05
Pulling a closing shift only to turn right around for an opening shift had to be a modern form of torture. As wild as the previous night had been, work was still a drag, and Brandon was in no rush to drag himself out of bed. Even so, he had to get up and pull himself together.
He started the coffee maker before hopping in the shower to get ready for work.
More than once, he caught himself daydreaming about his time with Amanda in the club’s hot tub.
The kind of story nobody would ever believe if you told them.
Not that Brandon had anyone to tell anyway.
He wasn't from Narrow Creek; he'd moved here just a few months ago and kept little to no contact with his past life.
Toweling off, he noticed the bathroom faucet still dripping. He needed to talk to Nancy, the landlord, about getting that fixed. It had been leaking for over a week, but the thought always slipped his mind.
The coffee maker finished brewing with a sputter. Fully dressed, he headed into the kitchen, desperate for caffeine.
He checked the clock again—if he didn't leave right now, he was going to be late.
Gulping down the coffee as fast as he could, he tossed some food, a fresh change of clothes, and a jacket into his backpack before locking the door behind him. He headed down to the lot where his beat-up Ford was waiting for him.
“Don't leave me hanging today, alright?” he muttered, patting the hood before opening the door. He turned the key, silently thanking whatever gods existed when the engine fired up on the first try. He tried turning on the radio as the rattle of the old car echoed across the lot. The place was practically deserted. Near the exit, three guys sat smoking on the curb. Brandon’s neighborhood wasn't the best in Narrow Creek.
Definitely not the worst, though, he thought as the engine idled.
He'd heard weird rumors about a gang brawl near the bridge that had left the place looking like a horror movie set.
He shifted gears and felt the engine nearly choke as he pulled out. “Come on, buddy. You've got this.” He had half an hour before his shift started. On a good day, it took twenty minutes to get to the club.
Today, it took twenty-five.
George opened the security gate the moment he spotted him, waving as Brandon sped along the asphalt toward the employee lot. He had to sprint to dump his gear in the locker room and punch the time clock just under the wire.
He passed Laura in the hallway, and she shot him a stern look over the timing.
He gestured an apology, earning an amused little smile in return.
Leaving the main building, he headed for his station.
He was covering the pool deck today. He hurried down the stone path, cutting through one of the landscaped gardens to reach the cabana of Aurora, the pool supervisor.
For a split second, his imagination whispered that Amanda might be at the club. The thought tugged a grin to the corner of his mouth. That’d definitely be a good way to kill time on the clock…
But logic swiftly crushed that daydream. The girl was loaded, and she’d been out drinking late at the club last night. Amanda was almost certainly still fast asleep.
He greeted Aurora with a cheerful wave. She was easygoing and didn't care much how Brandon did his job, so long as no members complained.
At least the club isn't packed today.
“Good morning, Sally!” Brandon called out, spotting the older woman lounging on one of the chaise lounges beside the circular pool. “Can I get you anything? Water, fresh juice?”
Sally practically lived at the club. Brandon had only been working here a week, and he was positive he'd seen her every single day.
“Oh, sweetheart! Don't sneak up on me like that.”
“Sorry about that.”
“You look exhausted, honey. Have you been sleeping at all?”
Even if he hadn't already been in such high spirits, Sally's warmth would have been a breath of fresh air in the middle of a shift.
“As much as I can, ma'am.”
“That doesn't mean it's enough. Those dark circles are dreadful.” She sat up, shifting closer to Brandon and beckoning him over with a wave of her hand.
Resting her fingers against his cheeks, she inspected his face with the tender intimacy of someone checking on a little boy who'd just taken a spill.
Friendly as she always was, this level of closeness was new. It didn't bother Brandon, though; his head was still adrift in a daze.
“Come here. I've got something for this.” Sally turned to unzip her tote on the other side of the lounge chair, and the sight of her back—toned muscles accentuating her curves—caught Brandon’s eye.
The cutouts in her swimsuit bared plenty of skin.
He remained still, leaning in right where she'd left him, waiting patiently.
She turned back with a dab of cream on the back of her hand and resumed tending to his face. The cool sensation of the lotion beneath Sally's fingertips felt surprisingly soothing.
“Much better. It's no replacement for a good night's sleep, but at least it'll soften that worn-out look.” She rubbed his cheeks for a few seconds longer before pulling back to admire her handiwork with an approving nod. The fond smile Sally wore suited her face well.
