Romancing the Bouncer

Romancing the Bouncer By J.D. Walker I worked as a bouncer at Throwbacks. Most nights were uneventful, which was a good thing. Wei Pearce—my boss—ran a smooth operation and didn’t tolerate stupidity. Neither did I, for that matter. I liked it when there was nothing much to do except watch people enjoying themselves, collect money at the door, and listen to the bands that performed there. As I scanned the crowd, Sandy, one of the bartenders, caught my eye and waved me over from her spot behind the bar. I gestured to Dawson—the other bouncer on duty—to come take my spot for a minute. Once he did, I headed over to see what was up. Sandy kept it brief. “Boss needs you. Sounded urgent.” “Got it.” I quickly made my way to the back of the club. When I arrived at his office, the door was open and a familiar man was on the floor, whining about his broken, bloody nose. It was Pearce’s ex-boyfriend, Merrill. He must have slipped in when I’d stepped away from the front door for a bathroom break earlier. Dawson was fairly new to the place and wouldn’t have recognized him. “Get rid of him, Ben,” Pearce ordered, a look of disgust on his face. “Sure thing, boss.” I grabbed the man from the floor and hauled him away, none too gently. I passed the only other occupant in the room—John DeWitt, who was a regular at the club—on my way out. Merrill struggled in my arms, so I held him tighter as I dragged him along. “That’s enough out of you,” I muttered. “Wei, come on,” Merrill pleaded, still trying to free himself as I moved us down the narrow hallway. “You can’t mean to—” Pearce shut the door on his whining. Good man. “You’re a f*****g i***t, you know that?” I said as I hauled him out the back door of the club and shoved him onto the sidewalk. “You ever come back here? I’ll break your legs.” I put enough menace in my tone to get his attention. The look of fear on Merrill’s face told me he understood. I watched him scamper off before shutting the door behind me. As I walked toward the front of the club, I heard raised voices in Pearce’s office as I passed by. Sounded like he and John were going at it, and not in a good way. Must be something big to get under Pearce’s skin like that. I’d seen the way Pearce watched the man, like he wanted to have him for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, all at the same time. But he’d been burned by users like Merrill once too often to be willing to take a chance on anyone. He lumped everybody in the same category now. I had high hopes for John, though. People took him for fluff, but there was a sharp brain underneath that lovely, lithe exterior. I thanked Dawson for covering the door and took my spot once more on the stool. The line of patrons was long, as usual. For the most part, my job wasn’t bad or really that hard. It was just the morons who thought they could get away with stuff that made things difficult sometimes. Like right now. “I know the owner,” the overly trendy wannabe said as he tried to pass me without paying to get in. I put out an arm to block his way. “And the owner’s name is…?” I quirked an eyebrow. “Drew, right? We met at a club last night and hit it off. Said I should stop by whenever I wanted to.” His smile was bright and false. Maybe it worked on others, but I could smell a lie—and his cologne—at a hundred feet. “I see. Well, sorry, no one here by that name. Either pay up, or get lost.” The guy got huffy, as expected. “What do you know, anyway? You’re just a muscle-bound, underpaid bodyguard with more brawn than brain.” I heard that a lot. I used that assumption to my advantage, most days. “Perhaps. But since I’m smart enough to know my boss’s name, you need to give me the money, or skedaddle. Time’s a-wasting.” I flexed a bicep and he stepped back. Bravado fading fast, the guy tried one last tactic. “You’ll be hearing about this, and then you’ll be sorry.” “Can’t wait,” was my reply as he flounced away, a smattering of snickers following in his wake. I rolled my eyes and went back to collecting money and stamping skin. Some people were really lame. * * * * After the club closed in the wee hours of the morning, I helped the rest of the staff with cleanup. “Good night, right?” Sandy said as she and I hauled liquor back to the bar. “Oh, yeah. It was insanely busy—just the way I like it.” I placed two boxes on the floor next to her behind the bar. “As long as you’re happy, sweetie.” We’d been best buds a long time. “What would make me even happier is for Pearce to get his head out of his ass about John DeWitt. I saw John leave