“I was hoping you’d moved out,” he says, bringing the brown bottle to his lips.

Rolling my eyes, I say, “You’re not going to get that lucky. Not that I imagine you ever do.”

“Don’t worry about me.” His eyes follow me the whole way to my bedroom, and the only way to rid myself of him is to slam the door. If I have to deal with rowdy bar patrons tonight, I need sleep. Lots of it.

When I wake up, it’s quarter to six. Just enough time to get dressed and grab a quick bite to eat before work. I skip taking a shower, deciding I’ll probably need one when I get home. There’s no way I’m going to fall asleep smelling like stale liquor.

Thumbing through my drawer, I find a black bra that provides full coverage and throw it on under my new tank top. I didn’t plan on wearing any shorts or skirts this time of year so those won’t be here until the rest of my stuff arrives next week. I search Mallory’s drawer, pulling out a pair of short, black linen shorts.

When I’m dressed, I assess myself in the full-length mirror. It’s worse than I thought; the tank showcases the top of my cleavage no matter how much I try to hide it. I wear more than this on the beach most of the time.

I take a few extra minutes to braid my long red hair, letting it fall over one shoulder, and then apply a thin layer of makeup. Not too much but enough so I look like I care.

Blake steps out of his room just as I’m walking out of mine.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asks through gritted teeth.

I cross my arms over my chest, looking down at my bare legs. “Getting ready for work.”

He comes closer, standing in the center of the living area. He’s changed from earlier, wearing a red and blue plaid shirt and a pair of faded blue jeans that hug his muscular thighs. And as much as I hate to admit it, he looks good.

“Your top,” he says, pointing his finger toward my chest.

I shift on my feet. “That’s where I’m working. Don’t worry . . . I don’t usually walk around town like this.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” His voice is louder as he rubs the back of his neck.

“Nope,” I say, continuing on to the kitchen.

As I open cupboard doors, I feel him behind me. “You moved all the way to Chicago to work at Charlie’s?”

“No.” I pull out a box of crispy rice cereal.

He groans. “Have you been in there?”

“Yes.”

“And you want to work there?”

I turn, practically running into his chest. He smells fresh, with a blend of spice and wood . . . I love that smell. “No, I don’t want to work there, but it’s all I can find right now.”

He shakes his head. “You won’t last more than one night. I’m tempted to bet on it right here, right now.”

“You don’t know me,” I say, passing by him to open the fridge. No milk. Great. I push it closed and reach my hand in the box, shoving a mouthful of dry cereal in my mouth.

“Sure I do,” he says, lifting himself up to sit on the counter. “You’re a friend of my sister’s, which means you’d probably qualify for nun-hood. You probably grew up in a perfect little house with flowerbeds under each of the fucking windows, and you probably see this city as an adventure. Tonight is going to be anything but an adventure. I’ll guarantee that.”

I stand in front of him, careful not to touch his knees. “You don’t know shit.”

He grins. I’d like to slap it off his face. “Mallory would never say that.”

“Exactly.”

“Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?” he asks, his expression more serious this time.

“I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

“How do you plan on getting home tonight?”

I shrug. “It’s only a couple blocks away. I’ll walk.”

He groans, running his fingers through his blond hair. “Those creeps would be more than happy to help you home, I’m sure. What time are you off?”

“No idea.”

“That’s fucking great,” he says, sliding off the counter and disappearing inside his room. I don’t understand why he even cares, but I’m not going to let him get to me.

BEFORE LEAVING FOR WORK, I pull on a pair of oversized black sweatpants and wrap my black coat tightly around me. I head out the door, making sure to lock it behind me. I heard Blake leave a few minutes ago while I was shut inside my bedroom. It’s probably better that way since all he’s good at is getting under my skin.

It’s only six-thirty when I step outside but it’s already pitch black. Feeling uneasy with very little light along the street, I walk quickly, anxious to get to work. I never thought I’d say that about Charlie’s.

When I reach the front of the bar, I take a few deep, cleansing breaths. I really don’t want to be here, but I need to be. Life’s circumstances don’t always allow us to make our own choices.

“You going in?” a husky male voice says from behind me. I look back to see a bald guy with neck tattoos standing a foot or so behind me. I hadn’t realized it, but I’m standing right in front of the door, blocking the path of anyone who wants to go in or come out.

“Sorry,” I say, pulling the door open.

I hold it, letting him pass before following him inside. My stomach rolls when I get a look inside. It’s much more crowded than before. Pulling my coat even tighter, I make my way to the bar, noticing the guy who hired me pouring drinks.

His brows pull in when he sees me. “You come in to tell me you quit?”

“No,” I answer, flattening my hands on the bar. “But can you tell me where I can change?”

He nods toward the back where a wooden restroom sign hangs. “When you’re done, I’ll tell you what I need you to do tonight.”

“Thanks. By the way, what’s your name?”

“It’s written across your chest, sweetheart.” He smiles, and all I can do is walk away before I change my mind and leave out the same door I walked through less than a minute ago.

As I make my way to the back, I notice that three-quarters of the people in here are men. Some are younger, around my age, and the crowd is a better mix than it was before. Maybe you don’t need a tattoo and a rap sheet to hang out in this place after all.

I change quickly, not wanting to be in the rundown bathroom any longer than necessary. It looks like it hasn’t been decently cleaned in months—the walls are covered in words I could never say around my mother.

I tug the bottom of my shorts as I make my way back out to the lion’s den. This time, the stares I get are hungrier. Eyes don’t stop on my face—they travel down, taking in my bare legs. I hate being the center of attention, especially this kind. Sex sells, but I’ve never wanted to be in the business.

Charlie nods his approval when he sees me. “Looking good. Next time, I’d prefer heels, though.”

“I’ll remember that,” I reply, staring down at my chucks. “What do you need me to do?”

His eyes scan the bar until he finds who he’s looking for, waving them over. “Dana has been with me a long time. She’ll show you the ropes.”

A perky, big-breasted blonde comes up beside me. “Yeah, Charlie?”

He points to me. “This is Lila. I want you to show her how it’s done out there, and then let her take a few tables on her own.”

Her eyes scan over me before she sticks her hand out. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” I say, wrapping my hand around hers.

She lets go of me, gesturing to the sea of tables. “Follow me.”

I stay close, tugging the hem of my shorts down one more time along the way. The thought of talking to any of the people in here makes my palms sweaty. This isn’t my scene; in fact, I rarely drink.

“Our job is to take orders and read them off to Charlie. He makes them, and we serve. If you do a good job, on a night like tonight, you can go home with a couple hundred dollars. The key is to smile, and it doesn’t hurt to flirt a little, too.”