“Thank you very much, ma'am.”
“Don't mention it. Now, be a dear and fetch me something to drink.”
Brandon straightened up, stepping out of the umbrella's shade and ready to move, still a little distracted. He paused for a beat. “What can I get you today, Sally?”
“Some water would be lovely. Ice-cold, please.”
“Lemon, too?”
“Oh, don't fuss. Plain water is fine.”
“Right away, ma'am.”
Brandon headed toward the bar on the far side of the trio of pools, glancing back at the woman over his shoulder.
Her short gray hair had bright silver highlights woven through her bangs.
Even kept in its natural shade, it clearly carried the fresh finish of an expensive salon—par for the course for a wealthy socialite.
At least she doesn't act like one. Brandon already had a good impression of her, but after that tender gesture, Sally was firmly separated in his mind from the petty snobs that populated the club.
The widow didn't look like other women her age, either. Whether it was the money or all the hours logged at the club, her body would make women half her age jealous. What little age showed on her only enhanced the sexy maturity of a seasoned cougar.
He grabbed the water from the bartender.
Brandon hadn't memorized this specific guy's name yet, but he remembered chatting with him and knew he'd worked at the club for over two years. He gave a nod of thanks and turned back to deliver the drink to Sally. For a second, a shimmer of gold caught in the sunlight pulled his gaze. Amanda’s blonde silhouette flashed into Brandon’s mind unbidden.
For no good reason, he thought he'd spotted her. He was mistaken.
What kind of nonsense are you daydreaming about? It's not like she'd show up just to...
“Here you go, ma'am.”
Brandon crouched down and handed the water to Sally.
He watched the blonde woman walk along the path looping the pools and disappear in the distance. He tracked her stride, trying to catch her face—more out of having nothing better to do than actually expecting Amanda.
Aurora waved at him, snapping him out of his trance.
He walked over to her.
“I think we're out of towels over here. Mind checking on that? Don't think they remembered to restock them last night.”
Brandon nodded. He knew another staff member handled that; he'd seen her pushing a cart around, delivering fresh stacks across the club grounds. He couldn't remember her name, either.
At least it gave Brandon an excuse to stretch his legs.
Work sucked—Brandon was dead certain of that. Still, now that he wasn't scrambling against the clock, he was able to enjoy his good mood a little more. He tried not to connect it to last night, but it was impossible. The memory flared back to life with the image of Amanda’s body.
That really was...
Distracted, Brandon didn't even notice the bend in the stone path before plowing straight into someone. He nearly lost his footing when he collided head-on with Monica, the girl from the spa.
She let out a sharp gasp, wincing from crashing into his chest. Brandon caught her by reflex before she could tumble backward, swallowing a curse the moment he recognized her.
Monica had been sweet to him during his first few days on the job. She was bashful to a fault, but an absolute sweetheart.
“Are you alright?”
“I think...” Monica lost her words the second their eyes met. Her face flushed a violent crimson as she scrambled to adjust her glasses. “Brandon...”
“Monica.”
He let out an amused chuckle, thrown off by her reaction. Sure, she was shy, but this seemed like a lot even for her.
“I'm... Yeah, I'm fine... Sorry, I... the spa... you know.”
“All good.”
He stood there as she sidestepped around him and hurried on her way. Brandon lingered for a moment, watching her scurry off.
“Weird.”
Then he remembered that Monica had worked the night shift, too. She had looked after Isabella, Amanda’s friend who’d had way too much to drink. He’d almost forgotten about Isabella. That brought another smirk to his lips.
Brandon went to hunt down the towels—hardly a monumental task—with the distinct feeling that the rest of his day would follow the same pattern: filled with mindless little chores.
As he finished grabbing the towels for Aurora, another feeling began to temper his high spirits.
This was what waited for him from here on out: boredom, grunt work, and only his imagination for company. It was the only sensible conclusion to draw.
He tried to be reasonable, telling himself that last night was a complete anomaly.
Just like he’d thought—an improbable story nobody would ever believe, the kind of thing that only happened in books and movies.
With every passing hour, that reality became clearer, the logical side of his mind winning the debate against his fantasies.
It was the right call. The rest of his week would be more of the same, his good mood draining away to make room for the dull frustration of the job.
You blew all your luck last night, man. No use daydreaming.
Over the next few days, Brandon would discover just how dead wrong he was.