Chasing Darien (Chasing Series Book 1) Page 2

  She grabs her brown coat from the rack and slides it over her shoulders. “You should have let me go to Rebecca and pretend to be his mistress.” She shakes her head. “Sometimes, Alana, you’re too nice.”

  When we arrive to work, I go straight to my green locker, stuff my purse and jacket in it and close it. Crystal and I work at the Gentlemen’s Club in downtown Newark, New Jersey. Rich men and women come here to get good lap dances by some of the best strippers. I’m not a stripper though, I’m a waitress. Not brave enough to shake my butt in front of strangers, and plus this is not a career path for me. I plan to go to college so I can get a degree in animation. One day, I plan to own a comic book company.

  Even though I’m a waitress, I don’t get as many tips as the strippers, but I do have a few customers who come out and tip me regularly.

  Women wearing next to nothing bounce around the room, and some sit at vanities, smearing makeup on their faces. One stripper with black hair and black eyes pulls the G-string from her butt crack and says, “This is annoying.” I don’t know her name because she just started a few days ago. She closes her eyes and takes in calm breaths.

  The owner, Tony, stands next to her and says, “If you are not comfortable, you can always come back when you are ready.” He rubs his ginger stubble. His button-down shirt fits his torso, and black slacks hang loosely on his hips. Tony treats all his workers like family. “If a man is making you feel uneasy, let me know and we will throw him out in a heartbeat. We don’t want y’all working in a hostile environment.”

  As I grab my pouch and tie it around my waist, I place my pen and pad in it, along with change and crisp dollar bills.

  “Don’t wait up for me tonight. I’m going out with Clarence,” Crystal says, giggling like a schoolgirl. Taking out her pink lip gloss from her purse, she smears it on her thin lips, making pop sounds. She has been dating him for a year now. For the record, I don’t like Clarence. He is too arrogant and thinks the world revolves around him.

  “Fine, but I’m going to watch Shameless without you.”

  “You better not Netflix-cheat on me,” she says.

  As I hurry to the bar, customers take their seats, and I collect orders and refill drinks. The scents of greasy food and alcohol fill my nostrils as I make a beeline to different high-top tables and booths. Tables fill quickly, and within minutes the club is flooded with horny people. Expensive, polished wood and real velvet seats decorate the building. Techno music blasts from each speaker and strippers are on customers like a pack of wolves starving for meat.

  One of the waitresses, Jocelyn, asks me to get the customers at the front entrance while she goes on smoke break. I grab a bunch of menus from the bar, tuck them under my arm and sashay to the front. It’s Gunner, my brother, and a guy I never met, who stands next to him with his hands shoved in the pockets of his denim jeans. It’s very rare that Gunner introduces me to any of his friends. I’ve only met Logan, and that was by accident when I showed up to Gunner’s house unexpectedly.

  “Gunner, what are you doing here?” I squeal, not taking my eyes off his friend. His friend is hot like he’s stepped out of Vogue magazine, with thick black hair that balding men wish they had and stormy gray eyes that are the shape of almonds.

  He rubs his sharp jaw. Standing next to Gunner, he has to be six five. Maybe. His beautiful skin is tan and smooth like a baby’s. He puts Channing Tatum to shame. Even the strippers are staring at him with hearts in their eyes. He looks vaguely familiar. I can’t place my finger on it, but I think I met him somewhere.

  “Want to see women shake their asses,” Gunner says.

  Pretending to gag, I say, “You’re nasty.”

  “By the way, why the hell do you still work here?” my brother complains.

  “I need to pay for college.”

  “I pay you enough to afford college.” He does, but I don’t like depending on people to give me anything. I work hard for everything I want. When I was married to Charles, I didn’t have to work, but I chose to because I was afraid it would be taken away from me. Growing up poor does that to you. I started working here when I was twenty years old and when I turned seventeen, I started working for Gunner as well.

  He clears his throat and says, “Darien, meet my annoying-ass sister.”

