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My eyes widen as they collide with the naked woman currently twirling around a pole in the middle of the stage jutting out across the center of the room.
It’s barely after noon, so I’m not surprised to find only one customer from the looks of it—a middle-aged man with a mostly bald head, and full goatee. He’s reclined back in a velvet arm chair, mere inches from the stage. The glass in his hand is empty, and he seems to be…slouching.
I cock my head.Is he sleeping?
The woman does some fancy flip trick, kicking her leg high up in the air before twisting, curling, and practically tumbling down the side of the pole. Somehow she manages to land on her feet and not her head.
Gulping, I dart my gaze around and start to back away.
“Oh hey there, hot stuff,” a deep, drawling voice says from behind me.
Whirling around, I flinch back.
The guy reaches out to steady me, but I twist away, ensuring he doesn’t.
His dark eyes widen and he holds up his hands in a mock-show of surrender just before I drop my gaze. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
Blinking at the ground, I adjust the hold on my backpack and straighten to my full-height. I nod. “S’okay. I just…I think I’m in the wrong place.”
I feel him watching me for a long moment, and I try not to bristle. “No, I think you’ll find you’re exactly where you should be.” He pauses. “Don’t mind, Zel. She’s just practicing.”
I frown, and cut a questioning look toward the guy passed out next to the stage.
“Oh, that’s just Raúl. He works security. It was a late night last night, so he’s just catching some Z’s before we open.”
“You’re not open?” Glancing at the door past him, I frown, trying to remember if the signs outside were even lit.
“Nope, but that’s okay. We keep the door open for this very reason.”
My gaze snaps back to his, before darting away once more. “What reason?”
But he doesn’t respond. Instead, I feel him drag his eyes down my body, giving me a slow once-over. A peek through my lashes shows him rolling his lip between his teeth.Is…is he checking me out?I wonder, feeling a weird prickle of unease along the back of my neck.He called me hot stuff, so…
Mouth drying, I say, “I...I was just coming in for a drink. I didn’t know it was a strip club. Or that you’re closed. I’ll just…” My voice trails off and I go to step around him, but he jumps directly in my path, hands raised again.
“Easy. We’re cool.”
I stare at his chest.
He hums.
Finally, I peek up to find him cocking his head, that flirty, almost predatory gleam from a second ago rapidly replaced with something far more…laid back. Reserved, maybe. His mouth tightens and he nods, as if confirming something for himself.
“Sorry,” he says quietly, lip ticking up ruefully, “I think we got off on the wrong foot here. I’m Micah. I bartend here.”
Micah.
It’s a unique name, but thankfully I know this one, only because I read a book once with a character of the same name.
Hebrew origins,
He who is like God.
He goes to reach his hand out, but must think better of it and instead waves for me to follow as he strides past me. “Come on, let’s get you that drink. You look like you could use it.”
Sending a forlorn look at the door, I consider just bolting.
“I promise we don’t bite,” he singsongs loudly.
