Down and Out(61)

“You’re Savannah, right?”
“Yeah,” I say, frowning as I take in her brown eyes and curly auburn hair. “I’m sorry. . . How do I know you?”
“We went to high school together. Macy Dunham?”
I remember her now. Poor Macy was probably the only one in my class who got picked on as much as me.
You would’ve thought that’d make us BFFs, right? I mean, it just makes sense for the two biggest outcasts to band together and find friendship where they can.
Well, that’s not how it happened. I never had any classes with Macy, so going up to her and saying, “Hey, we should be friends, because I don’t have any, and I know you don’t have any,” would’ve been the worst icebreaker ever. So, both of us endured the hellish years at John Adams High School alone, in our respective bubbles.
She looks so much different than the lanky, frizzy-haired girl I went to school with. Now that her acne’s cleared up and she’s finally gotten her braces off, she looks kinda . . . hot.
Go, Macy.
“Oh my god, right,” I say with feigned enthusiasm. “How are you?”
“I’m all right. Just working my way through school, one fabulous job at a time,” she says, gesturing to her tray and little black dress.
Her sarcasm makes me laugh, and I say, “Hey, at least it’s not a slutty school girl uniform. You get tired of hearing ‘Do you want extra credit?’ pretty damn fast.” I bring my glass up, the bubbles tickling my nose as I take a sip.
“What is it with these *s?” she asks, leaning in so she won’t be overheard. That’s really not an option, since there’s a bona fide pool party going on in front of us, complete with squealing naked chicks splashing around in the water. Add the music floating up from the bottom floor of the penthouse, and it’s pretty much guaranteed that no one’s going to overhear us.
“They think just because I have a vagina and a tray, it makes me an easy lay. Like, what the hell? I’m just gonna spread my legs for your fat, balding ass because you fed me some bullshit line? Uh, no thanks, pencil dick. Now move along. I mean, really, what planet do they think we live on?”
I nearly choke on my drink, coughing and laughing at the same time. “In their minds, slutty clothes equals slutty girl. They don’t seem to understand that it’s a work uniform, not some Bat-Signal for sex.”
Macy practically cackles and quickly covers her mouth as she looks around. “I’d love to stay and chat, but I’d better get back to work. I can’t afford to get fired on my first day, not with the kind of money they’re paying me.” She tilts her head and narrows her eyes. “You know, I could probably get you in, if you want. My friend got me the job, but she says they’re always looking for new ‘talent.’” She rolls her eyes as she says the word.
“Oh, no, I don’t actually waitress anymore—”
“Are you sure? I’m making five-hundred bucks tonight for carrying a tray around for a couple of hours.” She chuckles. “I might be wearing a dress that’s two sizes too small while I do it, but still . . . that’s not bad.”
“Wow.” My eyes widen. “Yeah, it’s not. But I, uh, have a job already. At Declan’s gym,” I add, pointing to him in the corner as he talks with Marcus and the MC. His eyes light up as they meet mine and I return his smile, adding a little wave with my champagne flute.
“Oh.” Her brows lift as she looks over at him. “All right. Well, I guess I’ll see you around, then.”
She smiles and gives me a wave as she walks off with her empty tray, and I see Declan break away from his group and walk over to me.
“You never said there’d be an indoor pool at this after-party,” I say. “I could’ve brought my bathing suit and gone swimming.” I finish off my drink and he takes the glass from me, setting it on the tray of a passing waitress.
“And give every * here a peek at what’s underneath all this?” he says, flicking the ruffles on my shirt. He grins. “Not a f*cking chance.”
I glance over at the gaggle of naked people in the pool. “According to them, I don’t actually need a bathing suit.”
Declan steps closer, the warning evident in his face and voice. “Over my dead body are you getting in that pool naked.”
“I thought we established that you’re not the boss of me here, Mr. Whitmore.”
His eyes briefly shut as he bites his lip, his mouth turning up into a wicked grin. “Are you trying to make me hard in public?” he murmurs, slipping his hands around my waist as he pulls me close. “’Cause you’re doing a fantastic job.”
I can tell. Pressed this close, I can feel every inch of his burgeoning erection against my lower belly.
Maybe I should help him realize his full potential. . .
“And give every * here a peek at what’s underneath all this?” I say, slipping my hand between us to tug on the waistband of his jeans. I move lower, palming him through the denim and relishing the look of utter ecstasy on his face and the low groan that escapes him. Abruptly I stop and pull away from him, smiling up at his confused expression. “Not a f*cking chance.”
“You’re toying with me, Kitten, and I think I like it.” The small smile that touches his lips and lights up his eyes is beautiful and makes me realize that somewhere along the way, this stopped being a game. For both of us.
My smile falters, but I’m quick to cover it up with my bravado. “You love it, you weirdo.”