33. June #2
The bartender hesitates. “I best be servin’ the other customers. If you need anythin’ else, holler.”
“Thanks, Jill!” Violet calls.
As Jill moves away, I turn back to the main area of The Body Shop in all its glory. It’s pretty crowded. Or maybe it’s always this way.
I squint in hopes of seeing through the dark ambiance as I take it all in.
The tables. The booths. The customers. A half-naked waitress laughs and reaches for a man’s tie, tugging him to his feet.
She leads him around the edge of the room before they both disappear behind a dark purple curtain.
No, wait. I think it’s blue. Like a midnight blue.
Or maybe it’s black? I’m not sure. It’s too dark to say for certain.
They probably keep the lights low on purpose.
Camouflage for all the seedy men who frequent places like this.
Sure, there are a few women scattered around, too, but most are men so mesmerized by the show on stage, I wouldn’t be surprised if they kept their butts planted where they are, even if a tsunami hit.
Honestly, the men are more interesting than the women.
Not that I can’t appreciate a gorgeous woman and whatnot, but the men?
Some look bored. Others look like they’re about to come in their pants.
My attention catches on a tall guy in a dark hoodie near the far wall.
He keeps to the shadows. So much so, I almost wonder if he can even really see the girl dancing on stage.
His phone lights up seconds later. It shines a light on his mouth and chiseled jaw, though thanks to the hood, the rest is left shadowed. My brows furrow as I watch him.
He almost looks…familiar? Square jaw. Thin upper lip. Skin that’s just on the lighter side of olive. I set my drink down and shift onto the edge of my barstool, trying to catch a better glimpse. Why is he so familiar?
Violet’s phone buzzes, distracting me. She pulls it out of her purse when mine does the same.
Curious, I unlock my cell and find a text from a ghost.
Ford
You should head home, June Bug.
Now he messages me?
“Did Jagger text you, too?” Violet asks. She wiggles her phone back and forth. “He must’ve checked my location and found out I was in The Drift.”
My phone buzzes again.
Ford
Really like the top, though.
What?
My pulse skips. I look down at my outfit, then take in the rest of the vicinity.
How in the world does Ford know what I’m wearing?
He isn’t here, is he? There’s no way. If he was, he would come over and say hi, wouldn’t he?
Then again, considering the lack of communication since the last time we saw each other, it wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility for him to maintain said distance.
But if that was his goal, why text me at all?
He could be lying. Obviously, I’m wearing a top, so it’s not exactly a stretch for him to take a shot in the dark and compliment me on wearing one.
But the fact that the top in question showcases my boobs, makes me feel a little like I’m a chubby Sydney Sweeney, and would drive a guy like Ford insane if he saw me in it?
Yeah, he probably would like my top. I bite my bottom lip and look around one more time. “Do you think they’re…here?” I ask.
With a frown, Violet looks up from her phone. “Who? Jagger?”
And Ford, I silently add. Glancing down at my phone again, I reread his message as Violet peers at my screen.
“Ford?” she questions aloud. “No freaking way.” Her nose returns to her own cell, and her fingers fly across the screen.
As I search for the familiar jawline connected to the hidden figure across the club, Jill sets down another pair of drinks and clears our empty glasses.
My phone buzzes again.
Ford
You’re going to blow my brother’s cover if you keep staring at him.
My head snaps up, and my gaze locks on the man in question. The one in the dark hoodie. The one lying low. “Is that…Hawke?” I whisper.
“Hmm?” Violet looks up from her phone again, following my line of sight. Her jaw drops. “No freaking way.”
“It’s him, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, that’s totally Hawke,” Violet decides. She scoots a little closer to me on her barstool and drops her voice low. “What is he doing here? Oh, my hell.” She rolls her eyes. “This is the second time he’s tattled on us.”
With a frown, I turn toward her. “What do you mean?”
“Jagger didn’t check my location. Not that I would’ve cared, but Hawke’s the one who told him we’re here, just like he did when we were dropping off Lexie’s phone after paint night.” She shakes her head. “What an ass.”
My phone buzzes in my hand with another message from Ford.
Ford
I said stop staring, not tell your best friend so she causes an even bigger scene.
Okay, either Hawke is a really fast texter or Ford’s hiding here somewhere. Neither would surprise me. I type my response.
Me
I’m not staring.
Ford
Not the way he tells it.
Me
Maybe I thought he was you.
The dots appear, then disappear at least three times before another message pops up.
Ford
And if he was?