  Darien smiles and waves. I wave back. His brown cashmere sweater makes him look like one of those rich preppy boys who grew up with a silver spoon in their mouth. The fabric of it looks soft, like something that you want to touch. His eyes sweep over my body. Blushing, I bite my lower lip as I usher them to a table in the back. The DJ announces Cindy on the stage. She slides down on the pole, exposing her goodies for everyone to see. She lets down her honey-blonde fine hair, and everyone’s eyes are on her, including my brother’s. It’s awkward to watch my older brother eye-fuck a naked woman.

  Everyone who knows me knows that Gunner and I are related, and not because we tell people we are. We look exactly alike. Same auburn hair, except I dye mine flame-red, and his eyes are azure instead of mismatched colors. My brother is lean built and some of the strippers in here look at him like he’s a god. I feel naked wearing this outfit around him.

  Taking out my pen and paper, I tuck a loose strand behind my ear. I pluck the menus from under my arm and pass them over. They both scan the menus.

  What would you like to drink?” I ask.

  “Adams beer,” Gunner says.

  “Bourbon on the rocks,” Darien says. His voice. His fucking voice is deep, smooth, and velvet. It can melt my panties off.

  “Anything else? We’re having a special today, half off on a ribeye steak.”

  “I’ll take that,” Darien murmurs, looking into my eyes. My skin breaks out in goose bumps, and I tell myself it’s because I’m cold, but that’s a lie. I’m fucking Tate, and now I’ve got my eyes set on another man.

  Tate and I may not be serious, but we will get there. I need to give him a chance. And besides, there is no way a man like this would be interested in a twenty-three-year-old divorced woman who has a shitload of baggage. His life seems together, and I’m trying to pick up the pieces of mine. He is probably looking to settle down and have children, and right now I’m not into that.

  They both hand the menus back to me. I disappear into the kitchen, drop off the orders. As I pour alcohol into the tall glasses, I peer in Darien’s direction. Monica, a stripper, starts speaking to him, but his eyes are on me. Quickly, I look away from him, chewing on the inside of my cheek. Something about Darien draws me in. Maybe because you think he’s sexy as hell, duh, Alana.

  One of the cooks shouts Darien’s order, so I set his food on the tray and take it to him. Placing the steaming plate on the table, I wait until Darien takes a bite of his steak. “Is it good?”

  He nods and gives me a thumb-up, and continues to eat.

  Gunner disappears to the front of the stage and throws Candy all his hard-earned money. Men. They act like animals when they see ass and tits. I grab Darien’s empty glass, make a beeline for the bar, and refill his glass. Crystal comes to the bar, stands on a stool, clutches a bottle of gin from the top shelf, unscrews the cap and pours it into two tall glasses.

  “Who is that guy with Gunner? He keeps eye-fucking you.”

  So I’m not the only one to notice he keeps staring at me. “His friend, Darien.”

  She sets the alcohol back on the shelf. “You should fuck him.” That’s Crystal for ya—she doesn’t have any filter.

  I shrug my shoulder and say, “I’m not interested.”

  That’s a lie. I am interested. I want to know if Darien can give me a good orgasm. Want to know if he can use his tongue properly.

  “Whatever. That man is fine as hell.” She places two cherries in the glass and places them on a tray, balancing it on her hand.

  “He is all right.” Another lie.

  “If I weren’t with Clarence, I would suck his cock,” she says.

  “Crystal!” I scold, glancing around the bar,
making sure no one heard us.

  “What? Just being honest.”

  “What about Tate? You were encouraging me to be with him earlier.”

  “I’ll encourage you to hump a tree if it helps you get over that two-timing loser Charles,” she says, before delivering her drinks.

  As I make my way to the table, I set his drink down on the high table, collect his empty plate and set it on the tray.

  “You need anything else?” I ask him. He shakes his head and Gunner makes his way back to the table.

  Three hours later, my feet ache like I’ve run a marathon. I hit the off button to the purple neon light glowing in the wide window and wipe down the high-top black tables. The other waitresses sweep the dirty floors. I rush to the locker room, grab my Harley Quinn purse and slide my jacket on, zip it up to my neck. Outside, the crisp air smacks me in the face. I hate October—not the month, but the weather. Well, I hate the cold. Period. Cars drive past the building, and the street lamps dim the concrete sidewalk. Across the street is an abandoned, run-down warehouse that used to be a Blockbuster. Green bushes and yellow grass sprout around the building. It looks odd compared to the Gentlemen’s Club brown brick building.

