Stars (Penmore #1) Page 4

  Feeling like a baby deer learning to walk for the first time, I try to remain stable enough to grab the side of the bar and walk back toward the storeroom. After I collect the clothes I came into Lucky’s wearing, Keeley and I make our way to the exit. “Want to get ice cream on the way home?” she asks as we finally leave the darkness of the club, coming to stand in the sunshine where I parked my trusty little beetle.

  “Is there a drive-thru ice cream place close by?” I enquire before staring forlornly at the driver seat through the windshield

  “No.”

  “Then I think it’s probably best I get home and start working out how to take this off,” I reply. “I also think we need to talk about who’s driving home.”

  “Huh?”

  Now I don’t often demonstrate how far I am able to spread my legs on a sidewalk, but my friend was planning on putting her life my in hands. I’m also wearing what I believe is traditionally meant for street-corner workers like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. I knew she needed to see what I was dealing with.

  Namely limited movement and poor ankle control. .

  “Oh!” She giggles before grabbing the keys from my fingers.

  I throw open the passenger side door and try to sit comfortably in an outfit that is now more intimately acquainted with parts of my body than I have ever been. Keeley throws one final look back at the club, pure glee shining from her face. I don’t look back. I didn’t need to see Lucky’s again to know to fear it.

  PARKER

  My heart hammered in my chest, my legs trembling with nerves as I crossed the busy street. As I approached the entrance to Lucky’s, looking the part of a high-class escort, I knew I was in no way ready to make my waitressing debut. Sure, I could walk and do a mean strut in my revealing leather ensemble and attention-grabbing heels. I had also mastered the art of peeling my uniform on and off my curvaceous body without my hipbones protesting furiously. Keeley even had me practice dancing around our apartment, swaying to music in my uniform. It felt absolutely ridiculous, but she told me she thought it would improve my tips if I looked like I belonged and felt comfortable in my surroundings. Honestly, after I thought about it, I couldn’t really fight her logic. So I practiced swinging my hips wide and moving to the music in our small dorm room. As a result of Keeley’s infectious enthusiasm, I could now even do the entire Nae Nae hip-hop dance move in this outfit.

  Even though I felt more comfortable in my so called uniform, I wasn’t sure I was ready for what was waiting for me behind those grandiose steel doors. Hell, I wasn’t even sure I could make it through the doors without throwing up. The music from inside the club slips through the cracks as I venture closer. The throbbing pulse of each beat shakes the air around me.

  A huge muscled man, clearly in a position of authority, stands before the doorway. With his arms crossed, his biceps bulge to what I’m pretty sure equates to the size of my head. His stance clearly communicates that no one will enter the place without talking to him first. I really wish I had checked out if the club had any back entrances during my interview. When I finally approach the mountain, who I assume must be Bo, he just mutters, “You Parker?” I just nod. Apparently, when faced with a giant, I become mute.

  Having never met a giant before, I was unaware of this fact.

  As Bo opened the doors and gestured me inside, I couldn’t help but wonder if Hagrid had been sent to pick me up as an eleven-year-old, would I have been able to ask him about Hogwarts? After how I handled Bo, I think probably not. I would probably end up stuck with the Dursleys. Even in J.K. Rowling’s awesome world, I would probably still only be ordinary.

  With that depressing thought, I make my way across the darkly lit club. The DJ is doing a sound check and the room seemed to be buzzing with the anticipation of drunken sorority girls and lost inhibitions. There are about four other girls dressed like I am walking around the room, encased in skintight leather and wiping down the small metallic tables that accompany each booth. Everyone seemed to be keeping to themselves, storing their energy and fake enthusiasm for the patrons about to walk through the doors. Marissa told me that the main bartender would train me this evening and would be waiting for me at the bar beside the dance floor.

  It wasn’t until I was almost leaning over the bar, trying to look for the bartender, that I saw him. His back was to me, but I knew those broad shoulders. Recognized his flawless olive skin. Grayson Waters was behind the bar at Lucky’s.

