66. Deacon

Bass vibrates in my chest as the loud music assaults my ears. The smell of sweat and cheap perfume floats through my nose, changing the taste of the watered-down liquor. A strip club wasn't my first choice, but it was the closest place that was open at this time of day that served alcohol. A faint cloud of smoke wafts in the air as I down my seventh? No eighth drink of the afternoon, and I was starting to feel the room sway from my barstool.

"Another," I shout, slamming the empty glass onto the bar as the dancer on stage finishes her routine and begins collecting her dollar bills.

"Damn. She must have been one hell of a woman," A raspy female voice beside me says.

"Not interested," I say, not bothering to look her way.

"In what exactly? Unsolicited advice? I mean, I don't blame you. A man like you comes into a place like this, you're either running from something serious or trying to forget a woman, so which is it, Darlin?"

The southern drawl that comes out when she speaks catches my ear. It's fake. Nothing like Grace"s sweet lilt, and my jaw clicks in irritation.

"Look," I start, finally turning in her direction and freezing. Her face holds a skeptical expression as I take her in. Pale skin, freckles splashed across her face, large hazel eyes, and auburn brown hair tied in pigtails.

"You alright?" she asks, more hesitantly this time.

"What's your name?" my voice finally catches up with my mind as my eyes don't leave the plaits in her hair.

"Destiny," she responds, her eyebrow lifting.

"Fuck Destiny," I say, throwing back my drink. "Your real name?"

"Well, if you"re offering," she says with a sly smile, eyes undressing me. "It's Elaine, you wanna get out of here?"