Addicted to Santino - Amarie Avant Page 0,46
repeat. Never mind. Did the girl, the rich girl tell ya to kick rocks? Fuck, you’re turned out, aren’t you?”
“Marrying her, yup.”
He rubs his goatee. “Your funeral. I’ll tell one of the girls to expect you tonight. No, make it this evening after work. You need to get reacquainted with The Pipeline.”
“I’d have to strip an entire year at The Pipeline for a proper proposal, Carlos.”
“What? Are you planning a big Valentine’s Day thing like the rest of the guppies?”
“Try 24 days or so.” Maybe her birthday.
“All right, like I said, one of the girls will meet you with open arms later today. Your costumes, the music you’ll come out to—”
I grit out, “I need quick money, Carlos.”
“You’ll have the house screaming Romeo again, and you’ll get all your old gigs back. Remember all the Christmas parties for heiresses and rich, old widows. You’ll have a Santa hat on your cock in no time for the intimate parties.”
“Okay, Carlos. I’ll hit the stage for tonight, and then I want those intimate parties.” All right, ladies, you’re concerned about my faithfulness to Gina right about now. I would do nothing to compromise my life for her. There was a day when I denied those parties left to right. But I went to one, and the money flowed like water. Still, I don’t have any unnecessary mileage on my dick. I’ve kept it 100% business.
Carlos claps my shoulders. “Tonight, this Friday and Saturday night as well, and then I’ll get you on rotation for the rich bitches.”
“Two nights club then rotation.”
“You got yourself a deal for tonight. Also, I’ll let you pick between this Friday or Saturday. Your choice. Good luck with the missus.”
Later in the evening, I’ve parked in the back of The Pipeline. The brick building is painted in black. The only color is the bright, blue neon lights of what is a pipe continuously erupting. Extremely cheesy, extremely effective. That monstrosity can be seen from the freeway.
Gina calls me just as I open the door. After shutting it, I answer. I’m about to tell the first of what will be tiny, white lies when she speaks. “Santi, you didn’t buy the pizzas yet, did you?”
“His-and-hers.”
She sighs. “Okay, I’ll be . . .”
“I’m kidding, Bella. Tell Daddy what’s wrong?”
“You could tell by my voice?”
I can feel her smile through the receiver. All my good intentions go to shit.
Gina explains her current struggle with her dad. “I just met the sweetest guy—”
“Woah . . .”
“No, listen, baby. Mr. Turner is married with children. His father died and left a family B&B that’s barely afloat. He’s a new client. Assisting the family business won’t result in a hefty commission, so Dad had Steven handle it.”
“But, he didn’t.” My fists curl under. God, I don’t know who I hate more, her father, or the asshole.
“But I’ll toss Steven under the bus because this is friggin day one of us moving in together. We’re starting on the wrong foundation because of me.”
“No asshole?”
She laughs. “Nope, plain-old incompetent Steven. So, I’ll toss his ass under the bus while it has 120 on the dash. That’s all the satisfaction I need.”
“Damn, sweetheart, the city bus doesn’t go that fast. You’ve never been, have you?”
“Whatever, Santa.”
“Go be Superwoman, Bella. As a matter of fact,” I bite my lip, thinking fast. “I’m helping a coworker with some modifications on a . . . flip. It’s Carlos—”
“Yuck, he’s slimy. Every time you leave me to head off to work at the crack of dawn and I have to . . . ”
“Bring me something I forgot, I know.” I groan. “He didn’t look at your ass the last time. I threatened him. Besides, it’s his first flip.”
“Eh, alright, Santino. Can you be home around nine?”
Nine? I grimace. Doors open at 8:30. The cover charge triples by 10. The proper girls get there earlier. I need to be shaking my ass at eleven, or later the ones flashing the cash.
“Actually, Santino if it isn’t pushing it, I’ll let you know when I leave tonight. I’m sure there are a few notes Mr. Turner gave to Steven. I’d rather not stress the guy too much. When I’m ready to go, we can time it. I want to lick all the sweat off your body. Just be home with your toolbox.”
The back office of the club is rectangular with enough space to walk past a desk. There’s nothing on the dingy white walls. Carlos and his business partners never added a fresh