Would we stop breathing? Stop eating? No, and we shouldn’t stop existing because of Kent Nicholson.
After my shift is over I drive around Jacksonville to give Kent time to “bag” his latest friend. When I get home it’s almost five in the morning and the couch is thankfully empty. I slip quietly into my room and fall swiftly asleep.
When I wake up and hear Kent I force myself to go back to sleep. The second time I awake I can’t hold my bladder anymore. I risk a dash for the bathroom. However, my worries are unnecessary. The apartment is empty. I sigh in relief and take full advantage of it. It won’t be so bad living with him if I don’t have to interact with him. My schedule allows it if I stretched it out.
I get dressed for work early and drive around Jacksonville until my shift starts. This city is as unfamiliar to me as the rest of the world. I’ve never seen much of it besides the small part that raised me. I’m not into stepping outside of my comfort zone. I’ve never even been out of the city before. That’s why I broke down when Becca left. We were each other’s wall and when she left I was forced to lean against myself for the first time. I found I was stable; I had my moments of fragility, yet I could support myself if I had to. Some part of me had to learn that lesson after relying on her my entire life.
I brace myself for Saturday night, our busiest night. Insanity at its basic level thrives on the main floor when I check with Henley. A catchy 80’s song plays overhead and people are going crazy. Even I can’t help it. I dance from table to table, catching the gaze of a green-eyed hottie in my section. As I approach his table a familiar laugh catches my attention. Kent and his manwhore friends are in Samantha’s section. She doesn’t know it yet. I spot her at the bar, shaking her own hips to the beat as her worst nightmare waits to be served.
I quickly move to the green-eyed hottie in case she asks me to take Kent’s table instead. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he says back, grinning. He’s got jet black hair and the beginning of a beard. “What are the rules about dancing while on shift?”
“She loves to dance,” Henley butts in. “Go on. I’ve got your tables for one song.”
I stare dumbly at them. He gets up as the song shifts.
“May I?”
I nod silently as he pulls me onto the dance floor. He’s lucky I love this song. I notice immediately the guy can’t dance and he only wanted me to. It’s adorable watching him try and keep up. Eventually I put him out of his misery and turn around to grind against him, doing all of the work.
“What’s your name?” he asks in my ear.
I turn my head to the side so I can reach his. “Raina. What’s yours?”
“Trevor. I’ve been here a couple times, but I never seem to get your section.”
I turn around to hide my blush. As I do I sense eyes on me. They feel heavy and reproachful. I assume it’s Wayne, because I’m most certainly not working, but it isn’t Wayne. It’s Kent. He’s standing a few feet away from the entrance for the restrooms. He’s staring at me with a weird expression on his face. If I didn’t know any better I’d say someone just kicked his ass. He’s clearly in pain. I wonder about his expression, but Trevor turns me around and I forget. After all, wingwomen aren’t hired to care.
When the song ends he stops attempting to dance.
“Better get you back to work,” he says, winking. “I am starving, you know.”
He leads me back over to my section. Why did I dance with him? I scratch my cheek as I listen to him tell me his order. It’s Kent’s fault. I’ve been avoiding him all day and there he is, dressed deliciously in a tight white t-shirt and those sexy black jeans. His biceps stretch his shirt and his wallet bulges near the part of him I had been grinding against the other day. Images of me clawing at him as he rubbed me make me highly aggravated.
On my way over to the bar to get Trevor’s drink Samantha digs her nails into my arms.
“No,” I snap at her.
“Please, Raina. Please! I can’t see him again. He used