Page 59 of Hot Summer Nights

Larry is a slob. He leaves food and trash all over the place and I am constantly cleaning up after him. It only took me a few days to realize that he had lied to me when he said that he had other people who wanted to live with him. No one would want to live like this.

My apartment is only four blocks from the strip club in the seedy part of town. It’s surrounded by rundown strip malls, pawn shops, and other crappy apartment buildings. My apartment with Loser Larry is on the first floor. He works from home as an IT specialist and I honestly don’t know how he still has a job. He talks to people over the phone and helps with their computer problems but I’ve heard him talk to customers and he’s so rude to them. He has to have an entire folder with complaints against him.

He looks exactly like what you would picture an IT guy to look like. Slightly pudgy with no muscles, a pair of thick glasses, and shaggy hair. I had thought he looked harmless when I first met him. I had thought that he would be an okay roommate. Someone I only had to deal with part of the time, but he never leaves the place. He’s a total homebody who spends hours in front of his computer, playing games or checking out porn. Did I mention that his computer is set up in the living room? Yep, I’ve walked in on him masturbating more times than I can count.

Bobby finally finishes splitting up the tips and I grab mine, saying goodnight to the other girls before I grab my backpack, stuffing the money inside, and head for the door. I want to get out of here before my boss can corner me and offer me a spot on the stage again. He’s been pushing for me to “move up” at work and start stripping instead of just waitressing. I’ve seen the cash that some of the strippers leave with and I would be lying if I said that I never thought about taking my boss up on his offer.

I know that I’m attractive. I have wavy blonde hair that hangs halfway down my back and large green eyes. I have a heart-shaped face with a light dusting of freckles over my nose. I’m not sure that many people even see those things though. No, the one feature that everyone notices isn’t my face or my hair.

It’s my boobs.

I’m 5’4” with a slim build but a size 34 G bra size. My boobs are always getting in the way and I know that they’re why my boss keeps asking me to strip. I’m also pretty sure that they’re how I got this job in the first place since my boss couldn’t seem to pull his eyes off of them for the entire interview. Most people, especially guys, have a hard time pulling their eyes away from them.

I can’t stand the way guys treat me because of my cup size. Working at the strip club and wearing the short, revealing outfits doesn’t help. Most customers treat me like a piece of meat and as soon as other people find out where I work, their view and attitude towards me start to change as well. I’m used to people looking down on me or treating me like dirt.

Most guys treat me like a sex object and I hate it. That’s probably why I’ve never had a boyfriend. I’ve been out on a few dates but it’s like because of my boobs and my place of work, guys just think I’m going to put out on the first date. I wonder how surprised they would be to find out that I’m still a virgin.

I nod goodnight to the bouncer standing guard outside the door before I hitch my backpack higher and start to head home. I walk as quickly as I can in my high heels down the cracked sidewalks, making sure to walk near the working streetlamps. In this area, that’s few and far between. Luckily for me, there’s a full moon tonight and it helps to light my way. It’s a balmy night and for once, I’m thankful for my skimpy waitress outfit. I pull my hair up, grabbing a hair tie off of my wrist and wrapping it up so it doesn’t hang down on my neck. I blow out a puff of air, fanning my face as I turn down the dark alley. It’s a shortcut that I found a couple of weeks ago.Almost home, I think, relief washing over me.

That’s when I feel it. A tug on my backpack.

At first, I think that it got snagged on something but then it comes again, stronger this time. I’m pulled back, teetering on my high heels as I try to turn around and see what’s happening. I jerk away, spinning around and coming face to face with a tall guy. He’s wearing dirty jeans and a blonde hoodie with the hood pulled up. I can’t make out much of his face but I can tell that he’s at least six inches taller than me and probably has one hundred pounds on me.

“Give me the bag, you fucking slut,” he snarls at me, trying to reach past me for my backpack again.

I know that I should just hand over my bag. There’s no way that I can take this guy if he decides to get physical and, in my high heels, there’s no way that I could outrun him. I know all of this but the thought of handing this guy my backpack, with all of my tips inside has anger firing in my blood. I straighten my shoulders as I face off with the guy trying to mug me.

My mom always told me that I was too stubborn for my own good. I narrow my eyes, backing away from the guy. He walks towards me, his hands tightening into fists as he closes the distance between us. My eyes look around, trying to find anyone that I could yell to for help but at this late hour, there’s no one on the streets. My attacker steps closer to me and I scamper back another couple of feet.

My heel catches on a crack in the sidewalk and my arms pinwheel, trying to keep my balance. I close my eyes, bracing myself for the fall but it never comes. Two strong arms wrap around me, tugging me back into a firm chest. A feeling of safety, of being where I belong washes over me. It’s a weird feeling for me and I’m not sure why I’m feeling it now but I don’t have time to analyze it. I barely have time to react to being caught before my savior sets me on my feet and jerks me behind him.

I stare at his wide shoulders as he faces off with my attacker. I know that I should run now. I’m street-smart enough to know that there’s no reason for me to stick around and yet something keeps me rooted to the spot. Something about the guy who caught me has me sticking around.

Like the guy who was trying to mug me, this guy is wearing a dark hoodie but that’s where the similarities end. The guy who saved me is taller, at least 6’ 3”, and wider. I wish that I could have gotten a better look at the guy's face before he put me behind him. Now, all I have to go by is the guys back. They both are thick but my attacker is flabby, with a beer gut spilling over the waistband of his jeans. The guy who saved me is thick with muscle.I wonder how much he works out.

I shake my head, trying to clear that thought away. I shouldn’t be finding anyone attractive right now. The guy who saved me steps forward, forcing the mugger back a step.

“You should pick on someone your own size,” the new guy says.

“Stay out of this man,” the mugger says, trying to sound tough.

My savior doesn’t say anything back, just kind of chuckles to himself before he draws his arm back and sends it crashing into my mugger’s face. The hood flies off and the guy drops to the pavement with a sickening thud. I can see his lip is bleeding and he seems shocked. I watch as the mugger hurries to his feet and runs off down the sidewalk.

Going, going, gone.

I’m frozen with my mouth hanging open in shock as my savior wipes his knuckles off on his jeans and slowly turns around to face me.

TWO

Kit

I doublecheck that all of the lights are off before I close and lock the door of Kings Gym behind me. I had stayed late, finishing up all of the paperwork that had been piling up for the last couple of weeks. I opened this gym because I love MMA and working out. I had fought professionally for a couple of years before I blew out my shoulder in a fight. After that, I had gotten my license as a trainer and used my winnings from fighting to open up Kings Gym.

Business has been good with new clients signing up every month. I personally train a few fighters who are good enough to go pro and I wave at Finn and Brooks as they head across the parking lot to Finn’s car. I’m not surprised to see them leaving so late. I think they might be at the gym more than I am.

Finn is one of the fighters that I train and Brooks is an ex-Army Ranger who works out at the gym as part of his rehabilitation. He was in some accident overseas and got medically discharged a few months ago. He’s been working on getting his full strength back in his arm ever since.

I was having a hard time running everything so I hired two more trainers last month to start some new classes. Having more employees is great for business but it also means more paperwork for me. I hate paperwork.

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