As soon as Zig’s cook shows for his shift I hightail it back to my gym and the rest of my day flies by in a blur of private training sessions, group classes, and planning out a budget so I can keep things rolling for another month without cutting staff. I stay until it’s time to lock up for the day, and barely have time to scarf down dinner and grab a shower before I need to head back to Zig’s for the evening shift.
As busy as I am, I can’t get the woman from the bar out of my head. The chick with the blood and guts painted over her skin. Unusual, because it isn’t like me to think much about any woman after parting ways. Back in the day when I first started fighting and began to gain fame, I exploited my success for random hookups, but that grew old fast. Sex without connection is fun in the moment, but once I realized all the ways it could strip away my success—an unplanned pregnancy, an STD, or even an unwanted relationship—I stopped living it up and focused on fighting. Maybe that sounds selfish. It sort of is, but I’d rather chase goals, not women.
However, the zombie girl with the soul striking fire for eyes dances in and out of my mind the entire day. Thoughts of threading my fingers through her long crimson hair while I yank her lips to mine—it’s only the beginning of my fantasies. It’s too bad I’ll never see her again. The slim chance she’ll show at Zig’s again has me more excited than I should be for working my shift at the door late into this Friday night.
Pulling on a hoodie to camouflage the T-shirt I’m wearing with Zig’s logo screen printed on the front and “Security” block lettered on the back, I lock my one-bedroom apartment and jog down the stairs to catch the train.
My cell vibrates with an incoming call, interrupting the music streaming through my earbuds. My uncle’s name pops on the caller ID and I press the green button to accept his call.
“Uncle Jimmy.” There’s a warmth for the man in my greeting despite his shortcomings. He’s always been good to me and my brother, even when our father tries to cause havoc.
“My second favorite nephew! How are you, Matt?”
“Grinding, man. How’s business?”
“Business is rolling. You know I do all right for myself.”
“That I do.” I chuckle. For all his antics, at least he’s never called for bail money, or a favor. Never tried to drag me or my brother into the family biz, and I can respect that.
“Sorry I missed your call earlier. I was indisposed.”
“I’m not sure I want to know what that means.”
“You don’t, kid. You really don’t. But my guess is you didn’t call to shoot the shit. What’s up?”
This is one of those moments when I have to swallow my pride. I don’t have a problem putting in a hard day’s work. Shit, it’s how I got by growing up. But once I ask Jimmy for this, it will be a matter of days before Pop comes calling. As much as I don’t need that negativity in my life, I need money more. And Jimmy’s never had a problem paying in cash.
“I was wondering if you had a spot on the crew. Temporarily.”
“Things okay at the gym?” His tone holds worry.
“Good. I’ve got a fighter, Xavier Johnson. He’s the next lightweight champ. Just a little cash flow issue and I’m trying to stay on top of it.”
“I can loan you—”
“No. I’d rather work for it. If you don’t mind.”
“Not at all, kid. I always admire that ’bout you. Yeah, I could use some help on a painting job. It’s over near Michigan Avenue. Big job. Bid was accepted and I’m just waiting on a permit before we start, but it should be soon.”
“That’s perfect. Thank you, Uncle Jimmy.”
“What about the gym? Who’s gonna teach your classes?”
“I have some trainers on staff now. They can cover the mid-morning and noon classes. We shut down until four.”
“Impressive. Sorry, I haven’t been by since you opened up.”
“It’s all good. I know you support me.” And I do. I also know Jimmy would rather eat pizza than work out at my gym, so I understand why he doesn’t come by much.
“I do, kid. Always. I’ll text you the address once we’re good to go. Job should be two to three weeks once we start. I can pay you in cash? Twenty an hour.”
A sigh of relief leaves my lips as the train brakes squeal with the slowing cars. “You’re the best, Jimmy. Thank you.”
“Anything for my second favorite nephew.” He chuckles at the joke that’s been running for almost twenty years, since back when I was a punk ass teen trying to prove myself to my delinquent friends. I was tagging a brand new Buick in the alleyway near home when Uncle Jimmy stepped outside an apartment door and busted me. I didn’t know it was his car at the time, and spent my entire summer working on his crew to pay him back. Still, he’s never let me live it down.
“Yeah, maybe I can work on getting bumped back to first place? Hey, I’ve gotta run. Getting off the train now.”
“Later, Matt.”
“Bye, Uncle Jimmy.”
Wind whips across my face, a cold and bitter slap as I step off the L and onto the platform. The sun’s already beginning to set, and the city’s night life starts to come alive. The families, shoppers, and business men and women on the streets are replaced with well made-up women wrapped in coats, guys who’ve been partaking in happy hour, and the rest of the population ignoring passersby as they shuffle from point A to B.
A short five-minute walk takes me to Zig’s, and the moment I step inside I can see why business is good. This place is packed. Tables full, standing room only, but that doesn’t deter the after work drinkers from partaking in the entertainment.
“You the new guy?” The girl at the front door with the cash box nods up at my chest where the Zig’s emblem ironed onto my cotton shirt peeks from between the partially open zipper of my hoodie.
“Yeah.”
“Zig said come find him. I think he’s in the back.” She offers a friendly smile and I tip my chin before walking away. A live band sets up on stage as three very busy bartenders sling drinks and holler orders back to the kitchen. I find Zig in the kitchen, loading up two trays of fried food.
“Thank God. You didn’t bail.” he says.
“Never, man. What do you need?”
“Here. Follow me with this. Don’t drop it.” He shoves one of the serving trays in my arms, and grabs two more. I trot behind him as we step outside into the bar and he shouts my next orders over his shoulder. “Need you to watch for fights. Break them up if needed. Don’t let anyone who’ll blow legal limit leave if they’re gonna drive. We’ll get them an Uber.” He pauses to unload the food in his hands at a table and takes my tray. “Stand by the door, make sure no one gives Tana shit while she checks IDs and takes cover. She’ll teach you the ins and outs. Oh, and I need a head count. We can’t go over two-fifty or the fire marshal shuts us down.”
