Demi
“Come on, Dad. Pick up the phone.” I pace the length of my bedroom with my phone pressed to my ear, but he doesn’t answer.
This is the sixth time I’ve tried calling him today, and it’s going straight to voicemail again.
He’s been like a ghost in the wind since I found him in a heap on our living room floor two days ago.
When the phone beeps and his voicemail clicks on, I end the call with a frustrated sigh.
This is getting ridiculous.
I toss my iPhone onto the bed and stare into my closet like it’s going to magically spit out something I can wear tonight.
I swipe hangers across the rod but nothing is screaming ‘I’m the one.
” I rub at the side of my cheek. What the heck does one wear to a job at an illegal fight club, anyway?
Is there a dress code? I should have asked when McKenna and I were there yesterday.
Suddenly my ringtone is piercing the room and I whip my head around to my phone laying on my bed. Dad. I dive across the bed and snatch up the device. When I get a peek at the caller ID my hopes are dashed. It’s not him.
“Hey, Kenny,” I answer sullenly.
“Well don’t sound so excited to talk to me.” She laughs.
“No, no. I’m glad to hear from you. I was just sorta hoping to hear from my dad is all,” I tell her honestly as I tuck the phone between my ear and shoulder and go back to rifling through my closet.
“Still no word?”
I sigh. “No. But honestly it doesn’t even surprise me anymore when he vanishes.”
“Well maybe this will make you feel better.” I hear the sound of a door closing and then she continues saying, “Girl, you are not going to believe this place.”
“Is it bad?” I ask, wondering if I’ve bitten off more than I can chew.
“Hell no. This place is rad.”
I snort. Rad. My bestie has the strangest vocabulary.
“And Pee Wee is even hotter in the daylight. I mean, Holy shit! The man is built like a fucking tank. Like, his biceps are bigger than my head.”
I can’t help but laugh at the awe in her voice. “Easy there, tiger. Isn’t he a little old for you?”
“Age is just a number, Demi,” she scoffs. “And all his assets are impressive, if you catch my drift.”
“Gross.” I cringe, even as I’m still smiling. “Please tell me you haven’t slept with him already.”
“Not yet,” she says with a dramatic sigh. “But a girl can dream. Anyway, I’m taking a quick break because Mr. Hot Sexy Biker VP Bossman is on a call, and I’m bored out of my mind.”
“Bored? What have you been doing all day?”
“That’s the thing. I’ve hardly done anything all day. I’ve basically been his glorified shadow all day. He sat me in a chair next to his desk and had me watch him do paperwork. Oh, and I got him a Coke when he asked. And he did take me to lunch. But that’s literally it.”
I raise an eyebrow even though she can’t see it. “And he’s paying you for this?”
“Two hundred bucks a day to sit and look pretty. Can you believe it? At this rate, I’ll have my tuition in no time.”
“That’s awesome, Kenny,” I admit, pulling a faded pair of jeans from my closet and tossing them onto the bed.
“Right? I’ll fetch Coca-Cola for the sexiest man alive. Sign me up for that gig all day long.”
I snort, surveying the sad collection of tops I’ve laid out. Nothing seems right. “Speaking of the gigs, I have no idea what to wear tonight.”
“Oh! Wear that black dress I got you last year. You know the one. It’s still got the tags on it.”
I groan, knowing exactly which dress she’s talking about. “Kenny, that thing barely covers my ass.”
“That’s the point! Listen, you want tips, right? Well, all these horny bikers aren’t going to be tipping you for your sparkling personality.”
“Thanks,” I mutter dryly.
“You know what I mean. Just wear the dress. Trust me.”
I walk to the far corner of my closet and pull out the LBD—little black dress. I wasn’t really into dresses but my amiga had put her foot down last year, declaring every girl needed a black dress in her arsenal. Looking at the strapless, form-fitting black mini-dress, I frown.
“I don’t know, Kenny. It’s really short. Don’t you think it might be a bit much for serving drinks?”
