Out of Aces by Stephanie Guerra Read Free Book Online Page B

“They’re here to make friends and spread the holiday spirit, so I want you to show them a good time!” DJ Blaze transitioned into some beats and—what was Rob doing? He had lifted the flap to let the girls behind the bar!
    I went over there at light speed. The black-haired one was even better up c lose.
    “This is Gabe. He takes care of that end of the bar,” Rob introduced me. “Gabe, this is Lydia, Chanel, Erin, and . . . What’s your name, sweetie? I don’t think you were here last t ime.”
    “Becca,” said the black-haired girl. She smiled at me, and I smiled back.
    Chanel, a blonde, took charge. She grabbed one of our bottle openers and slit the cardboard box. “Becca, you do inventory,” she ordered, opening the flaps. “There should be fifty T-shirts and thirty shot glasses in here. Lydia and Erin, take the floor. I’ll handle the VIPs. The goal is thirty bottles sold and all the swag distributed.” She tucked her hair behind her ears and marched back out. I could see her in a business suit in some other life.
    “You want help counting that?” I offered Becca. “Here, I’ll do the shirts.” I grabbed an arm load.
    “Thanks.” She smiled again. Meanwhile, Rob was pouring s hots.
    “Here you go, sweetheart,” he said when we were done with inventory. He handed Becca a tray. “Kill ’em dead.” She gave us a flirty look over her shoulder as she left the bar.
    “Those ladies are getting paid,” Rob commented after she left. “They’ll clear five hundred apiece in two hours, e asy.”
    “They deserve it,” I said. I went back to my end of the bar, and I admit it, I was a little distracted. People will do just about anything for a T-shirt. The best was when Chanel took the mic and got a contest going on the dance floor. She used a dumb, cutesy voice, nothing like how she’d sounded behind the bar. “Whichever guy dances the sexiest gets a shirt! I’m the ju dge!”
    You should have seen the drunk fools go. The dude who won was dancing like a windup hump -toy.
    “Okaaay . . . let’s see somebody do a good Elvis impression!” Well, there was a professional Elvis impersonator there, so that was easy.
    “Just the ladies now,” Chanel called. Really, people will do anything for a T-s hirt.
    I was watching the comedy on the dance floor, when suddenly Becca was leaning on my bar. “Can I get some wa ter?”
    I gave her a bottled water. “You selling as much as you ho ped?”
    “Yeah, Chanel’s really good. Everybody makes money when she’s work ing.”
    “That’s cool. You like working for Baca rdi?”
    “I don’t work for Bacardi. We’re with a promotions agency, and we work for whatever company hires us for an event. Like, I have a Kahlua outfit in my car from last ni ght.”
    “Yeah? What’s it look like?” I a sked.
    “Um, I guess it’s a really tiny pair of shorts. And a bikini top.” She was smiling a li ttle.
    “I bet you looked great in it.” Shut up, fool. You have a girlfr iend.
    “Well, I don’t know about that.” Her eyes locked on mine. Up close under the bar light, I could see it was all fake: her hair was too black, her tan too dark, her eyes too blue, her chest too huge . . . but I totally wanted her. “Hey, you know the Double Down?” she asked, playing with the cap on her water. “Lydia and I are going there after this is o ver.”
    “Yeah?” I said.
    “You should come.” She touched my wrist and let her hand rest there for a moment. Long, smooth nails. Tan, pretty h ands.
    I yanked my arm away. “I have to go on break,” I blurted out, and I practically ran out of t here.
    Rob gave me a weird look as I said, “Behind,” and rushed past. “Going on break,” I threw over my shoulder. It was no big deal; it was still early—he could handle the bar him self.
    Instead of going to the break room, I pushed out the front door into the parking lot. I needed to clear my head, get some air, think hard before I decided to cheat. It was cold