  Suddenly, I felt like all the air in the room was sucked out and I found myself drowning in anxiety and gasping for breath. How had this not come up?! Everyone was always talking about him. Surely someone would have mentioned he worked here.

  It no longer surprised me that Keeley mentioned everyone lined up for hours to get in here. I wasn’t sure if I could work so close to him. Sure, I went to high school with him and managed to be productive. I even managed to graduate as Valedictorian. But he was a year older, which always meant we never shared a class. I’ve never had to work with him in the same room as me.

  Well, until now. Oh, Fuck.

  With his back to me, I could see that he had on a white apron, which displayed the club’s name stitched in bold writing, around his waist. I’m pretty sure that meant he worked here.

  Otherwise, Marissa was a genius, because either way every time a girl went to check out what Grayson was packing, she would automatically be staring at Lucky’s logo.

  It was brilliant, really.

  I bet it was great for business.

  What wasn’t great was my ability to give him drink orders.

  Then carry drinks and sway my hips to the music as I walked away from him.

  No. No. No.

  This wouldn’t help me.

  I couldn’t try to be sexy to improve my tips around Grayson Waters.

  And not just because I’m pretty sure my work ethic would be lost when I stopped to stare at his thick brown hair, imposing shoulders and chiseled jaw line.

  Before I could come up with an exit strategy, the weirdest thing happened. He turned, noticed me staring, checked me out and smiled. And yes, him blatantly checking me out was super peculiar. I don’t think too many guys do that. But suddenly, I realize all my panicking was for nothing.

  False alarm.

  Now, in my defense, the guy in front of me definitely looked like Grayson from behind. And I could also admit that maybe to someone who hadn’t been somewhat-stalking Grayson Waters for what feels like their entire life, he could also easily pass for him from the front. He had the same jaw line, same furrowed brow. Even his mouth looked similar, dusty pink and bottom heavy. But I know Grayson’s smile, and what I was faced with was not Grayson Waters’ smile. I have memorized the way Grayson’s mouth tilts at the right-hand corner just a fraction when he’s smirking or trying to stifle his big smile. And the way a small dimple in his left cheek pops out when he’s giving it big.

  Except this Grayson wannabe didn’t have a dimple.

  He started to walk over to me and I was shocked by how alike they moved. Like stalking their prey. Graceful. Commanding. Confident. “Hey, you must be Parker,” he says as he gets close to me, stretching his hand out, inviting me to shake it. But I don’t. I’m actually a little pissed off. How dare he look like Grayson! So I just stare at his offering of friendship. Then him. Then his hand.

  He drops his hand and instead grins at me, taking another slow and long perusal of my outfit. “Okay, so you aren’t into handshakes. But you’re still staring at me. So I’m going to go out on a limb here and ask if you’re a Grayson Waters fan.” He leans over the counter and lets me know softly, “If you are a fan, I can definitely make some quality time for you.”

  “You’re not Grayson,” I hiss.

  “Never said I was,” he replies, returning to his initial standing position, his eyes suddenly filling with humor. Not caring that I’m throwing all polite etiquette on how to interact with a total stranger out the window, I take a long, hard look at the man
in front of me. Before I can stop myself, I let him know, “You look a lot like him.”

  “Yep. Can’t say that I don’t,” he responds, still grinning at me from across the bar, obviously enjoying my interrogation. “Do you often pretend to be him?” I ask with one brow raised. I realize that maybe with his staggering resemblance and his offer of quality time that he had probably deceived girls in the past. “Is this a trick question?” He raises his own brow before breaking out in a cheeky smile that causes his green eyes to twinkle.

  “Only if you have long-term memory issues,” I reply, losing my annoyance and struggling not to smile at his infectious chuckle.

  “Well, we just met. And I would hate to start our friendship off with lies, so I’m going to go with ‘only if the girls are stupid enough to fall for it’,” he states. His eyes are still twinkling with humor as he reaches for a cloth and starts to wipe down the table. His actions remind me that I’m here to work, not cross-examine the bartender. Even if he has stolen the face of my dream guy.

