Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 134(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 134(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
A couple girls drift by them, offering cutesy-finger waves to which his response is…nothing. They seem to know him though, which makes my stomach drop to my toes because that would mean he’s more than likely a regular.
Still, the way he’s wearing those loose-fitting Levi’s is next level, not to mention the way the simple gray t-shirt stretches over his chest. Arms that are just the right amount of buff are decorated with indigo ink in swirls and loops that make me dizzy.
Suddenly, my mother is back, grabbing my arm and jerking me out of my lust stupor.
“Lula,” she says as I look up, the excited lilt in her voice telling me the squat, balding man next to her snapping his tongue and giving my mom’s ass a squeeze is Larry.
“Say hello to Larry. Larry, this is Lula.”
“Hi.” I extend my hand as he smiles, biting his bottom lip, the glint of a gold tooth peeking out.
“Pleasure,” he says in a grumbly, Pal-Mall’s with no filter, sort of voice. “You’ve got your mother’s eyes.”
Mom giggles, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. “Everyone says that. Since she was little, that and they always think we are sisters,” she adds, giving me a conspiratorial wink.
I nod. “That’s true.”
I purse my lips as Larry ignores my hand, leaving me hanging.
He clearly is not up for the handshake, so I withdraw, rubbing my sweaty palm down my shoulder as my eyes dart back to the bar. I take in the perfect stubble along that masculine, sort of angry square jaw, swooning at the way he brushes back the messy lock of hair that keeps falling onto his forehead.
“It’s karaoke night,” Larry says as my mother grabs the top of my head and spins my eyes back toward them.
I swat her hand away. “Huh?”
Larry now has a toothpick in the corner of his mouth. Completing the stereotype costume of the skeezy club owner. His shiny dark suit is matched with an open collar white shirt which shows off a thick gold chain and crab pendant at his throat.
“Karaoke.” My mom chirps on a wobbly little bunny hop. “I told Larry you were a singer, so he said we would do karaoke tonight.”
“Oh. No…” I shake my head, “no, no, no, no, no…” Every nightmare I’ve ever had is coming true right now.
Karaoke, horrible.
Karaoke in a strip club? Next level horrible.
Karaoke in my new stepfather’s strip club with my mother clapping in the audience?
Where’s the hemlock? I’m taking it all.
“Yes.” My mother stands up straighter, shoulders back, silicone out. Her wide eyes stick on me, eyebrows raised. “He set it up just for you to sing.”
Jesus mother Mary, this isn’t happening.
I open my mouth to attempt one last protest as Larry raises a hand and waves at the guy in the plastic booth next to the stage who gives him a two-finger salute in return, stepping onto the little stage, waving off Tabitha or Tiffany from the silver pole, handing her a spray bottle marked 90% isopropyl alcohol.
I’m attempting to shrink under the table when the guy on stage points at me and says, “Next up, for the happy newlyweds, it’s Lula Laurence. Come on up here, Lula. You’re opening act at The King’s Palace’s new Karaoke night. Tell me what you’re going to sing for us…”
There is nothing in this world that could make this moment any worse.
My mom jerks her head toward the stage with that don’t-screw-this-up look in her eyes.
I wobble out of the chair, the room spinning as my mother drops one last morsel of horror into the horror show, leaning in with that conspiratorial whisper again.
“That’s Scotch over there at the bar in the gray t-shirt. I’ll introduce you when you’re done singing.” She nods toward where the hunk-a-burnin’ love is listening to the other guy in the suit oblivious to my life ending. “Sing your heart out, Lula. Don’t embarrass me.”
If there was ever a moment for the alien ships to arrive and beam me up for some anal probing, I pray for it now.
CHAPTER 3
Scotch
“Here’s to number five.” My stepbrother James raises his Jameson glass as two of Dad’s girls teeter by, biting their lips and waving, but I keep my attention on my brother.
The smell of reefer mixing with the sticky-sweet perfume of the stripper buffet, and trays of buffalo wings on the food buffet at the end of the bar, make my gut twist.
I’ve seen more tits and ass in my 28 years than most men do in a lifetime. Means nothing, I’m here for business. I’m only a small partner on the clubs, they are my dad’s deal for the most part, but still, it’s how I grew up. It’s just not someplace I’d hang out if it wasn’t necessary.
Only, tonight is different. Something feels off. Like the other shoe is about to drop.