“Demi,” she says, her voice suddenly serious. “You need to make ten grand in two weeks. I don’t even know if that’s possible but what I do know is you gotta pull out the big guns.”
“But–”
“Dems! Wear the damn dress.”
I stare at the tiny scrap of black fabric and sigh. She’s right. This isn’t the time for modesty. My dad needs me.
A deep, gruff voice booms in the background. “Yo! Bring your little ass back inside.”
“Oops, the boss beckons,” Kenny giggles. “I’ve got to go. See you tonight!”
She hangs up before I can respond, and I toss my phone back on the bed.
With a resigned sigh, I tear open the clear plastic and hold the dress up against me, frowning at my reflection in the mirror. It’s everything I hate—too short, too tight, too... everything. But Kenny’s right. I need the money, and if this helps, so be it.
I slip the dress over my head and shimmy it down over my hips. The fabric clings to my body like a glove.
Glancing down I groan at the hem. It barely reaches the middle of my thighs. I turn sideways and grimace at my reflection. This is so not me. I don’t wear skimpy dresses.
Then again, I’m not the girl who takes a job at an underground fight club either, yet here I am.
I blow out a heavy breath. “Fake it until you make it.”
It’s two hours later when I finally step off the city bus and wonder, not for the first time, if I’ve bitten off more than I can chew.
I tug on the hem of my dress for the hundredth time as I survey the area.
Why in the hell did I listen to McKenna?
This dress is way too short for me. My eyes fall to the purple Converse on my feet and I almost laugh.
Not only do I hate wearing dresses, I’m not a girl who can walk in heels either.
I start down the block when the sound of motorcycles coming my way has me glancing over my shoulder. Two bikes are roaring up the road behind me, their headlights glowing in the dusk.
My heart picks up speed when one of the riders slows as the other accelerates past me. Suddenly the rider pulls onto the sidewalk right in front of me, blocking my path.
“What the—” the words die on my lips when the rider lifts his head. Intense caramel eyes lock onto mine and my breath catches.
He drags his gaze slowly down my body, taking in every inch of the dress Kenny convinced me to wear. A muscle in his jaw ticks, and his eyes narrow.
“What’s your name?” he growls, his voice deep and smokey.
I blink slow, thrown by his hostile tone. “D-Demi,” I stutter, immediately hating myself for sounding like a chump. I clear my throat and try again. “Demi Cross.”
His eyes continue to bore into mine, and I notice the patch on his cut. SAA. I’m just about to ask what it means when he speaks again.
“You can’t fucking wear that in there, Demi.” He nods toward the direction of The Underground.
I glance down at my dress and purple Converse, a knot forming in my stomach. He’s not telling me something I haven’t been telling myself, but for some reason him saying it stings.
Before I can brush it off, the temper I inherited from my mother makes an appearance. “You know what? Fuck you.”
His eyes widen, clearly not expecting that response.
“So what if my boobs are too small and my ass is too big. And… and this stupid dress is too short.” I plant my hands on my hips and lean forward. “This was all I had to wear.” I catch his lips twitching and narrow my eyes. “You insult me and now you want to laugh?” I can hear the fury in my voice.
His mouth curves into a full-on megawatt smile that transforms his entire face. “Wow,” I breathe, then quickly shake my head. The man insults me and smiles about it and I start to swoon like a schoolgirl. Pathetic.
“Your tits are perfect and so is your ass,” he says, his voice much less judgmental now. “But that—“ he points at my dress “—is going to get you a lot of unwanted attention, Demi. You’re a sexy little thing about to walk into the lions’ den.”
I open my mouth then close it. Did he just say my boobs were perfect? I shake my head, trying to clear it. “I don’t have time for this.”
He sobers immediately, muttering something about crazy women trying to get him locked up, but I have no idea what he’s talking about.
I move around him and his bike, and continue walking. A second later I hear his bike start and then he’s zooming past me.
This is already shaping up to be a weird freaking night. In for a penny, in for a pound, or however the saying goes.