  Usually, I catch a ride with Crystal because she is the one who’s got the car. I’m too cheap to buy one. A taxi runs on every other street, or you can take Uber—they are cheaper.

  Darien leans against the driver’s door of my brother’s white Audi and Gunner lies in the back seat. My heels click on the wet asphalt as I make my way to the car.

  Raindrops hit my forehead and my hair begins to frizz. Thanks, Mother Nature, for making me look like a mophead in front of a hot dude.

  “Your brother says you need a lift home.” The lines around Darien’s eyes deepen. I glance around the lot, and a few cars are still parked. Crystal honks her horn. Placing my index finger in the air, I tell Darien to wait one second. I walk to the passenger side of her car. She hits a button on the door and the window rolls down.

  “Going to catch a ride with my brother.”

  “Cool. I’ll see you later.”

  She puts the car in gear and drives onto the main road. Darien opens the passenger door and I hop in, strapping my seatbelt on. Air freshener wafts from the vents and the black leather seat squeaks as I lean back.

  “Alana lives in the same building as you, fucktard,” my brother says.

  I turn my torso, facing Gunner, and his right arm covers his eyes. He is shit-faced and reeks of whiskey. When I turn my eyes back to the road, the rain clouds the windshield, making it impossible to see.

  “Darien moved into your building a week ago,” Gunner says.

  Tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, Darien scrunches his nose and continues to keep his eyes on the road.

  “What floor do you live on?” I ask. No way this hot dude lives in the same building as I do. My brother owns the building I stay in, so my rent is free. A condo can go for thirty-five grand, if not more.

  He stops at a traffic light, and a red and white ambulance drives past us. “Twenty.” Of course he does—that penthouse goes for fifty grand. Rich bastard.

  I glance at his hand—no wedding band on his ring finger. I picture his fingers touching my clit. My nipples harden against the fabric. Bet he could get me off with just one finger while he turns the steering wheel. Need to stop fantasizing about him. It won’t happen.

  Darien pulls up to the car garage, cuts the engine off, and Gunner sits up, pulling his white suit jacket on.

  “I’m crashing at your spot, Darien,” Gunner says.

  I press my palm to my right cheek, fake pout, and say, “You don’t want to stay with your little sister?”

  “Darien has a spare room.” He slurs his words.

  As Gunner stumbles out of the back seat, he wraps his arm around my shoulders. He is heavy as an elephant. We make it to the bright lobby and wait in front of the metal elevator doors, and Darien hits the up button.

  “Besides, isn’t Tate spending the night?” He hates Tate with a passion, but I think he will hate any guy I date or sleep with. I could date God himself and Gunner still would hate his guts.

  Shaking my head, I say, “He has to study for his midterms.”

  “Who’s Tate?” Darien asks. We step into the elevator, and I hit the tenth and twentieth buttons.

  “Her boyfriend,” Gunner slurs.

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” I blurt out.

  “What is he?” Darien asks. My cheeks heat up. I’m not about to tell him that Tate is my steady dick.

  “Why do you want to know?” I shoot back.

  He doesn’t answer my question. Instead, he holds up Gunner, keeping him from falling flat on his ass.

  The door dings and opens. An older couple step in, and I step out.

  “This is my stop,” I say, before exiting the elevator. I watch the door close and exhale.

  Darien

  I’VE NEVER BEEN the type to stalk a woman, but I need to see Alana. I pull up into the tiny parking space at the Gentlemen’s Club and leave the engine on. It’s too fucking cold outside to sit with the heat off. Grabbing my iPhone from my pocket, I tap the envelope icon, emailing my CFO, to send an e-mail to American Banking to strike a deal so Gunner and I can buy it out.

  Finally, Alana’s sexy ass strolls out of the building. She’s wearing a black jacket over her slutty outfit and her red hair is in a high ponytail, swaying back and forth as she walks. I watch her like a predator stalking his prey. She speaks to a girl with short, purple hair wearing the exact same outfit. Shoving my phone into my pocket, I rush out of the car and walk in her direction as the windy air hits my face.

