The Matchmaker's Replacement - Rachel Van Dyken Page 0,32
being alone; I wasn’t really the typical party guy. I slept with girls, sure, but I didn’t like crowds. I liked my computer, my sanctum, and I liked sex.
Anything beyond that didn’t really matter to me.
The blare of the TV was grating on my nerves. I promised myself I’d stop obsessing over Gabi’s personal life. It wasn’t my issue, at all.
And yet I found myself turning on my heel and making my way into my bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind me, and pulling up a chair to my computer screens.
Hands shaking with excitement and maybe the adrenaline of how wrong it was to go snooping into the private life of my arch-nemesis, I hacked into her bank accounts again.
And nearly had a freaking heart attack.
Hearts Gentlemen’s Club?
Two hundred dollars?
Wha-a-at?
“Oh, Sunshine, what have you gotten yourself into?”
Without a second thought I grabbed my phone, pressed the Home screen button, and said, “Siri, directions to Hearts Gentlemen’s Club.”
Hell, my night was just about to get all kinds of interesting. Thank God for really weak computer passwords.
Chapter Twelve
Gabi
My short black tube-top dress was itchy, not to mention extremely uncomfortable. Thank God I had black tights on; otherwise, every time I bent over I was going to be giving people a free show.
I blinked back tears. I hated it. Hated all of it. But my parents needed money, and this was the only job that would let me work around my school schedule and Wingmen Inc. Ian, being Ian, had offered to help me financially, but he’d already done way too much, and I wasn’t his responsibility. Rich people didn’t get it. Taking money from them had a way of making the less fortunate feel even worse.
Lex.
I was already in trouble. I had a very real fear that if I repeated his name three times in the mirror, or just in general, he was bound to show up and take possession of my soul.
“Hey, honey!” A drunk man waved a ten in the air. “Can we get some more drinks over here?”
“Sure.” I forced a smile even when his eyes lingered longer on my chest than was appropriate. It was a gentlemen’s club; what was I expecting?
The lights dimmed as one of the announcers went on stage and started getting the crowd pumped up for the next dancer.
At least I wasn’t doing that.
Things could be worse, right?
I wondered if it was just a matter of time before I got that desperate. The manager of the club had already told me I could make a killing, but something about taking my clothes off for money sounded a hell of a lot like what Lex did on a daily basis, so . . . I refused.
Plus, my parents would be furious.
“Honey!” the drunk man called again. “The drinks!”
“Yeah!” I called back and made my way over to the bartender. “Can I get three rum and Cokes for table seven?”
“Sure.” Jim was in his fifties, though he looked more like a thirty-year-old. He was really built and had a blinding white smile and no hair. “Here ya go, sugar.” He slid the drinks onto my tray.
I heaved the tray up and walked over to the drunken table. “Three rum and Cokes. Will there be anything else?”
The man gave me a few dollars’ tip and then crooked his finger for me to lean down.
Oh great.
“If you give me and my buddy a private dance, we’ll double that.” He pointed to the ten-dollar bill he’d given me.
Oh wow, twenty bucks to take off my clothes for Grandpa and friends? Where do I sign up?
“I’m not a stripper,” I said through clenched teeth. “Just a waitress.”
“Hah!” The men at the table erupted in laughter. “They all start as waitresses.”
I swallowed the retort that I’m sure would have gotten me fired and smiled through clenched teeth. “Anything else?”
“You think about it,” he slurred, and then he winked—or tried to, but it was really more of a blink.
“Yeah, I’ll do just that,” I lied and walked off toward the bar. It wasn’t very busy for a Friday night, and I was thankful. I’d only been working a few days, and my feet already ached.
What I wouldn’t give for a massage!
I reached into my apron and pulled out a candy bar. For the past three days I’d been getting baskets of food, mainly junk food and the odd protein bar or Red Bull here and there, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.