipt, whistling through his teeth and looking astounded. “He’s never left me a thousand dollar tip, but I did get five hundred once. It was the holiday season. He told me Merry Christmas and walked from the bar.” Paul slaps the counter and starts to restock the cooler with beer, whistling a quiet tune.

“It’s a mistake. He probably forgot what he was doing, or maybe he was distracted when he wrote this.” My stomach feels wretched. This has to be a mistake. Otherwise, I’m no better than a streetwalking prostitute. I guarantee he’s not tipping a thousand bucks for the fifty dollars he spent on whiskey.

“It’s not a mistake. Look.” Paul points to the total amount. He’s right; it includes the price of his drinks and the tip. “See, no mistake at all.”

I finish the remainder of my shift in brooding silence, only smiling when I need to, serving folks their drinks, overwhelmed with so much right now. I was just treated like a hooker. Don’t get me wrong; the extra thousand bucks would come in handy, especially now that I don’t have my data processing job anymore, but I will not take this.

I knew the moment Mr. Weber called me back I was going to lose my job. It took him all of three seconds to get back to me, telling me I was fired and my desk would be cleared out. My personal belongings were going to be mailed to me; as a result, there was no need for me to come into the office. Later that day, I pulled out the newspaper and started looking for work. I couldn’t go too long without having a job. It was my plan to take the first job offered. That way, I would have money coming in while I continued to look for something better.

Only a few days later, I happened to be driving by Smitty’s when I saw their ‘help wanted’ sign. I was hired immediately and started the very next day. Between Maggie, Giselle, and Shelby, they all decided to take turns watching Royce on the nights I work. I only work three nights a week: Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. I know the job won’t be permanent, but at least I’ve got money coming in, and when Royce is at school, I can look for something better. I was surprised by the amount of tips I brought in on my first night—about two hundred bucks. It’s the tip I received from Jason that is responsible for my current state, though.

Midnight rolls around, and after my eleven-hour day, I’m beat. The late night bartender arrived an hour ago, thank God. Therefore, I finish cashing out my drawer then tuck my enormous tip in my wallet and exit, finding my way to my car, which still has a slight odor of puke. Once tucked inside, I pull on to the street, my mind still racing over this fucking tip, and the more I think about it, the more my blood boils.

How dare he? How dare he treat me like a whore? This douche bag has a lot of nerve. I immediately want to slap him across the face. I sensed when we first met that he was an arrogant dick and this tip proves it. I hate him! In fact, I loathe him.

I drive by Toxic on my way home, the very sight of the illuminated sign sending me into an outrage. I whip my car around, doing a U-turn on the busy four lane highway and pull into the parking lot. Like last Saturday, the line is long with people waiting to get in. I know I won’t, especially with my ten-dollar Smitty’s t-shirt and my disheveled state. So, I walk toward the end of the line and look around. There has to be another way into this fucking place.

Completely uncertain of what I’m doing, I walk alongside the brick building and come to the back. I round the corner and see a door, probably an employee entrance. I take notice of the cars lined up in the back. The Escalade is the only luxury car, and my gut tells me it’s his. He’s here, staring down at his kingdom, and I will storm the walls of his castle to give him a piece of my mind.

I walk to the door and try the knob, finding it unlocked—sweet! I twist the knob and creep in the heavy, metal door, slowly shutting it behind me in an attempt not to make any noise. Once inside, I start walking toward the clamor of the bar. I’m not sure where this hallway takes me; as a result, I walk carefully, looking for my way in. Then I can blend in with the crowd and find my way to his office.

I take a right turn and find a door where the loud music is coming from. I decide to follow my gut and open it, finding it leads me to the hallway where the restrooms are. I walk down the hall and merge my way into the crowd. The place is packed, wall-to-wall with people. I shimmy my way through the slightly open spaces and make my way to the bar area where I spot the staircase.

Unfortunately, there’s a bouncer standing at the foot of the stairs and it’s the only way to get me to my destination. Fuck! How the hell am I going to get by this guy? He’s all man and muscle. His arms are as large as tree trunks, and he stands a good foot taller than me.