and he looked really upset.” We’d discussed the issue before, out of our boss’s hearing, of course. “I heard a rumor that you threw out Merrill?” she continued. I scowled. “Yeah. That man isn’t worth the effort of thought. I’m hopeful about John, though. I think he could be the one to get through to Pearce, help him trust again.” Before I could head back to the employee room and grab my stuff, Sandy said, “Speaking of opening up, you know Rebel’s Ultimatum is performing here tomorrow night, right?” Just the mention of the band made my skin flush. They played at the club on select Friday and Saturday nights. They hadn’t played tonight, though. “You know the hell I do,” I growled. Sandy laughed while she wiped down the bar top. “Good. So when are you going to ask the hottie bass player out on a date? Every time they play here, you’re in the front row, dancing your ass off and flirting shamelessly with the man. Why haven’t you made a move yet?” I knew my lust for sexier-than-was-real Monty Mabuse was obvious, but I wasn’t the only one. Rebel’s Ultimatum had been getting more airplay lately, and their most recent video on YouTube had gone viral within days of its release. The band was poised for stardom, and I assumed they’d be playing bigger venues soon enough. It helped that each and every one of its members was a stereotypical star—gorgeous, single, and ready to f**k anytime, anywhere. Monty was the hottest, in my opinion. “I haven’t done anything, mainly because it would be a dead-end road with a guy who’s interested only in one-night stands. I’m sure Monty gets all the tail he wants, and I’m looking for more than a one-off with a guy. There has to be a connection, at least. He’s a total playboy and will f**k everything male that moves. Tempting as he is, I respect myself too much to do that.” Sandy rolled her eyes at me. “Okay, Princess. I think you’re missing out, though. Who cares if it’s just one night? You’ll finally scratch that itch you’ve been avoiding for months now. When was the last time you got laid, anyway?” “Four months ago, right before Grover and I broke up. So?” “That long of a dry spell is depressing.” “Not everyone has a hot threesome to go home to every night, you know. I’ll be fine, I promise.” She shrugged. “Suit yourself.” * * * * Half an hour later, I waved goodbye to the remaining staff—Pearce included—and headed out on my Harley-Davidson Sportster, which I’d bought for a steal a few years ago. When I got home, I scooped up Bessie, my five-year-old cat, as I walked into the kitchen. “Mrrow,” she purred as I put her down and refilled her water and kibble bowls. “Yeah, I know. You’re hungry and your human is trying to starve you.” Of course, she ignored me in favor of nourishment. “You’re welcome, fur ball,” I muttered as I grabbed a root beer from the fridge and headed to the bedroom, where I drank it down in between stripping naked. There were books everywhere in my room, stacks that teetered with half-read tomes that called to me, even this early in the morning. I was too tired, though. I took a hot shower, brushed my teeth and finally settled into bed, falling asleep within minutes. When I awoke, the sunlight was blinding as it poured through the white curtains covering my windows. I rubbed my eyes and sat up as Bessie moved from her customary spot at the foot of the bed. She crawled up my body and butted her head under my chin. “I’m up, Bessie. I’m up.” I set her aside and left the bed to sprint to the bathroom and empty my bladder. I groaned in ecstasy as it all went down the toilet. It was almost as good as s****l release. I found an old T-shirt and sweats to wear and shuffled into the kitchen to make breakfast. Well, a late lunch, I suppose, since it was after two in the afternoon. I needed to be at Throwbacks by seven, so I had enough time to clean the apartment and get dressed before heading out. I meant what I’d said to Sandy about one-night stands. As much as I wanted to f**k Monty five ways from Sunday, there’d need to be more first. And from what I knew of him, that wasn’t happening. That didn’t stop me from dressing in my tightest black top, the sleeves capping my deltoids as if to emphasize how big my arms were. My jeans, also black, were the ones that hugged everything the best, and biker boots capped it all. Yeah, I wanted to be noticed, even if I’d get nothing out of it except mild flirtation. It was enough. I’d need to take a change of shirt, though. I sweat a lot while dancing. I gave Bessie some attention, brushed her cat hair off my clothes, and went to work.