Jules scrubbed at a large sticky spot on a table near the stage, the origin of which she didn’t want to identify. Thank God she had a supply of rubber gloves in her locker, because there was plenty in this bar she didn’t want to touch with her bare hands, including the patrons. But she at least had to try and make things cleaner, because after three months the filth was driving her nuts.
Her boss, Frank, needed to hire a cleaning staff who cared, because she was about done serving as both a waitress and a maid. Two-dollars and ten cents an hour didn’t buy him both and the Lily Pad was about the most disgusting place she’d ever worked.
“Nice ass,” someone said behind her with a phlegmy laugh. Jules shivered, and scrubbed at the spot harder. “You should be up there on stage, sweetness. I’d pay good money to see that.”
She glanced back over her shoulder to stare into the road-mapped eyes of Benny, a regular who was as disgusting as the bar.
“Start by tipping me on the floor, Benny, and we’ll talk,” she growled, slapping her rag down on her tray as he crowded up behind her to sit down in a chair. Touch me, bastard, and you’ll be staring up at me from the floor.
The degenerate had been kicked out of the bar on more than one occasion for getting touchy-feely with the waitresses and strippers. Jules wanted to kick him in the balls to give him a wakeup call as he stared down her cleavage licking his lips, but she just gave him a tight smile before walking toward the bar.
Working in this place had sure given her a different perspective on men and on humanity, just when she thought it was as low as it could ever be. The front door opened and bright sunshine backlit a large body that stood in the doorway. From the bulk, she suspected the body of the shadow man belonged to a SEAL.
If she never saw another one of those arrogant, testosterone-filled assholes again, she’d count herself lucky. Jules loved alpha men, appreciated their service to the country, but they pushed the envelope. Some were true heroes both on and off duty, but the ones who came here were single and looking to let their hair down to the toes of their combat boots. Add naked women and a lot of alcohol to that mix, and they definitely lost the halos and their inhibitions.
Lost in thought, Jules slammed right into a body very unlike that of a Navy SEAL. It jiggled and beefy hands squeezed her breasts hard. Before she could drop her tray to drop the pervert who’d grabbed her, he flew away from her and was slammed to the ground. A big, combat-booted foot pressed down on the center of his throat and he whimpered.
“Apologize to the lady, or die, buddy. Your choice.” Her eyes landed on hammer-like fists which were ready at his sides and followed the myriad of tattoos up rock-hard, veined arms to a thick neck and a hard profile.
Maybe the guy who just arrived wasn’t a SEAL after all. He looked more like a biker with his shaggy hair and tats, and sounded like one too. The delicious, bulging muscles definitely said military man, but that was the only thing about him that did.
Whatever and whoever he was, she was thankful to see him, because Trace, their bouncer, hadn’t even noticed Ron moving in. He was too busy sitting on his perch by the front door, flirting with a woman who had to be a SEAL groupie, a frog hog.
Movement at the end of the bar caught her attention and she watched her boss Frank lift the bar window and walk out, his face ruddy and determined. She knew what that meant—he was about to throw both of them out on their ass. Before he could, Jules hopped over the man on the floor to put her hand into Frank’s chest.
“Ron grabbed my tits again, Frankie—that guy saw it and was helping me, not starting trouble,” she said, but his eyes traveled over her shoulder.
“Sure looks like a troublemaker to me. Beat it—both of you or I’m calling the cops,” Frank growled, wiping his hands on a bar towel.
“No, I’m saving you from trouble,” the biker said, as he removed his foot from Ron’s throat and took a step back. Ron quickly rolled to his side, then pushed up to his feet to walk-run toward the door. “Your trouble would come if word got out on base this place is a common nuisance and the COs restrict the guys from coming here. Add in a civil suit from her for not providing adequate workplace security, and you could find yourself in a heap of trouble.”
Definitely a former SEAL, and one who could give lessons in delivering a threat, Jules thought, biting back a laugh when Frank’s face went white. Nobody scared Frank, but the fear on his face was real. Frank’s eyes narrowed and he put a fist on his hip.
“What are you, a fucking attorney? You gonna be the one filing that suit?” he growled.
“No, I’m a former SEAL who has plenty of friends still on base,” he replied, verifying her suspicions. “I just want to make sure their interests are protected when they come here.”
“What do you want from me, asshole?” Frank growled, his eyebrows crashing together.
“I want you to get rid of the asshole at the door you’re paying to flirt, and reinforce your security with someone with a brain that isn’t in his jockstrap,” he replied.
“Reinforce my security, huh? With who—you?” Frank asked with a snigger, giving him a once over.
“Why not?” the man asked with a shrug. “I was paying attention when your guy wasn’t. When bouncers don’t pay attention things can get ugly real fast, especially here.”
Frank threw his chin up and drilled the guy with his eyes. “Why should I hire you? You have thirty seconds.”
“I know your clientele and what to look for—how to handle them if they get out of line. That’s all you need to know.”
“Why are you a former SEAL if you’re so badass?” Frank shot back.
“Because I let a woman distract me, which means I have no interest in the ones who work here, or the frog hogs who hang out here. Been there, done that, and the t-shirt doesn’t fit anymore,” the man replied gruffly.
With the delicious muscles on display from his black tank top, Jules could definitely see the t-shirt not fitting. But his statement made her wonder about the woman. What kind of woman would catch this man’s eye, or better yet, be interesting enough to distract him to the point of sacrificing a career he had to work his ass off to achieve?
Frank studied him a minute longer, then turned and strode to the front door. Evidently Trace still didn’t notice there was trouble. Even when it walked right in the front door, Jules thought, folding her arms over her chest to watch the show.
“Trace—you’re fired!” Frank shouted, stopping in front of the bouncer.
That finally got the desired reaction. Trace’s head spun on his shoulders and his mouth flapped, before his eyes narrowed.
“Are you serious? What the hell for?” he asked, sliding off the stool to glare down at Frank who was six inches shorter and probably seventy pounds lighter.
Slow and stealthily, the man who was their new bouncer glided to stand by the door behind Frank. He didn’t rush in or crowd Frank, he just stood there and she knew why. He was telling Trace, without saying a word, that he had Frank’s back, or in SEAL terms, his six.
Jules jumped when the music suddenly blared, telling her it was show time. Although she’d thoroughly enjoyed watching the scene at the door, she had work to do and people to watch. Tonight, though, she would probably be watching the new bouncer more than anyone, because his convenient grand entrance into her nasty little world had piqued her curiosity.