“Hey, yourself.”
Brittany is in her late twenties, a single mother of two toddlers, but you’d never guess it to look at her. She’s got dark brown hair with a streak of blue, a nose ring, big tits that catch any guy’s attention—particularly in the one-size-too-small T-shirt she wears to work—and a tramp stamp of a heart that’s always visible because of her aforementioned T-shirt. She has a job as a nurse’s aide at the local old folks home during the week, but as she’s admitted on more than one occasion, it doesn’t pay shit. The money she makes in one night here supplements her income by twenty percent.
I like working with Brittany. She doesn’t hold back and always tells it like it is. She doesn’t play mind games like the majority of the women I’ve met in my twenty-one years of living, my own mother included. Brittany and I have worked out an arrangement that suits both of us most nights. Brittany waits on the guys and I get the girls. While I use my charm and charisma to rake in extra tips, Brittany uses her pure sex appeal.
“There’s a Grizzlies game tonight,” Brittany says with a grin. “Tips should be good.” She definitely has the advantage in a bar that caters to sports. But I choose to see it as more of a challenge.
I hold my hands out at my sides. “You think you can get more tips than me tonight?”
Her eyebrows lift and she gives me a smirk. “Think? I know so, little boy.”
“Then let’s bet on it. Loser closes on their own tonight.”
She releases a throaty laugh. “You got a deal. I hope you’re ready to stay late.”
I shake my head with a grin. “We’ll just see about that.”
The crowd begins to pick up and Brittany soon has the advantage—there’s a good two-to-one ratio of men to women tonight. Thankfully, a group of ten women comes in at around nine-thirty. It doesn’t take long for me to figure out that their night out is a bachelorette party. I flash a mischievous grin at Brittany, who’s realized the same thing.
She curls her fingers and growls. “Go get ’em, tiger.”
I rarely venture out from behind the bar. Brittany’s more prone to do it, especially when there’s a large group of guys watching a game. They like that she gives them personal attention and tend to show their appreciation with big tips. I usually do just fine behind the bar, but when a group of half-drunk women come in looking for a good time, I know when to leave my comfort zone. Especially if I want a shot at winning this bet.
“Good evening, ladies,” I drawl with the accent I used before entering Southern three and a half years ago. The one I dropped to fit in more with my affluent classmates, though now I wish I hadn’t bothered. “What are you all celebrating tonight?” The answer is so obvious a blind man could see it, but I need to get the conversation rolling.
“Jenny’s getting married!” one of the women shouts and the rest of the group screams shrilly. I resist the urge to cringe and flash them my sexy smile. “And which one of you lovely ladies is Jenny?”
They giggle and point to a blonde wearing a tiara.
I press my hand to my chest. “This gorgeous woman is Jenny?” I reach for her hand. “Any way you can call off the wedding? No? And to think, I never even got a chance.”
The woman blushes and all her friends giggle in a way that tells me this isn’t their first stop. “Jenny’s taken, but I’m available,” one of them says.
I scan the group. “Which one of you said that?”
The girl who raises her hand looks suddenly shy. She’s in her early thirties and slightly overweight. Her hair is in a plain bob and there’s little to no makeup on her face. She’s exactly the kind of woman Sabrina always made fun of toward the end of our relationship. Sure, she never insulted the women to their faces—at least not when I was around—but the victims always knew. I decide I want this woman to feel good about herself before she leaves tonight. I don’t even give a fuck about the tips.
When the woman sees that I’m skirting around the group toward her, she turns bright red and tries to look away. I pull up a chair next to her. “What’s your name?”
Her mouth opens and closes like a fish tossed onto a creek bank.
“Sophie,” the friend standing next to her volunteers with a giggle.
“Hey, Sophie. I’m Ben. I don’t think I’ve seen you in here before.”
Her lips part again and she finally says, “That’s because I’ve never been here before.”
“Well, that has definitely been my loss.” I stand and push the chair under the table. “Ladies, as you may have heard me tell Sophie, I’m Ben and I’m going to take care of you tonight.”
They shriek and I wait for a couple of them to make their obligatory they know how they’d like me to take care of them remarks.
I tilt my head and give them a pretend stern look. “Now, now ladies. The night is young. Plenty of time for that.” I shift my weight. “I’m ready to take your drink orders if you know what you want, but I need to check all y’all’s IDs first.”
The women are all in their late twenties and early thirties, but if I’ve learned one thing from this job it’s that women close to twenty-one hate it when they’re carded and women over thirty love it.
They all show me their IDs, and I take particular time with Sophie’s. I get their orders and slide back behind the bar. Brittany, who’s been watching the show, glares at me.