Ten Tiny Breaths (Ten Tiny Breaths #1)

“Easy for you to say. You’re ass isn’t hanging out. I can’t believe I agreed to wear this Band-Aid. I’m going to bend over and show everyone my girl bits.”

Storm laughs. “Of course you should wear that Band-Aid. It shows those awesome legs of yours off.”

“It’s showing more than my legs,” I mutter, giving it another tug to cover the bottom of my tattoo. I’m not ashamed of that. I just don’t want to draw more attention to myself than necessary.

“Good Lord! For such a tough act, you really are a big sissy girl, aren’t you?”

She’s right. I guess I’m just out of my element here and it’s causing me to second-guess everything. If this were the gym, I’d have no problem in tiny shorts that hug my ass. But this isn’t the gym and I’m not allowed to kick the crap out of anything here.

I cock my head to the side as I take in Storm. “Did you just call me a sissy girl?”

She doesn’t miss a beat. “Did you just say ‘girl bits’? This is an adult club, not a day care.”

“I’ll try to remember that,” I chuckle as we approach the solid black metal door with a tiny peep hole in it.

“You look great, Kacey. Seriously.” I try not to flinch as she pats my shoulder.

Secretly, I have to admit that I do. Aside from the mini skirt, I’m also wearing a charcoal striped halter top and several silver jewelry pieces, courtesy of Storm’s collection. She also helped me with my hair and make-up. I look more than decent. Not a knock out standing next to Storm with her turquoise dress and tanned skin and Barbie doll curves, but decent all the same. Decent enough that I caught myself swaggering extra slow past 1D on my way out, hoping to catch Trent’s face in the window. Then I realized what I was doing, and I ran the rest of the way to Storm’s Jeep, the voice inside my head scolding the snot out of me the entire way.

Storm raps against the heavy door four times. It flies open and my insides flip. Not many people intimidate me anymore. The giant man with dark skin and bulging muscles who fills the doorway, as wide as he is tall, though … I don’t care that I’m cowering. By the look of him, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s never smiled a day in his life. He’s certainly never been a cute baby. I’m sure he simply materialized out of nothingness into the beast standing before me.

“This is Nate. He’s the head bouncer and Cain’s right hand man. Hey Nate! This is my friend, Kacey.” Storm doesn’t wait for him to respond. She simply pushes past him, her hand giving his solid abdomen a soft punch on the way in.

“Hi,” he says. The tiny word rumbles deep inside me, his voice like thunder and I nod, temporarily mute.

He steps back to give me more space. “Come in, please.”

Forcing bravado that I don’t feel, I jack my chin up and step inside. Storm leads me down a narrow hallway lined with liquor cases and silver kegs, smelling faintly of beer yeast. Dark memories rise with the scent. Memories of clubs and tequila shots off guys’ abdomens and white powder lines on tables in dark corners. I quickly cram them back where they belong. In the past.

“Here are the dressing rooms for the dancers …” Storm’s index finger points to two closed doors. “I wouldn’t go in there unless you want to see all kinds of ‘girl bits.’” With a teasing laugh, she continues.

We pass by a broad-shouldered, towering blond guy in a tight black t-shirt and black pants. Definitely another bouncer by his outfit but not as ominous-looking at Nate. He’s cute in that “I’m from Wisconsin and I play football” kind of way. He reminds me of Billy …

“Kacey, this is Ben,” Storm introduces us.

“Hey, Kacey,” he grins and then his head cocks as if he suddenly recognizes me. “Hey, weren’t you at The Breaking Point the other day?”

I look him over. I don’t remember him, but, then again, I don’t pay any heed to the guys there. “Maybe. I just joined.”

He nods slowly. “Yeah, that was definitely you.” His eyes do a full shameless intake of my body. “You’re incredible. Do you compete?”

I brush off the compliment. “Nah, it’s just for fun.” The truth is I’d love to complete, but it’s too dangerous for me, given my injuries. One hit to the wrong place will cause serious damage to all the work those surgeons did years ago to put me back together. I’m not about to tell Ben any of that though.

“First night at Penny’s?” he asks, leaning one forearm against a door frame.

“Yeah.”

A lusty gaze wanders over my frame again.

“Bartending only,” I add, crossing my arms over my chest, emphasizing the ‘only.’

His attention skates back up to my face and he smirks. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

“And you’ll hear it again from me every time you ask,” I throw back coolly. What a pompous ass. He needs a good kick to the head to wipe that smirk off his mouth. Maybe I’ll ask him to spar next time I’m at the gym.

Storm ushers me forward past him, hollering over her shoulder, “See ya later, Ben.” She knocks on a door with a sign that reads Bossman. There’s a caricature of a naked woman sitting spread eagle and a pair of black lace thong underwear tacked on beside. How fitting.

“And here’s Cain’s office. Don’t worry. You’ll fit in here,” she whispers as she pushes through the door. I give the back of her head an arched brow. She thinks she knows me. She thinks I’ll fit in with silicone and booze and vajayjays or whatever I’m supposed to call them. I’m second-guessing how smart Storm really is.

“Come in!” A harsh voice calls out and my back tenses up.

Inside is a small office with floor to ceiling shelves on all four walls, lined with more cases of booze. Tons and tons of booze. On the back wall is something that looks like a weird chemistry experiment—a bunch of upside down liquor bottles with a mess of hoses flowing from their spouts, down into the floor. My nose catches a faint scent of cigar smoke, cedar, and whiskey lingering in the air.

“That’s the bar well,” Storm explains in a whisper. “All the basic liquor. It controls how much goes out. You hit a button behind the bar and it gives you one ounce. You hit it twice, two ounces, not rocket science.”

“So I can’t reenact my favorite scenes from Cocktail?” I mumble, picturing twirling bottles like a baton.

Storm chuckles. “You can, but it will be with the pricey bottles on the shelf and they cost a lot when you break them.”

A man with slick black hair and a navy dress shirt sits behind a giant mahogany desk with his back to us. Cain, I presume. He’s on the phone with what sounds like the beer distributor. By the way he barks out ‘yes’ and ‘no,’ I’d say he’s not happy. He slams the phone down and spins around and I prepare myself for a painful conversation.

But then his coffee-colored irises settle on Storm and they instantly warm. He’s a younger man—early thirties—with attractive features and a sense of style. Definitely good-looking by anyone’s standards. But he’s a strip club owner and that equals dirt bag in my book.

“Hello, Angel,” he drawls, giving Storm a slow once-over. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. I’m not going to like this guy. Not. One. Bit.

Storm ignores the leer. Or maybe she enjoys it. Frankly, I have no idea. I don’t know her well enough either. “Hey, Cain.” She cocks her head toward me. “This is my friend, Kacey. For the bartender position?”

My gut tenses as those dark irises turn to appraise me but it only lasts for half a second. He bolts out of his chair and strides around the desk, extending his hand with a professional air. “Hi Kacey. I’m Cain, the owner of Penny’s. Pleased to meet you.”

And here’s where my little phobia makes life so damn awkward. I can’t get around shaking the boss’s hand when he offers it to me. Not unless I tear out of here right now but then I’m out of a job. One I’m not sure I want, but a job nonetheless. My only real choice is to grit my teeth and hope I don’t pass out from an anxiety attack when his fingers curl around my own, shoving me back into that dark place I keep trying to crawl out from.

I look at him, I look at his hand, I look at Storm. But most of all, I hear Livie’s voice saying try.