I reach for my drink and swallow half its contents. His text was so out of the blue, I almost forgot he ghosted me. Now that he’s lifted the proverbial curtain, gracing me with his attention, I can’t help but feel… Well, at the very least, I deserve an answer, don’t I? Some kind of clarification?
I reread our conversation and type my response before I can talk myself out of it.
Me
I’d ask why you haven’t messaged me all week.
My throat constricts, but I hit send anyway.
Besides, he might be used to tiptoeing around certain conversations, but I have a right to want open dialogue and honest interactions.
Even if it means he only followed me in that room so we could hook up with no strings attached, I deserve more than being ignored.
And the fact that he messaged me tonight? It has to mean…something. Doesn’t it?
Ford
The phone goes both ways.
Seriously? My fingers jab against the screen.
Me
Pretty sure we both know that’s a cop-out.
Ford
Look at you, calling me out on my bullshit.
Me
Blame the Jack and Coke Jill served me.
Ford
You’ve been drinking?
What? Like he’s my guardian now? With a scowl, I finish the rest of my drink, and Jill sets another beside it.
“Thank you, Jill,” I tell her.
“Anytime, darlin’.”
I unlock my phone and reply to Ford.
Me
Mm-hmm. You know, if you hurry, you might just catch me on stage.
Ford
Lexie offer you a job?
Me
No, but Ray and Jill did.
Ford
I take it Jill’s the bartender, but who the hell is Ray?
Me
The guy who ALSO appreciated my top.
Ford
Drunk June’s a bold little thing, isn’t she?
Bold? I’ll give him bold.
Me
I’ve had a rough week, so sue me.
Ford
What happened?
Me
Other than the guy I made out with ignoring me?
Oof. I am bold.
I send another text.
Me
I barely passed my last math test.
Ford
If you’ll let me take off that top and give me some more of Quasimodough’s offspring, I’d be happy to offer more tutoring sessions.
I take another sip of my drink.
Me
And here we go with the top again.
Hitting send, I look around the club once more, then jab out another message.
Me
Are you here or what? Because if you aren’t, I’m not sure why you keep mentioning my top, let alone the possibility of me letting you take it off me.
Ford
So, you’re saying there’s a chance?
Me
So, you’re saying you’re here?
Ford
Hawke sent a picture as soon as you walked in.
Stealing Violet’s earlier words, I type my response.
Me
Tattletale.
For
He’s good at keeping an eye on things.
Me
Interesting how you knew I was here for a solid half hour, but you only texted like five minutes ago.
Ford
Maybe I was a little busy driving.
My brows pull, and I look up again, searching the premises. I don’t know why. The odds of him being here are practically zero, aren’t they? Yet, my gaze is like a tractor beam as it marks a pair of men who look way too good for their own…good.
Okay, I’m definitely buzzed.
“Holy shit,” Violet breathes out.
Sure enough, Jagger and Ford swagger into the place like they own it.
While Hawke was dressed in a dark hoodie and jeans, acting as if his sole purpose was to blend in with the atmosphere, his two brothers are dressed in the opposite.
Flashy watch. Dress shoes with matching belts.
Dark slacks and white dress shirts with the top button undone.
Yeah, acting like they own the place is an understatement.
By the way heads swivel in their direction, they do.
Ray doesn’t stop them. He only lifts his chin in greeting and gets back to his magazine as they approach us at the bar.
Either he’s a terrible bodyguard, he knows them, or he knows of them.
I would say the latter makes more sense since the man’s a behemoth.
But we’re in Drift territory. Why in the world would Ray know Jagger and Ford?
It’s not like they run in the same circles.
And why in the world would Ford ask me who Ray is if he knows him?
“You look nice,” Violet quips when they reach us at the bar.
“And you look like you’re ready to have your ass smacked,” Jagger growls. I pull back, surprised by his ferocity as he wraps his arms around Violet’s waist and leans down, kissing the crap out of her.
Down, boy.
“Thought I told you not to come here,” he rumbles against her lips.
“Lexie invited me,” Violet replies. “And since she can’t really come to me anymore, and I can’t go to her place, I figured this was a happy medium.”
A twitch hits the back of Jagger’s jaw. He looks around the strip club, taking in the dancer on stage, the bodyguard beside the front door, the topless waitresses climbing into laps and rolling their hips against random customers.
Not sure this is a medium for anything except STDs, but what do I know?
With a subtle shake of his head, his nostrils flaring, Jagger shifts his attention back to his girl. “You could’ve told me.”
“And hear you say no?” Violet shakes her head. “No, thank you. Besides, I can make it up to you later.”