Miami , FL
12:30 am
Samaria carefully retrieved two bottles of Don Julio from the ice-filled case, placing them neatly on her tray. She took a deep breath and made her way through the bustling club, navigating the crowd with practiced ease.
As she climbed the steps to the second-floor VIP section, the thumping bass of the music reverberated through her body.
Setting down the tray with a forced smile, she couldn't help but feel a wave of disdain wash over her. The club, with its flashy lights and raucous energy, had never been her dream job.
The tension between the bottle girls and the strippers was palpable, and more times than not, she found herself caught in the middle of their rivalry.
The club was always crowded, a phenomenon that baffled her. Even on a Monday morning, it was more packed than a church on Sunday, an ironic observation she often made to herself.
As she surveyed the familiar faces in the section, her eyes landed on a group of football players she had served before.
They were loud and boisterous, but tonight, there was a new face among them. He was tall, with deep brown skin and two-strand twists that hung from his head.
His focus was entirely on his phone, oblivious to the party around him. Intrigued, but not enough to engage, she turned her attention back to her job, expertly popping open the bottles to pour shots, hoping to collect her tips swiftly.
"Can I put in an order for wings?" one of the players asked, his light skin and adorned limbs making him stand out even more in the dim light.
"I can get y'all a server," she replied, her expression shifting slightly to mask her annoyance. The last thing she wanted was to deal with the dynamics of complicated orders.
"Ight," he replied casually.
"Bottoms up!" Samaria shouted, pressing a bright red button that sent a notification echoing throughout the club, signaling it was shot time.
Chasing the excitement of the moment, she maneuvered her way back to the bar to ensure a server was on the way.
As she walked through the energetic crowd, one of her favorite coworkers, with a bright smile and an infectious energy, wrapped her arms around Samaria from behind.
"Bitch , you got the best section tonight!" she exclaimed.
"I know, right? It's chill up there." Samaria replied, a hint of satisfaction creeping into her tone. The players were generous tippers, and she'd already surmised her earnings for the night would be significantly better than the past couple of times she had served them.
"Damn, have fun! I hit my goal for the night, so I'm outta here!" her friend said, giving her a playful pat on the back before slipping away, leaving Samaria to her bustling section.
As she rushed to the back, she grabbed a clean black bucket, ready to fill it with ice for the players.
However, in the flurry of activity, she almost forgot about it. "Yeah, I'll send Leana over," the bartender replied, rolling her eyes in irritation.
Samaria didn't fuck with Leana , and she hoped the players wouldn't overload her with requests.
"Alright," she muttered, grabbing more cups and heading back upstairs. "Let me know if you all need anything, and I'll have that server on the way!" she announced over the pulsating beats of the music.
As she turned to leave, she couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching her.
Her gaze fell upon the dread head , the one with the two stranded twisted , his unusual club attire all black Nike tech with black Air forces. He sized her up. She felt a flutter of nerves as their eyes met briefly before she made her way back down to the bar, mentally shaking off the unexpected attraction.
