17
Dasia
Ryker and Pia hadn’t arrived at the club by the time we got there. A woman I’d seen at the two parties came out of the kitchen area with a big plate of bacon and a carton of orange juice. A stack of plates and plastic forks sat on the unmanned bar’s edge.
“Hey, Devil,” she said with a smirk before checking me out real quick as I moved alongside him, her smile fading a little bit.
“Tina, have you met Dasia?” Adrian asked her.
“No, but I’ve seen her around.” She snipped the words but set the bacon on the bar and came over, offering her hand. “Don’t worry,” she said, glancing at Adrian again before turning back to me, “I won’t try to steal your man.”
“My man?” A light laugh escaped me, but neither one of them smiled.
“I’m a club w***e,” she said, and I stared, processing. “And