  “So, when you aren’t pretending to be Grayson Waters, what do you introduce yourself as?” I finally ask.

  He puts his hand out again. “Hi, I’m Nate.”

  After shaking his hand, I just can’t help but ask, “So, why do you look so much like Grayson?”

  “Would you believe me if I said I know a fantastic plastic surgeon?”

  “No.” I really wish I could tell him it’s his mannerisms that are disturbing me the most. That the way he’s moving is so much like the Grayson I’ve observed that I would almost guess he’s also studied Grayson from afar.

  “So, I probably should start helping. But it’s going to bug me all night and probably end up distracting me until I end up on my ass in these boots. How is it possible that you guys are so alike?”

  “Why do you care?” he asks, pausing from wiping down the bench and losing his infectious smile to give me a careful once-over. The defensive stance Nate suddenly takes has me responding with the truth. “Grayson and I have been neighbors for thirteen years.”

  “Oh, well, then you probably met my sperm donor,” Nate says as he relaxes and resumes organizing stock behind the bar.

  “You’re brothers?”

  “Yep.”

  Before I can help myself, I blurt out, “You never came round.” I stand there frozen for a moment, wondering if he’ll ask how I know who has and hasn’t visited Grayson.

  Except he doesn’t.

  Instead, I softly hear Nate say, “Was never invited.”

  And then, as if my mind has a filing cabinet of Grayson Waters’s memories that pops open at whim, I remember when I have heard his name—well, Nathan—come from Grayson’s bedroom. On the night Grayson’s dad left. Before Grayson stormed out of his house and I experienced one of the most embarrassing events of my life.

  “When he was eight,” slips from my lips.

  “What?”

  “I’m just realizing you guys must be pretty close in age.”

  “Yeah. Mom was a secret. Or I guess I was, anyway. Gray has known for a while though. My dad and mom tried to make a go of it for a bit when I was about ten. They got married and made it all official before he decided to leave us as well.” He pauses briefly, as if thinking back to that time of his life, then starts again. “Anyway, this has been fun, but if Marissa finds out instead of showing you the ropes I was chatting about Grayson, she’ll be down my fucking throat. And not just because I’m pretty sure they have this bizarre ‘friends with benefits’ thing going on.”

  “Marissa and Gray?” I choke out.

  Picturing the pretty strawberry-blonde who smiled at me and gave me this job, I feel a sharp pain in my chest. “Yeah. That going to be a problem for you?” Nate asks, pausing yet again to give me a thorough examination.

  “Me? No. Not at all, why would it?” I reply, trying to throw some sexy attitude but probably sounding like an insolent teenager.

  “You just got a little white is all,” he says softly, looking concerned.

  “Nope, just nervous about my first night here,” I respond, hoping he doesn’t ask any more questions or tell me anything else about Grayson and Marissa that might cause further pains in my chest.

  “Okay then, I guess I better get on with the show,” Nate says, throwing me the cloth in his hand and reaching behind the bar to grab a drinks tray.

  GRAYSON

  “You should see her, Gray. I cannot wait until she starts working game nights. She is going to make me so much money,” says Marissa, leaning back against her new couch as she begins to fill her mouth with popcorn. We were meant to be watching the latest Star Wars movie, but she’s been going on and on about some new girl she hired for her club.

  Lucky’s has been in her family for three generations on her mother’s side. It used to be a strip joint, but after Maris’s father came into the picture, they decided to spend some cash and turn it into a club. Of course, Marissa’s mother and father had no fucking clue how to run a classy club with respectable patrons. So after three months, they gave the keys to Maris and decided to open another strip joint two towns over.

  Maris loves and hates the place.

  I spent a good amount of time listening to her worry about being the one Carter woman to lead the place into the ground. But she’s made it work. Everyone talks about going to Lucky’s now, and apparently she found a kick-ass bartender last year who makes girls line up for hours to get a look at him.

