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According to his file, the tall, loudmouthed blonde is his type and it wouldn’t be the first time he’s strayed from his wife. Fame and fortune tend to do it. I’ve seen it too many times to keep track.
Kat thinks this is the type of shit I do.The thought makes me sick to my stomach, a scowl marring my face. I can’t change what my clients do; I learned that all too fast. You can’t change people. You accept it and work with what you’re given. A prick’s a prick. He’s never going to be anything but that. So I raise the beer to my lips and take a long swig, nearly draining the bottle.
With the change of music bringing the group a little closer as the lights fade, I watch them each carefully, but all I can think about is Kat. What she’d think of this mess.
She’s never questioned me before, but last night she let out shit I had no idea about. Insecurities and accusations that made me feel like less of a man.
I can’t blame her, can I? Not when I have secrets. Not when I can’t look her in the eyes and tell her I haven’t fucked up.
A strong grip on my arm rouses me from my thoughts.
“Can you get me something?” Kane asks, sidling up next to me. The smell of whiskey is heavy on his breath. It takes great effort not to put immediate distance between us.
Just like Mikey, he’s a little too close as he slurs his request to the point where I can’t tell what he’s saying.
“What are you looking for?” I ask him to clarify and stare at the half-empty bottles of liquor lining the top shelf of the bar.
“Something a little stronger,” he says as he tilts his head and tries to be subtle, but fails miserably, putting his hand to his nose and sniffing loudly. Cocaine.
I hesitate and waver on my answer. Luckily, I don’t have to respond. Instead a loud, high-pitched voice on my right screams out, “We’ve got absinthe!” Apparently Christi was eavesdropping.Surprise, surprise.Her bright red talons are digging tight into Kane and I know she’s going to stay within hearing range until we’re out of here, just like she’s been doing since she recognized him from across the room. She’s leaning over a barstool, her breasts on full display and when I look back at Kane, the only thing he’s looking at is her chest.
“Never had it,” Kane says too low and the blonde screams, practically in my ear, “What?”
Giving them distance and getting out from between the two of them, I wait for him to agree. I know he will. She’s got him wrapped around her little finger. I’ll do it with a smile on my face and babysit this fucker. I used to think of this differently. This all used to be fun. But it wasn’t likethis, was it?
It doesn’t take more than one feminine mewl and apleasefrom her to convince Kane that absinthe is good enough and that we should all head to her place.
It’s two blocks down and up a set of iron rails to get to the apartment. The sidewalk’s still wet and this late at night, there’s no one else on the streets. Just a bunch of drunk assholes stumbling on their way home. We fit in perfectly. I keep my eyes ahead, but occasionally look back and in all directions casually. I know the street and the apartment complex well. There aren’t any cameras or storefronts for onlookers. Still, I watch and wait for any type of paparazzi.
I follow them as Kane and his friend cling to the group of women. There are three of them, two blond chicks and a dark brunette with curls, each barely covered in skimpy clubwear asthey grip the railing to the apartment stairs and laugh as they stumble their way up in heels. It’s difficult to tell with the other blonde if it’s an act and she’s playing up the drunkenness, or if she’s really that plastered.
Kane’s hands are all over Christi, moving from her hips to her ass as he walks behind her. Mikey’s into the other blond chick and the brunette’s checked out, only interested in smoking weed and getting trashed.
I tolerated the attention and flirting in the beginning of the night, but after a few minutes of ignoring the women, they lost interest and moved on. I’m certain this brunette is well aware there’s nothing happening between us. The number one rule of my job is to not bring down the vibe. So I offer her a smile when she peeks at me, but then go back to scanning the surroundings and blocking the view from the street. One thought gnaws at me as the group travels along: I just want to get back to Kat and make her take it all back. Make her forget what happened and remind her why we’re meant to be together. Remind her why she’s mine.
I don’t want this life anymore. Not when it makes Kat doubt me and what we have. Rightfully so.
I can’t take this shit. I’ll give it up for her. She’d take that, wouldn’t she?
As the girls laugh nearly in unison to something that Mikey yelled out and the door opens, I take my phone out of my pocket, glancing up to make sure none of the girls have theirs out.
The number two rule of my job:no pictures.
That’s my second concern. The first is getting Kane and peacing out of here. He’s had a good time; he’ll remember enough of it at least. I’m not interested in being here any longer than I have to be.
I’m distracted for only a moment. Half a second, but the moment I stop watching these girls, one of them breaks rule number two.
The second Christi’s blond friend pulls out her iPhone, flicking her long hair behind her as if she’s only taking a selfie, turning and posing with Kane in the background, I snatch it from her. She gasps and tries to grab it back like this is a game and I’m making a move on her. Her smile widens and she lets out a small laugh, again trying to snatch it from me.
Keeping the smile in place, I’m firm. It takes her a minute to realize no matter how much she pulls on my arm and makes that girlish cry, I have no intention of giving it back.
“No pictures,” I tell her simply, my voice low and admonishing. I don’t have time for this shit or her antics. She knows what she’s doing and it’s not cute or funny.
The smile drops from her face, her disappointment evident. I force myself to stare into her drunken hazel gaze until she looks down and then holds out her hand. The flirtation is completely gone. “I get it,” she snaps.
I place the phone in her palm after I shut it off and she huffs like I’m an asshole, but she’ll listen. They always do. It’s obvious she’s biting her tongue over wanting to tell me off and I can’t really blame her. She wouldn’t be the first. I’ve been slapped more times than I know. Mostly by women. Years of doing this have led to plenty of fights and unfortunate events.
I’ve beaten the shit out of assholes.