I make my way to the side and decide to wait him out, leaning up against the wall. The couple located at the table next to me is too busy making out to notice when I snag the bottle of beer off their table and turn my back to them. It’s slightly warm, but it will do just enough to calm my nerves.

“Hey, where did my beer go?” the man says, looking at the girl, confused. He’s the quintessential tool with a fake, ridiculous tan, way too much product in his hair, and overly large muscles; one of those “Jersey Shore” wannabes. He probably spends more time getting ready than I do.

I hatch a plan and take this as the opportunity to cause a diversion.

“That guy… over there”—I point in the direction behind him—“walked up and stole it from your table.”

The tool looks to the girl and gets pissed, puffing out his chest like a damn peacock and slamming his fists on the table. The next thing I know, he’s confronting a man with a striped shirt. What a dumbass. As the fight ensues, the bouncer guarding the stairs pursues. I take my only opportunity to go undetected and head for the stairs. I keep myself to the side, and as quickly and quietly as I can, I ascend the steps.

When I reach the top, I’m out of view of the others down below, but I have one of three doors to try. I can’t remember which door was his office. I was in a drunken, excited daze Saturday night, knowing which door was his being the last thing on my mind.

I open the first one and see the room is vacant. It’s a meeting room with ten leather chairs surrounding a table, its walls and fixtures white and chrome. I quietly close the door and move farther down the small hallway to the next door. I turn the knob and hold it in my hand. Will he be alone when I walk through the door? I really hope I don’t see him banging some other chick when he nearly just got done fucking me. However, he’s an asshole, so I wouldn’t put it past him.

I take the opportunity to think about that. It pisses me off. Good! That’s the kind of rage I need right now. My mind gets muddy when I’m in his presence, and if I’m going to take any kind of stand against this fucking asshole, I need to have my wits about me.

I take a couple of deep breaths and then storm my way into the door. And there he is, the king staring down at his kingdom, and he’s just been invaded.

J
ason

The fight gets my attention when I glance up at my security cameras, which prompts me to go to the window. I’m looking down on where Mikey is pulling a couple of guys apart when my office door flies open, and Mariah is standing on the other side. I turn from the window and frown. How the hell did she get up here? She looks disheveled and enticingly hot, just the way I left her earlier. I can’t help my body’s reaction to her standing a mere ten feet from me. My frown turns up into a slight smile.

This woman cannot get enough of me. Instead of going home, she came back to me. She snuck into my nightclub, simply to be with me. Insatiable little creature, isn’t she?

“Didn’t get enough the first time, baby?” I ask as my dick awakens and my body starts to heat.

Mariah charges through the door and pulls a wad of cash from her purse. Her blue eyes are ice cold and the look on her face is masked in anger. It’s sexy as hell. I love it when a woman has a fiery side; it makes it all the more interesting for me.

“Go fuck yourself!” she shouts, then chucks the bills at my face, cash dances in the air, flapping against each other as it falls around my feet.

I immediately grab onto her arm and pull her into my body. “Who the hell do you think you are?” I shout in her face, all traces of lust erased and happiness gone. I am angry, really angry. It washes away any thought of fucking her. If she were a guy, I’d have knocked her out by now. No one talks to me that way. It brings me back to all the horrible incidents with my past foster parents. I refuse to be treated that way again.
Go fuck myself? No, no, no, darling. Fuck you!
I say to myself.

“I’m not your goddamn whore!” Mariah pushes against my chest, breaking my grip. She backs away to the doorway and glares at me. The feeling of being near her coils with the anger of her outburst, and for some unknown reason, I want to go to her. However, I stand back.

She turns on her heel then disappears down the steps, just as fast as she came storming in, while I stand in my office, surrounded by twenty-dollar bills. The anger dissipates, morphing into a wicked joy. I laugh.

Oh, my sweet enigma, this isn’t the last of me.

M
ariah

I
run down the steps of Toxic and quickly make it through the crowd. I look at no one as I fly out the door and go to my car parked at the back of the lot. The huge, gleaming smile on my face is starting to make my cheeks ache, and I’m mentally giving myself a high five. I told that fucker! He may treat other women he screws with large tips, but he picked the wrong girl if he thinks I will be accepting his Skanks’R Us money.