Thick Love (Thin Love, #2)(51)
Carl was a lazy, greedy little jackass, but he wasn’t cruel and it was my gaze he caught, not Ironside’s, before I nodded, thinking that a chat wouldn’t kill me and that tip would cover any lost customers I couldn’t wait on. “It’s fine,” I told my manager and he gripped the two bills off the table before he walked away.
“Have a seat.” I didn’t argue with the man. It had been a long shift, despite the lack of customers then, and my feet were throbbing. So I sat across from Ironside with only a fleeting curiosity about what he wanted and relieved that my aches would get a break even if it meant I had a chat with a douchebag.
“So?” I said when I got tired of the man’s obvious gazing at my chest. “What can I do for you?”
He didn’t answer until he’d finished his blatant examination of my tits and neck before he sat back, holding that toothpick between his fingers. “There’s been a request for another performance.”
Dammit. I knew that private show would come back to bite me in the ass. “A request? From who?”
“Sweetheart, you’re not stupid.” He said the endearment with a little drag of each syllable, making it sound like a curse. “Who the hell do you think?”
I didn’t know what I expected. Maybe that Ransom wouldn’t want anyone but me after that kiss? Maybe that the weeks we’d spent together meant a little more to him than he led on. Hell, I wasn’t that naive, but I still couldn’t keep myself from wondering about this request and how close it came to our last practice together. “When?”
“This weekend.”
“No, I mean when did he make that request?”
“Does it matter?” Ironside waved me off, like my question was so insignificant it didn’t warrant a discussion. “It’s double what I paid you last time.”
Double? Modi. That would give me a break from the diner and put me that much closer to tuition for the next semester. But double? I couldn’t help wondering if the up in pay came because Ironside was desperate to make Ransom happy or if Ransom was that anxious to be entertained. “And why is that?”
“Because he wants you. He asked for you specifically. I give my friends what they want and when supply is low,” another glance over my chest like Ironside wished he could clone me and I had to lace my fingers together to keep from slapping him, “well, they owe more.”
“Since when are you and Ransom friends?” It was ridiculous that Ironside even had any friends. Ransom was nowhere near that bottom of a dweller and I suspected Ironside knew that.
“Since I made you dance for him.” He leaned forward and I instantly sat back, not liking the leer on his face, or the way he smiled with that stupid toothpick moving in the corner of his mouth. “I see you in here sometimes, working your ass off, slapping away motherf*ckers who want inside that tight little body. You got spirit and you’re a tough chick.”
The idea of him watching me, that he knew about the drunk *s and the unwanted attention they gave me, made me feel sick. Not about the drunks, but that Ironside had his eyes on me. “You trying to make a point or just kiss my ass a little?”
“Oh, baby I kiss nobody’s ass. Yours,” he looked at my breasts again, then underneath the table like he needed to verify the level of hotness my body gave off. “Hell, I’d make an exception if I didn’t know Ransom wanted you.”
“I don’t know if I am flattered or completely disgusted.”
That insult got ignored as Ironside stood and grabbed the coffee pot and a mug from the behind the counter. Carl watched him, so did the pissed off dishwasher, but I looked away from his movement, not willing to let that jackass think I was interested in why he walked around every place he frequented like it belonged to him.
“Thing is,” he said, his voice clear as he walked back to the booth, “you busting that sweet little ass of yours ain’t really necessary.” Ironside sipped on his coffee with his eyes trained on my face. “I got girls.” The seat dipped when he sat down and Ironside removed the toothpick to take another sip. “Not just at the club and they make a hell of a lot of bank for an hour or two of their time. I get a cut and they don’t work again until they want to. It’s an easy life. You’d fit in and hell, we both know you’d pull in some cash, looking the way you do, moving that body the way you do.” Another glance at my body, then Ironside’s gaze scrutinized my face. “Creole?”
But I didn’t answer. It was none of his damn business who my people were. Fact was, only bits of my family’s heritage slipped out in a few words I spoke every now and then. Mostly, when I cursed. My mother had been Cajun, but because she married a Creole, Haitian, not French, she’d been abandoned by her people.
My father, well, he wasn’t as interested in teaching me our culture, not like grann had been but then she died when I was young and I’d been left to figure out the language on my own and that only came with my father’s Kreyol cursing, usually at me.
Ironside’s gaze kept wandering over my body, down my chest and back again, making me feel like a fatted calf at the parish fair. I’d been on my own since I was seventeen. I worked hard to keep in shape, lifting weights out at the Y, dancing, running and, to be honest, I was generally so damn busy calories didn’t have a chance to get comfortable in my body. I knew what I looked like. I knew that physically, my body tended to garner attention, so did my nearly-green eyes. But my inability to seem friendly and open, typically made men not approach unless they were stinking drunk.