Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 142728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“Ugh.” She groans and stares at the ceiling. “You’re impossible.”
“No. I hear what you’re saying. Thank you.” I slide my hand across the table and curl it around hers. I press my lips together to stop them from trembling. “Damn, when did you turn into such a grown-up?”
She glances down at the apple and pierces the skin with her thumbnail. “I like when Dex is here. I feel comfortable around him. Safe,” she says. “Not like that one creep you dated.”
I swallow hard, embarrassed by the memory. “I’m sorry. I should’ve—”
She holds out one hand in a stop gesture. “I didn’t say it to make you feel bad. You listened to me. And never had him here again. That’s all that matters.”
Still, I should’ve done better. It’s a sobering reminder that I haven’t always used the best judgment.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Emily
A few nights later, Libby’s busy with rehearsal. Dex and I have talked a few times since our hospital run-in. And now some stupid part of me decides it would be a good time to take him up on his offer to visit him at work.
I can’t believe I’m about to go inside a strip club.
But Dex told me to stop by whenever I wanted. That I could surprise him. His way of telling me he had nothing to hide. That even if I showed up unannounced, there was no chance I’d ever catch him in a compromising position.
Does going to his club tonight signal that I don’t trust him?
Truthfully, I just want to see him.
And yet, I don’t text him to warn him that I’m here.
Instead, I park in the front of the building with the other customers. But then I’m frozen. I sit in my car, staring at the building in my rearview mirror. I shouldn’t do this.
Annoyed with myself, I blow out a breath and open my car door. My heart pounds wildly. Am I really setting foot inside a strip club by myself? I’m like a rabbit willingly hopping into a fox’s den.
I run my hands over the sides of my wide-legged black trousers and check the buttons on my deep gray silk blouse. My red heels click softly over the pavement. Under my arm, I’m carrying a black clutch with only my ID, some cash, and lipstick. My keys and phone I keep in my pockets.
Only one or two guys are waiting to go inside. I hold my head up and try to act like I belong here. I scan the parking lot as if I’m supposed to meet a friend and I’m checking to see if they’ve arrived. Too bad I’m not as good of an actress as my little sister. I probably just look like I got lost on my way to traffic court.
The man at the door is easily the size of a mountain. Dark brown skin, long locs, and a tight black T-shirt stretched over his chest. He’s wearing a black leather vest similar to Dex’s but without all the patches for decoration. I’d love to get a look at the back to see if it has the Lost Kings MC logo on it.
Lord, the man’s arms are bigger than my thighs. I’d feel quite safe working here knowing this man is at the door, deciding who gets let in and who’s turned away. His severe expression shifts when his gaze lands on me. He shines a bright smile.
“Evening. What’s a pretty girl doing here all by herself tonight?”
I open my mouth to say I’m here to see Dex. But wasn’t the element of surprise the whole point?
“I’m, uh, meeting someone,” I stammer. That’s not really a lie, right?
He narrows his eyes, silently assessing me. “Why don’t you sit yourself at the bar until your friend arrives.” He phrases it as a suggestion but in his deep, rumbling voice it sounds more like an order.
“Sure.”
“Don’t forget to tip the girls,” he warns.
Tip them for what? “I won’t.”
His gaze slides over me one more time. Not in a creepy, salacious way. More like he’s still deciding if he should let me in or not. Maybe he’s worried I’m the wife of a customer here to cause her husband trouble.
“Anyone bothers you, ask for Malik,” he finally says. “I’ll take care of ’em.”
“Thank you.”
He jerks his head toward the door. “Go on.”
I hold out a twenty to cover the door fee and he shakes his head. “No cover for ladies.”
“Thank you, Malik,” I say as I pass by him.
I enter a short, dark passageway. A coatroom on my left. Another man sitting on a barstool right in front of me. He raises his eyebrows but nods and lets me through without saying a word.
The throbbing music pulses through my feet as I step into the main area of the club. Lots of neon lighting, flashing lights. About half the tables and chairs have customers.