Page 3 of Rags to Vegas
“See. You’re about to go home to that big empty house alone, and I’m about to go cuddle with my gorgeous wife.”
His comment made me frown. “First off, I don’t ever want to hear you sound that hype about cuddling.” My frown deepened. “Second, I can search through my contacts and have the flavor of the night pulling up at my gate before I even get home. Doesn’t sound like such a bad life to me.” I held my palm out for him to slap.
“Those hoes don’t love you though.” Bryan’s tone was somber and while I knew he was joking; I snatched my hand away and turned my back on him.
As I ambled away, I threw up the peace sign. “I’m out.”
My brother’s mancave had its own entrance, so we didn’t have to walk through the house to enter or leave. I knew the twins were asleep, and I was sure Alisa was asleep as well, so I didn’t feel the need to say goodbye. As I walked toward my Maserati, all I could do was shake my head. When I was in the NBA, nobody bothered me too much about settling down andgetting married. But since an injury ended my career, all my father, brother, and sister-n-law ever seemed to want to talk about was me getting married and having kids.
My parents were married for twenty-one years before my mother passed away due to complications from Lupus. She died two months after I was drafted into the NBA, and I wasn’t sure if I was going to make it. My father had always instilled in me to be strong, but my mother’s death damn near broke me. I wasn’t even sure I’d be able to play up to par, but I had an awesome season. So awesome that I was dubbed the new Golden Child of the NBA. I released all my bitterness, grief, and pain on that court. Between endorsement deals and the second contract I signed, I was filthy rich before the age of twenty-three.
When I experienced a career ending injury five years into playing, I was once again devastated. My parents never pushed me to play basketball. I became obsessed with the sport on my own. In almost every childhood photo of me starting at two years old, I had a basketball in my hands. I lived, ate, and breathed basketball. Not being able to play was almost the equivalent of losing my mother. I sulked and felt defeated for about three months before I sucked it up and moved on. My brother and I started a sports management firm, and I also opened an auto shop. I was even about to start coaching basketball at a private middle school. Once I found things to keep me busy, being retired wasn’t too bad, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss playing.
Since I was no longer constantly on the road, obsessing over games and practice, my loved ones felt it was the perfect time for me to settle down. The women came in abundance while I was in the league. There were so many women vying for me, I honestly felt settling down would be doing myself a disservice. Even I was stumped when the sleeping around and being with different women all the time became less exciting. But I hadn’t met Ms.Right. I hadn’t met the woman that made me want to drop down on one knee and propose. I was no longer in the NBA, but I was still rich, and it was hard to find a woman that I genuinely believed wasn’t there solely for the money.
It was even harder to find a woman that didn’t have Botox for brains. I was over the shallow, ditzy, women that only cared about keeping up with appearances and receiving validation from strangers. I wasn’t some dumb jock. Stimulating conversations were a must for me. My dad never missed a chance to tell me how my mother was the love of his life. Bryan and I hated seeing him alone but even after almost eight years, he still hadn’t started dating. If he had, he kept her a secret.
As I drove home, my thoughts drifted to Berkley. After being drafted into the NBA, I had to learn to read women very well. There were a lot of them that admitted they knew who I was. Then there were those that pretended not to know who I was, but I was more than certain, Berkley had no idea who I was when we slept together. It didn’t mean much to me when I left the bathroom that morning and discovered she’d left. I was actually relieved because I didn’t have to do that awkward thing where I asked for her number or pretended that I wanted to see her again. But the more I thought about it, I wouldn’t mind seeing her again. I definitely wouldn’t mind having sex with her again, but if she felt the need to ghost me for whatever reason, I didn’t have a choice but to be okay with it.
CHAPTER 3
BERKLEY
Two months later…
Swallowing down a lump and forcing a smile, I handed the mechanic my debit card while my heart drummed against my chest. The simper adorning his face was all too genuine as he tapped my card against the reader thus sucking $429 from my bank account. A bank account that only held enough funds for my rent that was due in two days. I absolutely loved Las Vegas, but the weight of paying my bills alone had my knees buckling some months.
In the three years that I spent with my ex, Nick, I had endured enough emotional and physical trauma to write a lengthy book about. In the beginning, him telling me that I didn’t have to work and could focus on school was a dream come true. Fresh out of high school, I couldn’t attend college like most of my classmates. My mother had just been diagnosed with stage four breast cancer, and I chose to alternate between taking care of her and working to help hold the household down. She lost her battle with the disease after ten months, and I was devastated. A young woman thrust into the real world without her mother by her side to guide her was cruel. It was actuallycruel as fuck. And while I had my father, grandparents, aunts, and uncles, it wasn’t the same.
I sulked for a year and once the money from the life insurance policy was gone, reality smacked me in the face. Hard. I needed a job. Shortly after my job search began, I started working in a warehouse. The twelve-hour shifts were far from fun, but they put money in my pocket, especially when I was smart enough to do overtime. Thanks to my mother’s life insurance policy, I had paid off my car. The rent for my one-bedroom apartment wasn’t too bad. I was nowhere near close to being financially stable, but I was doing good enough not to be homeless or hungry. And then I met, Nick the biggest mistake of my life.
The jolly, rosy cheeked, mechanic handed my debit card to me snatching me back to the present. I hated trips down memory lane. They always altered my mood for the worst.
