Chapter 3 Sippin' Strippin'

The night at Sippin' Strippin' was busy as usual, business was rosy, and the crowd was bubbly. I started working at Sippin' Strippin' six months ago, trust me - it wasn't the most exciting job, but the pay was great; at least it was better than Campbell's.

"Ally, some guys need you over there," John, the bartender, said, pointing toward a group of friends at the far end of the club. The secluded part, V.I.P.

"Sure thing, handsome," I flirtatiously teased him, accepting the tray of drinks from his hands. His eyes twinkled in amusement, ignoring my flirtatious ass - it wasn't a new thing to him. Some days, he flirted back, and other days, he ignored.

I hauled myself over to my destination, noticing numerous glances from the horny dogs, it was just right, though. Sippin' Strippin' was a strip club, located at the heart of New York City. It was just about famous, in other words, a celebrity club. Exquisite. Professional.

When I joined months ago, the manager wanted me to join the pink pussies, the strippers. He was adamant about it, strongly disapproving of my choice to be just a waitress, and nothing more. In his words, I had a body that would greatly benefit me; moreover, I used to be a gymnast in high school.

I despised him at first; I thought he was a highly disturbed pervert who needed my body as a fix, but he never asked me out. He was respectful towards me and gradually, we became close.

One day, I finally mustered courage and asked him why he was so persistent that I applied for a stripping job. In his defense, he said he read my file, and he saw that I had a pile of medical bills to pay up, and stripping was a quick way to make money.

From there on, I regarded him as someone important, someone who deemed my problems as his, or maybe I read too much into it. Either way, I regarded him as a brother. Still, everything ends at work. A relationship outside of work isn't my forte.

"Howdy lass," An older man said, staring at me like a topping on his ice cream.

I groaned out, biting my lips tightly to avoid saying the wrong thing, "As much as I would have loved to chat with you, I need to bring these drinks to the V.I.P, excuse me, good sir,"

I hurriedly took his leave before he could say anything.

"Eh... em," I cleared my throat. The three young men stared at me, seeming lost in their thoughts. Two minutes passed by and they were still staring.

"Excuse me," I said, tapping my fingers on the table loudly. This seemed to pull them out of their trance, the dark-haired man among them scratched his scalp awkwardly, and color rose on his cheeks.

"Sorry. . . ?" He apologized,

"Ally," I replied. I picked up the first cocktail and handed it to him. He looked pleased, smiling like he had just won the lottery.

Boys.

"Why does Desmond get to take the first drink?" The blonde one and no doubt the youngest among them cried out.

"Uh because he apologized." I retorted.

My statement appeared to have caught the attention of the last boy group, he glared at me in anger. "What do you mean waitress?" He spat out, venom hidden in the background, waiting for the right moment to prance out.

I ignored his question. I grabbed the next drink, reached over to the blonde boy, and dropped it on the table.

Noticing I deliberately ignored him, Mr. Brunette, a.k.a., the third pretty boy cursed out, "Fuck you bitch."

I see he's got a dirty mouth, with a dirty attitude to match.

"What the fu-"

"Freduardo, calm down. She's right," The only mature one in the group came to my rescue. I was close to splashing Mr. Brunette's drink on his stupid, arrogant face.

His behavior reminded me of a certain ego maniac I had met earlier, the only difference was that - the billionaire was a 100/10, and the brunette was 6/10.

"What now, D? You're supporting the waitress, unbelievable, man!" Mr. Brunette yelled out.

"Waitress, you do know I can get you fired, huh?" The childish Blondie said, after being quiet for a long time.

His words sounded familiar like I had heard something like that before, but I decided not to strain my pretty brain.

"That's if you're the owner, which you aren't," I said, taking a pause, "Brunette, when you are ready to have your drink, you can pick it up yourself, by the way, you need to wash your mouth, it stinks of your foulness. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have other things to attend to." I knew what I said was rude, but he was no saint either, in fact, worse. To hell with 'customers are always right' because he was not even, in the slightest bit, right.

Mr. Brunette stood up in a frenzy, blocking my way before I could dash out of the room, "Not so fast," He smirked, no doubt with hidden meaning.

"Wait, who are you? Care to tell me? If I want to leave, I will - now, get your ass out of my way," I whisper-yelled, careful not to attract an audience. That wouldn't be too good on my résumé.

I shoved him off and proceeded to leave his view. This angered him more, and he pulled my arm back.

He grasped my arm tightly, his fingers digging into my skin, "What's your deal man?!" I yelled, forgetting I had a reputation to uphold.

"Stop creating a scene," Desmond, the only sane man among them tried to caution the lunatic before me.

"This is none of your business D, it's between me and this ugly bitch, so stay out of it," He sneered at the poor man.

Ugly? As if. I chuckled.

"Frankenstein, who are you calling a bitch? If I were one, then I'd have to look like your Mama,"

"Did you just call my Madré a bitch?" He roared at me, his body vibrating in anger.

I remained speechless, securing my smart mouth to stay silent. My silence infuriated him further, he withdrew his fingers from my skin, holding my wrist tightly with his other hand.

He raised his free hand, I watched as it inched closer to my face, expecting the painful sting. Suddenly, he was pulled back and I sighed in relief.

I shuddered at the thought that I almost got slapped by a man with serious anger issues. It was a narrow escape.