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“Fine,” I muttered, standing up to walk over to my closet at the far corner of my small studio apartment. “Throw in two hundred dollars on top of what you tip me out tonight, and I’ll be there with bells on.” I smiled, even though he couldn’t see me.
“Ah! You be wheelin’ and dealin’ me. Alright, alright, I see you. Two hundred on top of tip out. Cash. Just how you like it. No bells needed, just go throw on a tight little mini, and I’ll see you in an hour.”
He hung up before I could change my mind, knowing he had me right where he wanted me. Waiting hand and foot on the guests at his club, wearing a short dress with my boobs hanging out. But just to be a rebel, I dressed in a tight pair of dark low-rise blue jeans that hugged my curves in all the right places with a white cotton shirt I cut into a crop top that read ‘Sassy’ across my breasts.
My long, wavy brown hair accentuated the words, drawing more attention to my cleavage on full display. I didn’t have a huge rack by any means, but I knew how to work with what I did have. A push-up bra was my best friend on nights like this.
The more I showed, the more tips I made.
Although I had a petite frame, my narrow waist made my hips look curvier than they actually were. Emphasizing my plump, round booty. I added a pair of red hooker heels to complete my outfit.
Standing, I looked myself over in the full-length mirror. Fluffing my boobs a little more, giving the girls one last shake before I walked into my bathroom to do my makeup.
What would I do if I saw Sean tonight?
I hadn’t seen him in a few weeks, and in Sean’s world, that meant years. He used to flip his shit if he didn’t see me at least once a day, having to keep tabs on me everywhere I went. To say he was controlling would be an understatement, but I guess that’s what happens when you grow up together.
We were getting into trouble before we even knew the meaning of the word. It didn’t help we grew up in a shady ass neighborhood where everyone was a two-bit hustler in some way, shape, or form.
Skyler didn’t need to know all of that, she wouldn’t have understood even if I told her. No one would, unless they grew up where we did. It was why I wanted a better life for myself. I deserved it.
Sean never understood what I wanted, always thinking he was already giving me the life I dreamed of. Wheeling and dealing in everything and anything he could get his hands on.
Trust me, it was never a good sign when people were scared of your boyfriend.
I was never scared of him. I’d known him all my life. We went from being friends to being in a relationship really young and at that time, I didn’t know what I wanted out of a man. Sean definitely wasn’t it, and it took me years to figure that out.
In his eyes, I would be his forever.
“Camila, how do you get yourself into these situations?” I asked my reflection in the bathroom mirror, shaking my head.
Quickly shifting gears, I thought about the makeup I was going to wear instead. To make my dark, almond-shaped eyes pop I drew on a wing liner. Lining the bottom of my eyes as well. Coating my long, thick lashes in mascara next, it gave me the sultry appearance I wanted.
Finishing off my look, I contoured my slender nose, high-rounded cheekbones and forehead, and added some bronzer to accentuate my already tan skin. Deciding at the last second to use a nude shade of gloss on my full, pouty lips. I smacked my pout together, smiling once I was done.
Getting tips had never been a problem for me. I was a pretty girl, and I used it to my advantage like any other good bartender would do. I’d been working at Danté’s club on and off ever since he opened the place six years ago, but I’d decided it’d be best to keep it off my résumé.
Too many questions would arise that I didn’t want to answer.
First and foremost, how I got paid.
I grabbed a bottled water from the fridge and locked up my apartment. Nodding to the Little Man who was playing with his firetrucks outside his door in our hallway, while his mom tended to her “guests” inside, waiting for it to be over.
“You watch my place, alright? Make sure no one tries to break in,” I told him, smirking.
“I got you, Camila,” Curtis replied with the swagger of a man, when he was only nine-years-old.
I hid back a laugh.
He hit on me like always, babbling, “I got some new hotrods in my house if you want to check them out when you get back.” Already acting like he was grown.
“Curtis! How many times do I have to tell you? I’ll be an old lady by the time you’re my age.”
“So … you ain’t an old lady now.”
“And you’re only nine.”
“Age is just a number.”