“Got it.” I nod and begin a quick scan through the crowded bar to count heads.
“Questions? Come find me.” he shouts over the wail of electric guitar as he walks away. The band warms up, and the lead singer checks the mic with the typical, “Testing. Testing.”
My gaze continues to tag patrons, an almost impossible task with the constant shift of the crowd but I can always round up. Eighty-one, eighty-two, fuck me. I almost lose count when I spot the zombie vixen from this morning. She’s tucked back in a corner booth between two men while her lips pinch with what I surmise is disapproval. I didn’t notice before, but here she is in the flesh. Same chocolate brown eyes with the spitfire inside, her dyed red hair even brighter under the booth’s dome light. God, I wish she’d look my way. Or that I could try my luck again with conversation, but I’m not here to pick up women. I shake my head, resume counting, and make my way back to the front door.
“So, you must be Tana?” I greet the girl from before and peel my hoodie from my body.
“That’s me.” She grins. “Do I get your help tonight?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m Matt.” I pause as she checks IDs and makes change for a couple of college-aged girls. “Zig said you could show me the ropes.”
“Ever worked security before?”
“Nope.”
She scans my body in a quick appraisal. “You look like you can handle the drunks.”
“For that, I’m your man. Oh, and I counted bodies. We have about one-twenty. Give or take a few.”
Her smile widens with a grin. “Zig ask you to do that?” She continues when I nod, “Yeah, I have a tally here. I’d say one-fifteen, but I like that you rounded up.”
“Thanks.”
She glances at her phone right before the door opens, pulling in with it a group of twenty-somethings and the dropping temps. “Be ready for it to get crazy in here, Matt. The night is young but things are just picking up.”
Tana didn’t exaggerate, either. Zig’s only becomes more crowded, louder, and chaotic with each passing hour. I can’t see zombie girl from where I’m stationed, but I hold out hope she’ll stay late into the night or have a reason to come to the door besides walking out of it. As much as I know she wants nothing to do with me, I can’t help but wish for a do-over.
A little before ten, as the band plays a popular cover and almost everyone in the bar sings along, I’m finally granted my wish. Her long legs, heavy makeup and body paint—albeit beginning to smear—only make her appear more dangerous as she stomps toward the door. Her hips swing to the heavy bass of the song.
Her gaze trains on her cell, the screen lighting up the blaze in her eyes, and leaves me the opportunity to look as long as I want. She’s beautiful. Luscious curves. Shapely legs. But more than the hot body, it’s the sassy confidence of her movements that steals my total attention. Me and every other single, hot-blooded male in the room.
Her focus, almost as if she can feel mine centered on her, snaps up before she reaches the door. Our eyes meet and her brow furrows. “Oh, you again.”
“Yep. Me, again. Back at work. What’s your excuse? Didn’t get enough of me earlier?” I try for funny but her hand goes to her hip.
“I thought this day couldn’t get any worse but I was wrong. Being subjected to your lame pickup lines twice in one day is the cherry to my proverbial sundae from hell.”
“Ouch. That’s not nice, especially from such a pretty face.”
“Good. Because I’m not nice.” She blanches before threatening, “And if you know what’s good for you, you won’t ever call me pretty again.”
A burst of laughter I can’t contain rumbles from my belly. The thought of this woman attempting to take me on in a fight is the most humorous proposition I’ve heard all day. Though, part of me thinks she wouldn’t have any qualms about attempting it. “So, you do have a sense of humor or is that broken too?”
“You’re awfully joyful for someone demoted from bartender to bouncer.”
“Salty.”
“Look, can you stop talking? You’re turning an already bad day horrible.”
“Why so glum? Didn’t find any humans worth feasting on? Or are you disappointed Chris Evans is shorter in real life?” I tease in an attempt to make her smile since I finally surmised the reason she’s dressed up as a flesh eaten human. The big nerd convention, Comic Con or whatever, is at the Stephenson Center every year. And Zig’s is within walking distance. I haven’t seen any signs or ads throughout the city, but I also haven’t been paying attention. It didn’t click until catching the train home earlier.
Her gaze flicks over me for a short second, disapproval etched in her stare. “I don’t understand what either of those things has to do with the other?”
“I just assumed . . .” But she hustles away before I can continue.
“Jared!” she shouts and flings herself into the open arms of the man stepping inside Zig’s.
“My kitten!” The man with the blue hair holds her tightly until she slides down his body and her feet touch the wooden floorboards. “You’re sloshed,” he says pointedly, his brows rising along with his smirk.
She giggles, pinching her forefinger and thumb together in front of her face. “Just a teensy bit.”
“Oh, God!” The man laughs. “I’ve never heard you use the word teensy to describe anything before. You must be three sheets to the wind.”
“Only way to make the worst day of my life better.” Her lips plump out with their pout. Irritation consumes my gut when the guy wraps his arm around her waist and tugs her close as she leans into him. I don’t know her. She’s not with me. I’ve never seen her before today, but I guess I hoped she was unattached and available. As the man drags her further into the bar, he passes by with a wink. It’s a look I don’t understand. More flirtatious than possessive. Strange.
“Matt, a little help here?” Tana’s lips pull up with laughter. The doors are propped open with a crowd of more than a dozen new customers.
“Sorry,” I apologize as zombie girl disappears, completely uninterested once again. No time for daydreaming or wishing for things I can’t have. Shaking my head, I focus on the task at hand and earning enough cash to keep my life afloat.