Truth was, I was irate. Something about it left me feeling used and dirty and disposable.
Glasses clanked as I threw their drinks on the tray, and even though I wasn’t a server, I was damned well going to deliver them myself.
I slithered across the floor, winding through the high-top tables, making sure my hips and ass were doing the talking as I stalked toward the booth. The most saccharine of smiles twisted my face as I slid the cosmos to the girls who were only out for a little fun, but somehow had managed to stumble into my path of fury.
They didn’t even seem to notice the force in which I slammed them down.
Oh, but Lyrik did, eyes taking in his special drink. The bright red liquid sloshed over the rim and ran onto the table when I set it in front of him.
With that cocky smirk, he glanced up at me. “What’s this?”
I pressed my palms flat on the table, leaning in close to his face, voice as bitter as I felt. “It’s a red-headed slut. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
This time the girls took note, glaring at me as if I was suddenly a competitor, my flaming red hair making it all too clear I was referring to myself. One had the decency to look offended when Lyrik shot me a wry smile and opened that offensive mouth. “Actually, I was thinking I wanted a taste of a blue-eyed angel, but I’ll take you however I can get you.”
My blue eyes narrowed as I struggled to contain the hurt and rage and all these convoluted emotions I didn’t want to feel, while his smile widened in satisfaction.
He lifted the glass toward me then threw back his shot.
Just as fast, he spit it out. Red liquid spewed across the table and dribbled down his perfect chin. Furious, he swiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “What the fuck was that?”
“That was a warning not to touch me again.”
So maybe my secret red-headed slut recipe included a little cayenne and Tabasco. Nothing a real man couldn’t handle.
In disbelief, he shook his head. “You really are a bitch, aren’t you?” He pushed the girls off him, squeezed out to stand, gestured for them to follow. “Come on, we’re out of here.”
He dug in his pocket and pulled out two hundreds and flung them out in front of him, the bills fluttering down to land on the table. “Thanks for the drink,” he seethed.
He stalked away like a howling, blackened storm, the two little bitches stumbling on their heels as they clamored after him.
Thickness crawled up my throat, supplied by the regret pressing hard against my chest.
You really are a bitch.
Why did I care? This was what I wanted, wasn’t it? To chase him away. To throw out daggers and toss up shields, where I could seclude and conceal and isolate myself behind this barricade.
Where it was safe.
Ash shot me a knowing grin. “Oh, Tam Tam, remind me not to fuck with you, darlin’. Because you scare the shit outta me.”
I swallowed hard.
Yeah. Sometimes I scared myself, too.
At 3:40 a.m., I pulled into my parking spot at the back of the building Charlie owned.
On a sigh, I cut the engine and stepped from my car.
My attention barely drifted over the bike parked in the spot reserved for Apartment Two, and I hardly registered the car parked awkwardly behind it.
The mental exhaustion clinging to my bones didn’t allow me much thought other than the need to strip myself of these clothes and this mask of makeup so I could climb into the refuge of my bed.
I suppressed a groan when I heard the music pumping from Apartment Two as I drew closer, the lift of giggles and annoying female voices.
Awesome.
I had new obnoxious neighbors. Tonight just got better and better.
At least they never stayed since that apartment was used for short-term, weekly rentals.
No doubt, Charlie made a small fortune on those rentals, but he refused to rent my place out the same way. The day I’d come crawling into his bar desperate for a job without an address to put on my application, he’d sat me down and asked me the last time I’d eaten. When I couldn’t answer, he’d fed me then put me in his truck and brought me here.
This stranger had set me up and given me a home.
It was the day the man had rescued a small piece of my shattered heart. Restored a little bit of my faith in humanity.
I climbed the stairs, pulling at the railing to aid my ascent, my feet sore and my body weary.
I was letting all this shit get to me, and I couldn’t afford it.
I let myself into my dark apartment, kicked off my shoes at the door, and went directly to the bathroom to wash my face, then proceeded into my cozy room where I changed into a pair of sleep shorts and a tee before I flopped onto my plush, queen-sized bed with the pretty ornate metal headboard.
It was intended to exude comfort.
Instead I felt lost.
Hollow.
Alone.
With a glance to my earbuds on my nightstand, I hesitated. Why in the world after the night I’d had would I even consider torturing myself this way?