“How’s that engine coming along?”
I look up when Mitch snaps me out of my thoughts. He’s standing on the right side of me, chewing on a sandwich. He’s shirtless and equally as dirty and greasy as I am.
“Good. It’s all good.” I toss down my dirty rag and grab for my t-shirt. “I’m going to head out so I can shower before work. I’ll finish this later.”
Mitch looks between me and the red mustang I’ve been working on since eight this morning. He doesn’t look happy. He knows something is up, but it’s too soon for me to tell him. I don’t feel like getting into it just yet. “What’s up with you? You’ve been at this shit for the last eleven hours and now you’re about to head out to Walk Of Shame? Don’t you think you need a break? If I had known you worked tonight then I would have kicked your ass out of my shop a long time ago.”
“It’s nothing, man.” I throw my shirt on and reach in my pocket for a cigarette. “I just wanted to get this shit done. This Mustang has been in the shop since last week and it’s not even ready to go yet. I’m sure the owner is ready for his ride back.” I brush the loose strand of hair out of my face that has fallen out from the rubber band before lighting my cigarette. “I’ll be back after work to finish it.”
“Nah, I don’t think so. Not tonight. You can finish it in the morning.” Mitch takes the last bite of his sandwich before shutting the hood. “This car is off limits until you come back after you’ve gotten some sleep. I hope whatever is bothering you isn’t going to make you want to-”
“It’s not. Shit, Mitch.” I take a long drag of my cigarette and grind my jaw. “I’m done with that shit. You don’t need to worry about it.” I grip Mitch’s shoulder before giving it a shove and walking backwards. “I’m outta here. I’ll see your ass bright and early.”
“Alright, man. Sorry. Just looking out for ya.” He tosses his dirty rag at me and starts walking over to help some scrawny little dude with glasses. “See ya.”
“Yup,” I mumble, while blowing out smoke. “See ya.”
I ARRIVE AT WALK OF Shame early and with three shots of Jack and one shot of Patron in my system. The last thing I need to do is let thoughts of Onyx ruin my damn night. I’ve been doing this shit for too long to care about what someone else might think. Who gives a shit if I strip for the pleasure of women? Onyx left a long time ago. I shouldn’t feel guilty. This is me now.
When I walk in, I instantly spot Sara behind the bar. She smiles, but then gives me an oh shit look before reaching for a shot glass. “Jack?” She doesn’t even wait for me to answer before filling up the shot glass and sliding it in front of me.
I take it and quickly toss it back with a moan. I slam the empty glass down and look around the bar. “It’s slow as shit in here.”
She smiles. “Because you just got here.” She reaches for a glass and mixes a drink for one of her regulars. “They’ll start piling in soon. I had at least ten girls ask me if you were working tonight. I told them you’d be in later ready to shake your damn dick. Damn vultures.” She hands her regular his drink and then returns to me. “You look like shit by the way.”
“Thanks for noticing,” I scowl. I scoot my empty glass in front of her. “One more, Sara. You owe me now.”
“Damn you, Hemy. I swear you boys have issues. Cale is the only one that doesn’t drink his dick swinging life away.” She gives me a curious look and gets ready to speak.
“Just do it, dammit.”
She rolls her eyes and pours another shot.
The last thing I need is her prying into my business. This is something I need to deal with on my own.
After I tilt back my fifth shot of Jack for the night, I swallow back my pride, stand up, and look back at Sara. “Give me a bottle of whipped cream.” Sara reaches in the fridge, tosses it to me, and I catch it and walk away.
I stand in the doorway of the back room for a few minutes pushing my thoughts away, until a slow seductive song plays over the speakers. Without thinking, my body starts moving to the rhythm of the music.
I run my hands down the front of my body while grinding my hips to the beat. My jeans are sitting low on my waist and my button down shirt is rolled up at the sleeves, halfway undone. The girls take notice and instantly start screaming while waving their money around.
Stopping at the first round table I set the bottle of whipped cream down, grab the closest girl’s chair, and spin her around to face me. Her eyes go wide as I straddle her lap and grab the whipped cream off the table.