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playing on the old
jukebox.
    The
club in North Atlanta, Holidays, named after the famous jazz singer, who the
owner claims he’s related to, is the place to go when you want to be serenaded
by sultry jazz and blues tunes. They are the only selections available in the
neon, coin-operated record player too.
    He
slides his warm hand down my back and slips it under the hem of my shirt. His
hot fingers begin a slow circling above the waistband of my skirt. His head
drops down so that his mouth hits just above the top of my ear. His breathing
is heavy and his breath is saturated with the woodsy scent of whiskey.
    “Do
you mean that Angel?” he asks, his voice husky with desire.
    Confused
by his question, I pull away slightly, looking into his eyes for understanding
before nodding. “Sure.”
    “Goddamn
Angel,” he growls low inciting shivers down my spine. He draws me tighter
against his chest again and the vibrations hum through my thin top, straight
through to my breast. “If you weren’t Rad’s ol ’ lady
I would fucking take you up on that offer and it would be a very happy day.” What
the hell did he think I offered him ?
    Decks
and I have a really flirty and hot relationship going. He flirts, gets hot and
then I get going, meaning I usually just walk away from him. Tonight I’ll let
him slide since so far he hasn’t done anything beyond the previously mentioned,
although we have never danced together before and tonight his flirting combined
with our proximity is apparently affecting him. I can feel his hardness
pressing against my stomach.
    “But
I am Rad’s,” I remind him looking up at his hooded eyes with a sweet smile
plastered on my face. “So let’s keep this thing between us cool. Okay?”
    “Yeah,”
is all Decks can say gloomily, swaying our bodies through the last notes in the
seductive song. His wayward hands are beginning to piss me off.
    Decks is a beautiful man and if he cut out the crudeness he
wouldn’t be a bad catch. Like so many others in this lifestyle, he has thrown
his life into the shitter when choosing to distribute illegal narcotics instead
of working a normal job. I can’t imagine any self-respecting woman falling for
someone like him.
    Walking
back to our table, I hear the small jazz band warming up for their set. I take
my seat facing away from the stage beside Russ and wind my hand around his arm,
claiming my territory for all the watching eyes. This is our first display in
public so I plan on making it a good show. I just hope that Decks is the only
guy I give a stiffy tonight. Taking up the large front corner booth, our group
consists of Wise, his wife Natalie, Decks, Russ, me, two new guys and their
dates.
    “Damn
Decks, don’t tell me you’re alone on your birthday brother?” Wise asks
jokingly.
    Dark,
haunting eyes narrow on me forcing me to feel his desire and I can’t help
noticing how attractive Decks is before he responds, “Haven’t made my birthday
wish yet.”
    Oh
the man is good, but he isn’t for me. Decks is way too
much of a player, not that there’s anything wrong with playing around. I’ve had
my share of one-night stands and actually prefer them over relationships. They
are a whole lot less messy than dating and all the bullshit pleasantries that
go along with working out your differences for the sake of…whatever. I shiver.
Just the thought of two people in a committed relationship makes my body
convulse with repulsion. That’s one thing I would never have to worry about
with commitment-phobic guys like Decks, settling down isn’t an issue. However,
when it comes to Decks specifically, I will pass on one-nighters for a year
before I let him seduce me into his bed.
    “Is
your sister stopping by for the festivities?” Natalie asks Decks.
    “She
comes by for the set every weekend.” Shrugging, Decks plucks a whiskey off a
serving tray from the waitress as she approaches with a fresh round of shots.
“Can’t see why tonight would be any