Maeve
My ass had been groped, pinched, and slapped a record number of times tonight. I blamed the uniform—skin-tight jeans and red corset top—and flowing alcohol. Oh, and the fact that many,manymen were dipshits.
Also, my ass was cute and more than ample, so there was that.
That didn’t mean I wanted drunken idiots groping me while I was trying to do my job—a job I hated with the passion of a thousand burning suns, but still felt compelled to do my best at.
I tapped the bar, grabbing the attention of the man behind it. “Hey, I need three Coronas and a vodka cran.”
Clive leaned on the bar, not moving fast enough for my liking. I’d known him for two years now. He liked to chat before he worked, and since he was mostly sweet, I didn’t mind. Tonight was an exception. We were down a waitress, my wrist was killing me, and my customers were in fine form.
“How’s your night going, love?”
“Grope-y, but otherwise fine. The same,” I answered.
His dark brow furrowed. “Need me to come out there? Kick some arse?”
I gave him a soft smile, the kind I reserved for the nicer guys who kept their hands to themselves. Clive smiled back, flashing white teeth just a little bit crooked in the front. So freaking charming.
“Thank you for the offer. I’ll keep you updated on my need for kickin’ arse.”
His grin grew at my use of his British-ism. “You’re still playing tomorrow night, right?”
I tucked a wave behind my ear. “I am. Do you have tomorrow off?”
He nodded. “I had to sell Marco a kidney to get him to switch shifts with me, but I wouldn’t miss it, love. The kidney sacrifice will be worth it.”
I laughed. “That’s a lot of pressure. I have to give a kidney-worthy performance, huh?”
He leaned closer, his elbows on the bar, giving me a broad smile. “Uh huh. I have no doubt you will.”
I glanced over my shoulder, hiding the burn in my cheeks. Clive was sweet to everyone, but sometimes, his attention turned my pale cheeks rosy, no matter how much I fought it.
“I think the natives are gettin’ restless. Mind grabbing those drinks?” I asked.
“All right, darlin’, I’ll get your order to you in a second.” Clive liked to imitate my Georgia peach accent just as much as I did his.
While I waited, I stretched my wrist, cursing the pain that flared with each rotation. The last thing I wanted was a damaged hand or wrist. Ineededmy hands.
I turned to survey the tables and dance floor of Low Bar, where I spent five nights a week slinging drinks and wobbling on platform heels. In the realm of bars, it was pretty nice. The VIP area was often home to celebrities, both minor and major. I rarely worked that area, though—only when it got slammed. According to my manager, Carlos, I didn’t have the right “look”—which was code for my body was not a size four, so I could not possibly serve drinks to famous people, lest my abundant curves offend their delicate sensibilities.
Ass-grabbing plebeians? Sure.
Famous people? Never. Or not unless we were seriously shorthanded.
I couldn’t say it didn’t bother me. I wish I could have. But it did. The tips in the VIP area were sometimes in the thousands for one night’s work. That one man’s opinion of my body held me back from earning that kind of cash rankled…and hurt on a deep-down level.
A warm hand touched my shoulder. “Here you go, love.”
Twisting back around, I loaded my tray and gave Clive another smile. “Thanks, C. You’re a good one.”
His gaze roamed from my eyes to my lips before lifting again. “You’re an incredible one, Mae. Keep it up.”
My roommate, Haven, was convinced Clive had a thing for me, but I disagreed. Admittedly, I wasn’t great at reading signs, but over the past two years of working together, he’d had plenty of chances to do something about it if he had been interested. He hadn’t, and I’d questioned what I’d say if he did. Sure, he was adorable and would probably charm the pants right off me given the chance, but adorable and charming had never been my type, much to my southern belle Mama’s dismay.
I stopped at my table, delivering their drinks. “Anything else I can getcha?” I’d started playing up my accent once I’d realized Northerners found it to be a novelty. I hated myself a little for it, but I couldn’t turn my nose up at bigger tips, and my southern lilt had them pouring in.
The pretty, frat boy-looking one who’d been finding a way to touch me every time I stopped by the table hooked a finger through the belt loop of my jeans. “Why don’t you stay a while? What was your name again?”