Page 117 of The Contract

“I am.” Technically, not a lie.

The bouncer says nothing.

Just… snarls.

Look, I’m sure worse things exist than freezing my nipples off at the front of a hundred-person line, the Chicago wind chewing at my ass like a rabid pit bull while I stare down a bouncer built like a tank with the charm of fresh roadkill.

Like, say, getting booted from said line.

Call it delirium or good old-fashioned idiocy, but I jab his stupid iPad anyway. “Check. Your. List.”

He exhales deeply, the universal sign I’ve just secured a spot on his permanent shit list. I silently pray Dante didn’t delete my record.

A full minute ticks by before he finally thrusts out his massive hand.

“ID.”

Before he can reconsider, I slap my driver’s license into his palm.

He barely glances at it before flicking it back like a used stick of gum.

“You’re not getting in without a sponsor.”

“What?” My stomach sinks. “But the other dancers got in.”

“The other dancers were twenty-one.”

“And?”

“And tonight, nobody under twenty-one without a sponsor. Not even dancers.”

Instead of moving it along, I dig my heels in harder. “A sponsor? What—like I’m in AA?”

“No,” he drawls, impatient breath hissing through clenched teeth. “Like you need babysitting. From a club member.”

“A club member?” You mean like Dick-curd, whatever-the-hell-his-name-is? He was supposed to be my goddamn sponsor.

Not that it matters now.

The bouncer’s smirk widens, cruel amusement glittering in his eyes as he pats me on the head.

Pats. Me. On. The. Head.

“No sponsor, no entry. Run along, tesoro.”

Tesoro?

Did this asshole just call me sweetheart—in Italian?

Screw this.

Yeah, I know better than to poke a pissed-off bear. But since when have I ever chosen self-preservation over Scottish defiance?

And since I’m me—stubborn, cold, and probably hobbling home on the bleeding stumps of my feet—I can’t let this bullshit slide.

I summon every scrap of Italian I picked up during my internship and bite out, “E io che pensavo che i fottuti Neanderthal fossero estinti.”

Translation: And here I thought fucking Neanderthals were extinct.

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