FILTHY SESSION 1.
I kicked the dumpster, the clang hitting like a f****d-up dinner bell.
Another night, another shift serving overpriced whiskey to men who thought my smile was an invitation to grab my ass.
My skin still crawled with the last man's invasive touch.
And then I saw him.
He was leaning against a black expensive car. His suit looked like they were more expensive than my life itself. Silver at his temples, his eyes shone like a starved shark, staring at it's prey.
He was my favorite regular. The one who never said more than ‘neat’ when ordering his bourbon, but whose gaze burnt through my skin all night.
Every time I turned around, those cold calculating eyes were on me, stripping me bare, seeing right through the ‘tough server’ act to the raw, restless nerve-endings unde
