to the sink and turned on the faucet. “Yeah, but you wouldn’t happen to have an extra pair of earplugs?”
Diamond laughed while shaking her hair. “I never wear them. I guess I’m used to loud music.” Opening her purse, the exotic dancer pulled out a small can of hairspray.
And you’ll probably need a hearing aid before you turn fifty. Ashley rinsed her hands, then reached for a paper towel.
“There’re a lot of good-looking guys here tonight. I got the hots for someone real bad, but his club owns the bar I work at, and they got a ‘no-fucking-the-employees’ policy.”
“Sounds like something that’ll keep them from being sued.”
“I guess, but it sucks. I’ve been crushing on him for a long time. Oh … one of my friends
already hooked up with a real cutie tonight.” Diamond shook the can and took off the lid.
“That’s nice.” Ashley freshened up her berry-colored lipstick.
“Maybe you’ll meet a hunk before the night’s over.” Diamond waved her arm around her head.
The smell of the aerosol fumes filled Ashley’s nostrils as she blotted her lips. Catching Diamond’s eye in the mirror, she said, “I’m not looking for anyone. I better get back—I don’t want to lose my seat.” Dropping her lipstick into her clutch, she headed out of the ladies’ room. The last thing she wanted to do was spend the next fifteen minutes chitchatting with the dancer.
Ashley settled back onto the barstool and glanced at her phone. Two of her best friends had sent a picture of them partying in one of Ashley’s favorite bars in downtown Denver. Suddenly, loneliness assaulted her, and she wished like hell that Danielle and Nicole were at the bar with her—drinking a bit too much and whispering about some of the characters in the venue.She sent back a smiling face and a “Wish I was there!” text. Once I start work on Monday, I’ll be too busy to care about socializing. Although, there were two things that she wanted to do right away: sign up for a yoga class and volunteer at a homeless shelter. Yoga was what kept her sane and grounded, and giving back to others was her way of expressing gratitude that she and her family were no longer homeless.
“You look like you need a friend,” a man with a mop of curly hair down to his shoulders said as he sidled up to her.
“I’m good,” she said, her gaze fixed on the stage.
“You’re beautiful, but I’m sure you hear that a lot.”
Ashley shrugged and took a sip of her drink, but the ice had melted, diluting it and leaving it tasteless. She put it down on the bar.
“Do you want a fresh one?” the man asked.
“No, thanks.” She continued to stare at the drummer setting up his kit on the platform, hoping the guy next to her would get the hint that she wasn’t interested.
“I haven’t seen you around here before,” he said, brushing against her.
“Lay off, Leo. She’s not interested.” Whitney’s voice was like a life preserver in a raging river.
Ashley glanced at the bartender and mouthed, “Thanks.”
“Either order a drink or move on,” Whitney said.
Grumbling something under his breath, Leo pressed his lips together and stalked away. Not wanting to engage in a similar situation, Ashley slid off the stool and headed to the jukebox. She leaned over it and perused the selections. Taking out her credit card, she slipped it into the slot and chose three songs: “Flirtin’ with Disaster” by Molly Hatchet, “TNT” by AC/DC, and “The Bleeding” by Five Finger Death Punch.
A chorus of guffaws drew her attention to the end of the bar and that was when she saw him. Tall, dark, and ruggedly handsome with high, slanted cheekbones, a straight nose, and curved lips set above an angular jaw with just the right amount of scruff. Damn … this guy is all male. Dark brows arched over a pair of seriously black eyes—devastating-full-on-midnight-skies-pristine-stones-of-onyx—perfect black that focused solely on her. A strange shiver slid up Ashley’s spine, and her breathing quickened as she crossed and uncrossed her arms.
A tight black shirt hugged his broad shoulders and emphasized the defined muscles of his chest. A pair of jeans, highlighted a tapered waist and clung to his slim hips and long corded legs. His dark hair was brushed back from his face except for a thick, wavy lock that rested on a strong forehead. For a split second, her fingers tingled with the need to brush away the wayward strand.