Which is why getting onto the stupid boat may be the hardest part of Harry’s idiotic idea. He was confident that all I have to do is show a little skin and bat my eyes to seal the deal. I have my doubts, but I’d rather take a chance with these bikers than face my father’s ‘alternatives’.
I’m not a virgin or anything close to it. But I don’t actively flirt with men to take advantage of them. Occasionally, I’ve taken easy opportunities, snatching up a wallet or cell phone from a guy when the situation presented itself. When the power company was threatening to leave Gram and I in the dark right after Gramps died, I didn’t have any other options. Times were tight, so I did what I had to do without any regrets. It’s not like I spent the money on a jet ski or a vacation. Those sorts of luxuries are for the rich, not burger slinging waitresses who work the graveyard shift to pay the bills.
At least now that I have a deal with Harry, I’m able to sleep in my own bed, shower and change clothes whenever I like. For a while, those simple things were my indulgences.
Freshly washed with a face full of makeup and my short, blonde hair styled with beach waves, I parallel park my Malibu in an empty spot right in front of the old warehouse that has been converted into a huge pool hall, bar, and garage. The sun is still high in the sky, and I’m guessing a shady place like this doesn’t start getting busy until late at night. Grabbing one of my printed resumes, I climb out of my car, toss my keys in my purse and strut right inside the building like I belong, even if I already know I’m going to look out of place in my white lace sundress. It’s the sexiest thing I own, and I’m certain that I need all the help I can get in that department.
Compared to the bright summer day outside, inside the long hall is dark and empty with a few florescent bulbs hanging from the wall over each pool table. There’s a well-polished wooden bar with stools at the front that are all vacant. The only person in the room is a buff, blond man wearing a leather vest behind the bar. He’s busy pulling a lever to fill up a glass with a yellow liquid that is no doubt beer even though it’s only lunchtime. His head turns to look at me, and he stares for so long his glass overflows.
That’s probably a good sign that my dress is working.
“Hi,” I say to him with a wave of my resume. “You may want to…” I gesture to his glass, and he finally breaks eye contact with me to look down.
“Oh shit!” he exclaims as he lets go of the lever and jumps backward. He doesn’t seem too concerned with the mess on the floor, not bothering to grab a towel. He simply strolls in my direction, putting the full glass to his lips and guzzling down half the beverage. “What’s up?” he asks, licking his lips to wipe off the foam and revealing a tongue piercing.
“I’m sorry to just drop in like this. It doesn’t look like you’re open yet, but I wanted to see if you’re hiring and drop off my resume.”
“Your resume?” he repeats with a grin. “Does this look like the type of joint that gives a shit about resumes?”
After another quick glance around the room, I meet his gaze again. “Ah, no, I guess not.”
The less these guys know about me the better, so I ball up the piece of paper and then shoot it basketball style into the nearest trash can.
“She shoots, she scores!” the man announces, adding a crowd roar.
“I’m Naomi,” I say, holding out my hand for him to take when he’s close enough.
“Fiasco,” he responds, switching his beer to his left to quickly shake my palm with his right hand.
“Pardon?” I ask in confusion.
“My name’s Phillip, but everyone calls me Fiasco,” he explains. “Pretty self-explanatory.”
“Oh, okay,” I reply. “It’s nice to meet you, Fiasco. So, you’re one of the Dirty Aces?” I guess when I see the words printed on a patch sewn to his vest.
“Sure am. How can I help you?”
“Are you hiring by chance?” I ask while giving him my best pleading look, practically batting my blue eyes that are several shades darker than his.
“Sorry, babe,” he replies before taking another gulp to finish off his beer and then slamming the empty glass down on the bar. “You might be a stunner, but we don’t have any openings for jailbait,” he mutters with a grin as disappointment falls heavy on my shoulders. “And, girl, no lie, I’m doing you a favor, because your sweet little ass would get eaten alive by our customers. Seriously, I left a box of doughnuts on the bar one night, and some psycho ate the whole thing. I mean, like, the actual cardboard and all. They’d treat you the same.” He takes one long last look at my tan legs hanging out of my dress before he shakes his head and starts strolling down a back hallway.
“Wait,” I shout, hurrying to catch up to him in my wedge sandals, unable to accept defeat so soon. If I can’t find a way to get hired, I’m screwed. Worse than screwed. Anything is better than what my father has in store for me if I fail. “Please,” I say when I grab Fiasco’s bare arm to make him stop and listen to me. “I’ll do anything — waitress, hostess, wash dishes. There’s got to be something I can do on the Dirty Aces’ gambling boat, right? I mean…I’m a hard worker and-and I’m desperate.”
“Desperate, huh?” he asks before his tongue makes a salacious swipe along his bottom lip, revealing the barbell piercing in the center again.
“Yes, I am,” I affirm, inwardly cringing at how pathetically low I’ve sunk. I told myself I have to do whatever it takes to pay off the debt I owe to Harry, but saying it and doing it are two very different things. My stomach drops and bile burns my throat at just the thought of what he threatened to do to me if I don’t get him his money by the end of the month. Nothing Fiasco can do to me would be worse than what’s in store if I fail. Time’s running out, so I’ll have to just suck it up. Besides, I could do a lot worse than the big, blond biker with a tongue stud. Knowing just how furious Harry would be if he found out I fooled around with one of the Dirty Aces, who he apparently loathes, is another bonus. My father loves to remind me that I’m already a whore like my mother. Maybe I am. Still, no matter what it takes to pay him back, I don’t regret it. I’d steal from him to get the cash all over again, if given the choice.
“Do you have an ID that says you’re at least twenty-one?” Fiasco asks, not asking if I am of age but if I can pretend to be.
“Yes!” I agree, pulling out my real ID from the purse on my shoulder to hold up in front of his face. At least I don’t need to lie about this.
“All right, sweet cheeks,” Fiasco says as I put my license away. “Let’s go see if you can put your money where your mouth is.”
“Right now?” I ask.
“Right now.”
“And if I…put my money where my mouth is, does that mean you’ll give me a job?” I ask while following along behind him down the hallway to a small storage room where cases of beer are stacked up in rows several feet high.
“Fuck yeah, I’ll get you on the boat,” he agrees, shutting the door behind me and resting his back against it. “After we’re finished up here, all you need to do is come back tonight at eight in a black cocktail dress,” he tells me while eyeing my white one that glows in the dark room. “The shorter and the more your tits show, the better your waitressing tips will be.”