Page 7 of Mine for 24 Hella-Hours
“I don’t know.” No idea who this woman is. “But I’m going to find out.”
Observing my new fascination, the line curling on my face fades, peeling my upper lip in distaste. The frown settling on my features deepens.
A random guy with an annoying smile on his face approaches her. The hand brushes her shoulder, startling her as she spins on her heels.
I want to pummel his shiny grin off his face and leave my shiner instead—for interrupting her.
Who is this stupid fucker?My nostrils flare.
She was in her element, surrendering to the shadows. Coexisting with the dark embodiment of herself. Committing to the dance. Injecting small doses of passion into her moves as she gets comfortable. Frisky. Coloring my club with her radiant soul.
He ruined her moment.
The better question is why am I getting worked up about this?
She greets him with a hug and a small hopeful curl decorates her face. It seems like she knows him.
A small part of me is urging me to protect this mysterious woman for unknown reasons. That alone excites me. For now, I’ll continue to keep an eye on her.
“You analyze her movements like a restless dog waiting for his snack.” Ronnie chuckles to himself.
People come and go to my club every day of the week and seeing the beautiful women around is no news to me, it’s an everyday occurrence. I’ve never been interested in any of them, until now.
The bartender lines a tall glass filled with a content I recognize due to my supervision earlier today, ginger lemonade. Fitting.
Fidgeting on her heels in frustration. She sips her drink for the hundredth time while the man she’s with can’t seem to get the message. Her mouth stays mute for the entire time his lips babble on and on while hers twitch on one side. Probably contemplating her mistake of agreeing to go on a date with this fucking idiot.
He’s boring her to death.
What a waste.
“Are you stalking your prey?” Ronnie crosses his arms, amusement on his tongue. “You creep.”
“Nah, I’m the trained, protective one who’s waiting for his owner’s permission.” I retort his earlier comment.
“Is that so?” He checks me out of his peripheral vision. “You dawg.”
I smack his head playfully like we did when we were kids while we laugh at our stupidity. I’m relieved to see him out of his head for the time being.
“Jokes aside, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.” I clear my voice, smoothing the lapels of my black leather jacket.
“Sounds serious,” he acknowledges the shift in my tone.
I lean to his side of the couch, propping my booted foot on my knee, granting him my full attention. “Look, Ronnie, we’ve been friends forever, and you’ve been handling the club and me for the past five years.”
“Yeah,” he responds cautiously yet I can see his wheels turning, trying to decipher where I’m going with this.
“I want you to be my partner. You deserve to own this place too. Hell, you’ve owned it since the first time your feet touched the gray parking lot back in the day.”
The gap between his lips grows and amplifies his surprise at my words. He ponders for a few minutes until a wide candid-smile crosses his lips.
“Of course, I want to be your partner.” He leans forward, “I’m good where I am, don’t get me wrong. This place is my home and I cherish it like it’s my baby.”
“It’s yours too. You deserve to have your name alongside mine,” I grin. “I’m planning on making more appearances at the shop and attracting more artists who are looking for places to get recognition. I thought it could benefit new artists and veteran ones who want to take opportunities like this. Maybe even teaching some as well.” I’ve been keeping these thoughts to myself for a while now. It feels good saying them out loud.
“Sounds awesome, I’m all for it.”
“Yeah, so I’m not sure I’ll be here all the time. I’ll come when I can and help whenever I’m needed.”