“Anything else I can do for you today Pretty Lady?”
I forced another smile.You can pay my rent. “No that will be it. Thank you so much.” I took the invoice he’d printed out and left the congested waiting room that smelled of motor oil and gasoline. My thoughts were running rampant, so caring about my surroundings wasn’t at the top of my list of priorities. When I almost walked into a black Mercedes-Benz AMG, I stopped in my tracks. The driver emerged from the car, and I had to literally bite my bottom lip to keep my mouth from falling open. It was him!
Crenshaw Malone. My clit ached as the memories from that night flashed through my mind like a movie. Nick was the second guy I’d ever had sex with. Malone was the third, and it was the best sex I’d ever had. The way he handled my body. The way his deep, raspy, voice sounded when he spoke against my ear and let dirty words fall off his lips. The way he moaned…
The stare off between the two of us was brief, but it felt like a lifetime. I offered an awkward smile and scurried away knowing he probably didn’t remember me anyway. A trip to the mechanic’s to spend money that I didn’t have didn’t put me in the best mood. My appearance reflected that. I washed my face, threw tinted moisturizer on, tossed my curls into a messy bun, and pulled on gray sweats and a wrinkled black shirt. The blazing Las Vegas sun had my cinnamon-colored complexion a shade darker, and working long hours had my size eight frame down to a seven. In my opinion, a seven wasn’t big, but I didn’t fit the model thin aesthetic of some of the women in Vegas. Nor were my B cup breasts a match for most of the huge knockers I often saw.
These days, everything was about appearances. I was only a waitress, but since my livelihood depended on tips, caring about how I looked while on the clock was necessary. It was very rare that I went to work bare faced. Make-up and seductive scents were a part of my uniform. But I wasn’t at work, and my looks had been the last thing on my mind. Suddenly, I regrated that decision, and I wasn’t even sure why. If he was interested in me on a serious level, he probably would have approached me differently at the bar. He wanted sex, and I did too. In hindsight, I was glad I didn’t know who he was at the time because I was nervous enough when I thought he was regular.
I did feel a little silly because there I was short on my rent money, and I’d had sex with someone worth millions and didn’t even know it. My face burned from the shame I felt as I rushed toward my car. As I drove off, Crenshaw became a distant thought, and my money troubles once again dominated my mind. Being that I thought I had my rent covered, the money I made the next few days at work was supposed to go toward other bills like my car insurance, cell phone, etc. Just when it lookedlike I would have room to breathe, I was probably going to have to pick up some extra shifts. Or take Sebastian up on his offer…
I chewed on my bottom lip as I navigated my Altima through the streets and contemplated working at the gentleman’s club that one of my regular customers owned. Sebastian swore that I had what it took to make great tips in his club. He’d been trying to get me to work there for more than a month, and I always turned him down. The last time he recited his pitch, he added in the fact that even on a slow night I could make almost a thousand dollars in tips, and that piqued the hell out of my interest. To him, I played it cool, but I’d been thinking about those words for the past week.
I was employed at a popular restaurant on the Las Vegas strip, and the most I’d ever earned in one shift was $389. Which wasn’t bad at all, but the rent for my apartment along with food, gas, and other necessities often had me living week to week. Especially since there were days when I left work with less than $200. I wasn’t a prude, so being around topless women wouldn’t bother me. I could keep my clothes on too? For the life of me I didn’t understand why his proposition had made me so uncomfortable, but I really didn’t have a choice.
As soon as I stopped at a red light, I fished through my purse until I found the business card that Sebastian had given me. It wasn’t the time to be modest or shy. My savings account literally had $50 in it, and I was almost $500 away from being homeless. My credit cards were maxed out, and I didn’t have anyone to call on. My grandparents were on a fixed income, and my father had three children under the age of eighteen with his wife. I felt bad asking him for money. I was a twenty-seven-year-old adult and should have life figured out.
The traffic light turned green, and I pressed the gas as my heart drummed in my chest. The moment I got home,I was going to call Sebastian. How hard could working in a gentleman’s club be?
“You look so pretty,” Rachelle gushed after inspecting my face.
The fact that I was nervous didn’t really surprise me because I was always nervous my first day on any job. But I was extra nervous for my first night atWild Wonders. Sebastian was elated when I called to ask him if the position was still open and just two days after calling him, I was about to work my first shift. My rent had been paid by the grace of God. I worked until my feet hurt in order to put the missing funds back. I had the day off from the restaurant, and I’d spent the entire day alternating between resting and stressing. The makeup I generally did on myself wouldn’t do. This was different, so I recruited Rachelle to do my makeup for me.
When she stepped to the side and I had a clear view of my reflection, I had to admit that I did look pretty hot. In fact, I was so pleased with her work that I smiled. The foundation was blended to perfection, and I didn’t have that funeral home caked makeup effect going on. The shade matched my skin perfectly, and I didn’t look like a clown. Eyeshadow was something I’d never learned to do correctly, and I was in love with the smoky eye that she gave me. The eyeliner and wispy lash extensions made my doe shaped eyes pop, and the purple-nudish color combo she did on my lips was stunning. Once I moisturized and fluffed out my curls, I’d be able to walk into the gentleman’s club with my head held high with the confidence that I’d need to not act like a fish out of water.
