Page 42
Chapter Eight
HAVEN
Morgan
Later that night: Good Girl Haven Lounge
“Hey, I need a shot of Hennessy over here. Pronto.”
Being a lounge owner can be crazy. Sometimes, I wonder how I even do it. So many bodies. So many orders. Everybody is moving like ants on a farm, trying to get somewhere. Luckily, I have my girls with me to make sure I’m not having a full meltdown. Tyesha is running the bar, keeping things intact. Dime is handling food and drink orders at the tables. Meanwhile, I’m stomping around the polished marble floor like a chicken with my head cut off, checking on everybody. Including the staff.
I wasn’t expecting such a packed night. Usually, Thursdays are pretty quiet. Especially in competition with 1700 Pull Up and Pourman’s. I guess the ladies just like our vibe a little bit better. And who can blame them? When I came up with the concept for Good Girl Haven, I had us in mind. And only us. The goal was always to create something different. Something revolutionary in a way. There are already so many venues to party in the city. Bomb ass places at that. But how many of them can say it’s solely for the girlies? Somewhere to go where women won’t have to fear some fire-breathing beast with a penis trying to dance on them without consent. Or spike their drink with some sedative. I wanted Good Girl Haven to be a safe space for us. Somewhere for us to kick it, mingle, drink, and vent about our annoying ass fellas in peace. Maybe even find love amongst each other.
I knew it would be an uphill battle trying to actually get the lounge off the ground. A women’s only lounge in big 2026? In a world full of sensitive, egotistical men who can’t handle not having access to us for one minute? Yeah, it was tough. But I have my father in-law to thank for working his magic with the right people, making my dream a reality. I guess all it really takes is a little pull. Plus, a little cash. Okay, a lot of cash.
As I walk around, I see potential for the biggest money night we’ve had since opening. There’s either a Lemon Drop or Margarita in a lot of hands. Wing orders have the cooks working up a sweat. It’s close to ten, but the line outside reminds me of when Popeyes unveiled those damn Chicken Sandwiches for the first time. Everything is working in our favor. I stop by the front door for a second, taking a break from boss mode to observe the scene from afar.
The ladies in the spot are all so fine. Most are dressed in snug, intentional dresses. A few others are rocking shorts and shirts, edges completely on fleek. I try not to hold anyone to a concrete dress code. Comfortability is key. In fact, the only real rules of Good Girl Haven are no weapons, no drama, and if you’re too drunk to even stand, time to get in the Uber. Otherwise, I just want everyone to have fun, vibe to the R&B playlist, and go home a happy woman. And from the looks of it, I’m accomplishing that goal.
I move from the front towards the center of the floor, breathing the faint scent of jasmine in the air. The velvet tone of the lounge matches the overall vibe, creating a presence meant to calm and allure. The amber glow of the bar shines down onto my skin, growing brighter when I approach to check on Tye. She’s chatting with a guest, smiling like someone just paid her mortgage for the year. She sees me by the bar and cuts the conversation short, walking straight over to me.
“Are you good over here, sis?” I question, grabbing an emptied glass.
“Copacetic,” she answers back, “Nothing to it. Some of these MILFS here look like they might need a stepmomma though.”
I try not to laugh. “Tye…”
“Just saying, just saying,” she points over to Dime, “Look at our girl though.”
Dime’s working her ass at the far end of the lounge, collecting glasses and wiping off tables. She looks so cute in her little all-black uniform too. Shorty’s been in mode since she started the shift, rarely looking up to say anything outside of “Hi” and “What can I get you?” I’m beyond impressed by her work ethic. She wasn’t lying when she said she was ready to grind. It makes me feel bad for shutting her out before. That girl will do anything for her daughter. I can’t do anything but respect it.
“She’s killing it, sis,” I proclaim proudly, “Let me go check on her.”
We meet right in the center of the floor by chance; she doesn’t even know it’s me until I tap her on the shoulder. She’s looking all serious, barely smiling.
“Come with me,” I mouth silently, waving her along with my finger. Her face shifts, showing signs of concern. We walk together into my back office, making it easier for us to hear each other.
“What’s up, sis?” she questions, wiping sweat from her forehead.
“I just wanted to check on you. I see you out there hustling.”
“Hey, well, I told you I was ready to work,” she states, casually shrugging. Always tough. Rarely showing signs of defeat.
“And I believe you, D. I just need you to take a break, babes. I don’t need you passing out out there.”
“Oh, I’m good, girl. Trust. This is nothing to me.”
“I love to hear it. But still, take a breather. Pace yourself. Because those girls out there are only going to want more as the night continues. Luckily, we only have a couple hours left. Because I am definitely ready to get home and get those heels off.”
“Ooh, I feel it.”
We both cackle like we heard a dirty joke, quickly being interrupted by a loud knock at the door. It sounds almost like the Police; it’s such an abrasive banging.
“Damn, that was aggressive. Come in.”
A-Jax, the resident asshole security guard, comes in, looking rather disgruntled. Which isn’t really anything new. The piece of shit usually has a scowl on his face anyway.
“What’s up, A-Jax?”