  “She has this sweet, nerdy, girl-next-door vibe, but with an amazing body. I already know she’ll draw a crowd,” Maris continues, completely ignoring the fact that I’ve lost interest and started to pull out my cellphone. “If I didn’t know how much you hated visiting me while I work, I would definitely encourage you to come and check her out,” she says between handfuls of popcorn.

  “You saying I can date people you work with again?” I ask, suddenly looking up from my phone and trying to hide my smile. Lucky’s always has the school’s hottest girls working there. Maris drew a line a few months ago when three of her waitresses quit after I slept with them and didn’t call. I don’t get why they couldn’t keep serving drinks at Lucky’s after sleeping with me. I don’t go there often, so we weren’t likely to run into each other. Unfortunately, Maris still got pissy, so we made a deal: If I knew they worked for her, I gave them space.

  Maris starts chuckling. “Go right ahead,” she says between coughs of laughter. “No way the mouse would sleep with you. I dropped by to check how she was doing during her last few shifts, and her reaction to hot guys hitting on her is priceless,” she tells me while giggling, forgetting the popcorn right along with the movie. “She freezes, blushes then avoids them like the plague. Thankfully, all the guys who hit on her seem to find it endearing and don’t get pissed that she then doesn’t serve them drinks all night. They still leave huge tips at the bar and walk out smiling,” she rattles on, as if this was the best news she heard all week.

  I can’t help but swiftly feel a little annoyance at Marissa’s reaction.

  I’m picturing this timid, mousy girl hiding from dicks, probably like Leyton and the boys from the team, trying to work while avoiding slaps to the ass. After Dad left, Mom had to start waitressing in addition to her hairdressing job just so that she could pay off the debt he left us with. She always said it was worth getting hounded by plastered patrons, if it meant she could afford my addiction to superhero costumes and notepads. But sometimes, I used to have to play and write in the back rooms when she couldn’t find a sitter. Watching how she used to be treated made me hate nightclubs and drunken assholes. “Shouldn’t your bartenders be making sure she feels safe?” I growl at Maris, feeling my muscles pull with tension. This was part of the reason I rarely went to Lucky’s. I was happy for everything Maris was doing to the place. I just didn’t need to see any of this drama firsthand.

  “Gray, it’s all good. All the boys who work for me think she’s a sweetheart, so they take extra good care of her,” she
explains. “I even have one of my bartenders requesting to be on all her shifts to make sure she’s okay. I think he has a little crush on her. I overheard him asking her to dinner. Seems to me like the only guys she isn’t afraid of talking to, are my bartenders.”

  “Yeah, that’s good,” I say, still trying to shake the feeling of concern and frustration for the new girl. Deciding I need a distraction, I wonder what trouble the boys are getting into tonight. “Hey, I might bail. Probably about time I check up on D to make sure he hasn’t gotten arrested for doing something stupid this evening.” I grab my wallet and keys.

  “All good. You okay with me still watching the movie without you?”

  “Yeah, sure. Text me if I should bother watching the end,” I reply as I make my way toward the door. I’m still trying to shake my feelings of unease and worry over the mouse as I head back to my apartment and roommate.

  PARKER

  “Okay, so explain to me again why we’re doing this and why am I not at home where I could be laying down and resting my swollen feet?” I ask as we take a seat at a small table in the back of Francesca’s Ristorante.

  “Because this is the best Italian place in town. You never go out, and I’m pretty sure I heard you complaining last shift about having new fancy clothes but working so much you never get to wear them anywhere,” Nate replies as he passes me the menu.

  It’s almost annoying how much he listens to the things I say.

  Okay, so maybe I had been complaining that I had gotten a job so I could buy new clothes. But, now that I have a job, when I’m not working I’m so tired I spend most of my free time wearing my pajamas and taking naps. On the upside, I flipping love naps and my new turquoise onesie. It was covered with skulls and love hearts. Move over kitten clothes; I now work at a shady nightclub and can rock fluffy skulls and love hearts to bed. Yep, I was that sort of badass.