  “Alana?” I shove my hands in my coat pocket.

  “Darien? What are you doing here?” she asks in a soft voice.

  “Gunner asked me to take you home,” I lie. Gunner wouldn’t appreciate me lying, but who gives a fuck about what he thinks?

  “I’m fine. Gonna catch a ride with my roommate.”

  Her friend with the cute haircut waves at me and says, “Catch a ride with Darien. I’m going to Clarence tonight.” She winks, urging her friend. Alana’s eyes grow the size of saucers, and her round cheeks turn tomato-red. Not sure if it’s from me or the cold. Don’t know her friend, but I like her already.

  “Fine,” she says, and we walk to my black Porsche. I open the door on the passenger side. She slides in like she is scared to dirty up the seat and straps her seatbelt over her small body. Once I’m inside, I hit the start button and put the car in gear and drive off into the traffic. She leans on the brown leather seat, looking out the window.

  “You hungry?”

  She doesn’t know it yet, but I’m going to fuck her. If she sees the erection that she is giving me, her whole face will turn red like the red-nosed reindeer. Thank fuck, it’s buried in my Burberry black coat. Stalker me had one of the IT guys from my job check out her social media accounts. The girl lives on Pinterest—different boards on everything a woman can think of. Nails, hairstyles, food, clothes, hot guys. But what I found unique is she has boards for anime, video games, cosplay, which made me question her age.

  “I don’t think a restaurant is open this late.”

  “IHOP is,” I say, tapping my finger on the steering wheel.

  She studies my face for a few seconds, scrunching up her nose, and says, “Are you gay?”

  “What?” I frown.

  “It’s okay if you are. I don’t discriminate against it. Actually, I support it.”

  “Why would you think that?” I stop at a traffic light next to a Starbucks on Broad Street, and a few people walk across the road. The light turns green as I hit the gas. The car accelerates.

  “My brother asked you to take me home. He never introduces me to any of his friends, not even if his life depends on it.”

  “You want to find out if I’m gay?” I say with a straight face.

  And my dick swells, throbs against my zipper, ready to be free. Her eyes
shift to my dark jeans. She stares for too long, and her pink tongue darts out to lick her lips. So she can’t hide her attraction from me. Quickly, she turns to look out the window, leaving my question hanging in the air.

  The teenage host seats us in a booth next to the kitchen. My large body dwarfs Alana’s in the booth. Her head comes up to my shoulder, so I rest my arm on the back of the black leather seat. The waitress takes our order and leaves. I order a white omelet, toast, and orange juice. Alana orders the whole goddamn menu. She plays on her phone, not even bothering to acknowledge my existence. I like how she pretends that she doesn’t want me.

  “All that food is not good for you,” I say, resting my arms on the brown table.

  “I figured since you are paying, might as well order the whole menu.” The waitress sets our drinks on the table, and Alana sips her grapefruit juice and says, “Don’t tell me, you’re one of those health freaks.” She looks up from her phone.

  “Not a health freak. I like having a healthy lifestyle.”

  “Do you always speak your mind?” Those mismatched eyes are beautiful as the deep ocean. The waitress sets the food in front of us and tells us to enjoy.

  “Maybe. Is that a problem?”

  She shakes her head as her top front teeth catch her pouty bottom lip. She pours maple syrup on the pancakes and cuts them into small pieces. “So how do you know my brother?” she asks, before placing the food into her mouth.

  I cut into the omelet and take a bite. “Business. I am one of his investors at his bank.”

  “So you’re my boss?”

  “Technically, I own twenty percent of his business.”

  Gunner’s bank is one of the biggest banks as well. I met him at a country club for networking with business people.

  Alana unbuttons her jacket and wiggles it off her shoulders, setting it next to her. I can see the outline of her pink bra. Her tits are pushed up, ready to bust out of her white cotton cheap shirt. She catches me looking at her tits and mumbles, “Pervert,” under her breath. I’ll show you how much of a pervert I am.