Page 50 of Lucky Mother Pucker

I want to be her friend. I want to help her. I want to protect her.

“I should get back to work,” she says.

She starts to walk back to the main part of the club, but I stop her.

“Lucy, wait.”

She looks up at me, her pale skin flushed a pretty shade of pink.

“I’m gonna stay here for the rest of your shift, just in case you need anything. Would that be okay?”

I learned my lesson earlier. I don’t get to call the shots or boss her around when she’s living her own life. But I can’t stand the thought of her working here and getting harassed again. I want to be nearby in case she needs anything.

But I need to ask if that’s what she wants too. And I need to be okay with whatever her answer is.

“I don’t get done until midnight,” she says.

“That’s okay. My night’s free.” I remember Wally and how I promised Lucy I’d look after him. “Blake and his girlfriend are at the house taking care of Wally, so he’ll be okay.”

She swallows hard as she stares at me. “You really wanna stay here for the next few hours?”

“Yes. I need to know you’re safe.”

Surprise flickers in her sapphire eyes. “Okay. Thank you.”

She walks off. I follow behind her, then grab an open seat at the bar. I order a beer and keep my eyes on Lucy as she works.

Every once in a while, she comes up to me.

“You’re really nursing that beer,” she teases.

“It’s not that good.”

She chuckles. “The alcohol they serve here isn’t the best. But that’s not really the reason people come here.”

She nods at the main stage, where a blonde woman spins around on the pole wearing nothing but a thong.

The guys at the tables in front of the stage clap and whistle at her. Cash rains all over the stage.

She finishes her set and blows kisses to her adoring audience before picking up the money.

Just then, one of the other waitresses hauls herself onto the bartop to sit. She waves a one-hundred-dollar bill in her hand while smiling at a guy who’s standing in front of her. She grabs his shoulder and pulls him to stand between her legs.

She turns to the bartender. “This naughty boy just ordered a hurricane shot.”

“Oh god,” Lucy murmurs. “I can’t believe guys pay to do this.”

We watch as the bartender sets a glass of water and a shot of whiskey on the bartop. The waitress hands the shot glass to the guy, who downs it. Then she throws the glass of water in his face and slaps him. He’s smiling the whole time.

Everyone around the bar cheers.

Lucy shakes her head. “He paid a hundred bucks to get slapped in the face and have water dumped on him. Unbelievable.”

“I can see the appeal.”

She turns to me, her brow lifted in surprise. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. I’ve done hurricane shots a few times. It’s fun.”