Page 36 of Resist

“Hell no.” Her laugh floats above the beat of the music. “Any other time I’d say yes, but not tonight. Not only do I have my highest tipper in the Two Pod, but I’ve also got a hot single doctor in the Three Pod, and damn . . . I’d definitely let him give me a checkup, feel up, anything if he wants to get up with me.” She waggles her eyebrows and does a little shimmy as the lights of the club dance over her.

“You don’t understand. I’ll give you all my tips. I’ll—”

“Is it your ex?” she asks, eyes narrowed and expression surprised since I’m the one girl here who never talks about significant others.

“No. I don’t have an ex. It’s just—”

“I’m sorry, Vaughn. You know I’d help if I could, but I can’t bail on these guys. They pay enough to make my car payment in one tip.”

Tears burn the backs of my eyes as I stare at her. “Melissa . . . you—never mind.” I shake my head and force a smile as hers widens. With a pat on my shoulder in sympathy, she hustles off to the bathroom before her drink order is up.

With a quick glance over to Ahmed, I take the two shots of tequila he hands me and down them in succession without batting an eye.

One for luck, one for courage. I mutter the toast to myself, remembering it from a book I read a few years back, all the while thinking how damn much those six words are needed right now.

I’ll definitely need both to make it through this night.

With the tequila suddenly warm in my belly and soon to take the edge off my nerves, I grab my tray of drinks and head back into the lion’s den.

Deep breath. Shoulders straight. Head held high.

I enter the Eight Pod.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Ryker

My night just went from shitty—having to put up with my client Ken and wanting to leave as soon as we were done discussing his case—to wanting to sit back and stay awhile.

This place isn’t my style. Too loud. Too polished. Too damn trendy.

But her? The woman who just walked back into our private VIP area most definitely is.

Vaughn.

Talk about being shocked to hell when I looked up to see her standing before me. Her black skirt short. Her green top tight. Her heels high. And every part of me remembering what her skin tasted like.

But it was her eyes that fucked with me. Those light blue-green eyes that stared back at me were the same ones that looked at me with tears welling in them the other night. They still held fear, but this time I’m pretty sure it was for a completely different reason.

I wanted to demand answers. Ask her who the hell she really is and make her explain why she is working as a goddamn waitress when she clearly doesn’t need to.

None of this makes sense.

Not a goddamn ounce of it.

And yet here I sit, listening to Ken drone on and on about his bitch of a soon-to-be ex-wife and how he can’t wait to have the freedom to fuck his way through every single one of the women in this room. All bullshit bravado. The man’s going to sleep with a few women and then realize what a good woman he had.

His loss. Her freedom. My retainer replenished.

“Here you go, gentlemen,” Vaughn says as she steps toward us, eyes avoiding me at all costs, and sets down our drinks.

“Thank you,” I say. Look at me. Let me see you, Vaughn.

But she doesn’t. Instead she just smiles at Ken. “If you need anything else, I’m your girl. I’ll be in and out frequently, but if there’s anything you need when I’m gone, make sure you push that button right there,” she says, pointing to the button on the wall, “and I’ll be here in a second.”

“In and out frequently? You want me to push your button when I need you? Are you flirting with me, Vaughn?” he asks playfully as I tense at his shitty line.

“Enjoy your drinks,” she says, ignoring his comment.