Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 100376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
I sashay over and pick up the short silver dress with low back and spaghetti straps at the neck. Doug’s eyes narrow on my body. It cracks me up. We will never be anything but the best of friends, but sometimes he gets this territorial look in his eyes.
“I’m going, Michael. I need to get Dolly ready. We’ll see you in an hour.” He hangs up and starts to boss me around.
“Turn toward me slowly,” he snaps, and I almost kick him. I was counting on him to calm me down, not make me worse.
“You’re making me nervous,” I snap. “I thought you didn’t care about Michael the bartender?”
He jumps up and grabs my hand, spinning me so that I squeal and fall onto the bed.
“I want you looking beyond beautiful tonight.” He reaches for some powder. “If I need to stick my tongue down your throat, roll with it.”
I snort. “Whatever you need, Doug.” I sit up and close my eyes lifting my face so he can start the transformation.
The club is packed, but Michael must really want a blow job tonight because both of us breeze right in. We weave our way through the crowded dance club over to the velvet gate leading upstairs to the VIP section and give our name to another bouncer. Michael always works the VIP area. He loves to tell me this every time I see him.
A shiver of dread… excitement pulses through me as I take in the crowd. It’s loaded with suits and wannabe actresses. There’s something so wonderful about living the club life. Stay up all night dancing, drinking, escaping into another persona, becoming another person—a person who doesn’t need anybody or anything. Merely another nameless face in the crowd.
“What’s wrong with you?” Doug snaps me back to the dark club, its moving lights splashing different colors on the walls.
“Stop it.” I grab his hand. “You scared me.” He looks down at me and frowns as his gaze lasers in on my face.
I roll my eyes at him. “I’m jumpy tonight.”
“Yeah, you are.” He looks over at Michael. “Come on, you need alcohol and food.”
My hand goes to touch my stick-straight Uma Thurman haircut that Doug gave me two weeks ago. He also dyed it raven black.
A girl laughs and I turn to stare. What the hell is wrong with me? It’s an odd feeling, almost like Jack the Ripper will come up and snag me at any time.
Doug marches us straight up to the bar, not even saying excuse me, maneuvering me forward and into a prime spot in front of everyone.
I spy Michael at the end of the bar laughing at a guy who seems to be trying to flirt with him. I glance up at Doug who looks unfazed.
Michael is fine, I mean as long as he knows that Doug is mine. He can have him in the night, but I need Dougie as my friend and support system in the daylight hours.
Michael turns, sees us, and leaves the guy abruptly. He’s your typical actor slash bartender. Medium height, great body, and ugly bleached-blond hair. Every time I see him, I wonder why Doug doesn’t offer to fix his hair.
“Hey Michael,” I yell over. “I Touch Myself” blasts from the sound system, and it sounds like the speaker is right above my head.
He nods at me, then smiles at Doug. I wonder if Michael is more serious than Doug realizes. Doug is not relationship material; he’s been burned before by both women and men. So, his abandonment issues run deep.
“What are you two drinking tonight?” He smiles at Doug who only nods. Michael straightens his shoulders. “I know you want food. I already put in an order of fries and some chips and guacamole,” he snips and wipes his hands on the white bar towel hanging from his jeans pocket.
Doug frowns at him and looks down at me. “Tequila?”
I nod and look over his shoulder. “With cranberry… Oh my God.” I puff out some air and reach for the back of the bar counter. I swear to God it can’t be. I have to be seeing things.
“What?” Doug’s eyes scan my face.
My brain is on slow motion, or maybe it’s fast motion. Not twenty feet away from me are five Disciples. They move almost as if they’re in a movie or a rock band. Larger than life, they take over the club. Their fucking energy makes them dangerous; it oozes out of them. All eyes are on them as they make their entrance. And all I can do is hold on and greedily look for him.
“Dolly, drink this.” Doug hands me a shot, which I down like a robot, almost choking on the sting. “And eat this.” He hands me a French fry as I try to get a hold of myself.