one
Bunny
The casino is bustling, just as it always is. No matter the hour, whether the sun is high in the sky or below the horizon, there are always people around to keep me on my feet, to keep me busy.
The smile on my lips feels like a permanent fixture at this point. No matter what drinks are spilled on my dress and corset, or what gambler steps in my path and nearly runs me off course, the curve will always remain while I'm on the floor.
There is one exception. One person who makes my teeth unclench, and my stiff limbs turn into goo. One man who makes it easy to block out the surrounding noise and chaos.
He's currently sitting at a table playing Texas Hold 'Em with other gamblers who don't stand a chance of winning,hisworld narrowed down to nothing but the cards displayed in front ofhim. Too locked in to pay any attention to a cocktail waitress tending his favorite hangout spot.
That's how it's always been since Smoke appeared. A gruff man like him would never notice a woman with a few years on him, someone who wore her heart on her sleeve.
Despite my crush being one-sided, I can't help but keep tabs on him. Notice him when I should be searching for those who need more drinks.
Sometimes, I'll slow down when I'm getting near him, just so I can catch a whiff of motor oil. It clings to his leather jacket like a second skin, almost as if, when he's not winning here, he's hanging out in some kind of garage, working on his motorcycle in his free time.
Every time I hear that familiar low rumble, I always hope it's him. With how many members of the Steelwood MC come and go, it's never a guarantee that he'll be here during my shifts, but he's one of the few who spend most of his time here. He and his brother, Ace.
Unfortunately, there are hardly ever any slow periods here at the casino. Unless I have an excuse to address him directly, all I can do is coast by or watch them work their magic from a distance.
Even now, while I wait for a few drinks to be made, I search for the table he's hunkered down at out of habit. When I spot him, I can hardly work out any details, but it's enough to make my pulse shoot up, just as it always does.
A soft sigh leaves me, one I can't capture in time. Hearing just how longing it sounds, it gives me the strength to look away and return my attention to what I should be doing.Working.
Michelle sets down a few beers and two glasses of scotch for me to deliver. I thank her before carefully lifting the tray, letting the liquid still before turning on my heel. After all these years tending these carpeted floors, I've mastered hardly spilling adrop. Just as I'm ready to shoot off in the direction of a waiting table, I notice another waitress approaching. Rue.
She's one of the newer girls, favored for her youthfulness and baby face. Every time I see her, she's got a worried look on her face. Now isn't any different.
"Bunny?" She's missing her tray despite looking flushed. Her fingers are still tying her corset, her uniform thrown together in a rush. She must've just gotten in for the start of her shift.
My lips curve without effort, unlike my attempt to keep my eyes off my favorite biker. "What can I do for you, love?"
There's something about the way her expression pinches that tells me there's a problem. I've seen this look on plenty of the younger women's faces when they're feeling uncomfortable. With how rowdy some of the customers here get when they get alcohol running in their system, I wouldn't be surprised if anyone got ballsy with her during the time she made her approach.
Still, my experience with the job doesn't come close to what someone from the security team could do for her if that's the case.
She tangles her fingers together once they're free of her uniform before glancing to the side. "Well, I saw something. I think you should see it, too."
Trying to follow her gaze to get an idea of what is stressing her out, all I have to look at are the numerous bodies crowding the space around us.
"It's in the back." Reading my confusion, Rue squirms. "Your locker was open..."
Dread fills my stomach at the warning and caution tone behind her voice. Already having an idea of what she'll have to tell me, I quickly cut her off before she can say more, not wanting more staff to hear about my current dilemma. "Let me drop this order off first."
Rue nods and follows along, so close, I'm surprised our glittering heels don't brush.
I keep my voice perky, a sweet song I’ve perfected over hundreds of shifts, as I glide to the other side of the casino, offering welcoming greetings to patrons I both recognize and don't. Excusing myself past others, I hide the worry that wants to form on my face beneath a flirtatious mask. My hips do the extra work for me—a little extra sway, the kind that makes my uniform cling in a way that has men request me to be the one to serve them.
It's all part of my act—a persona I've honed through my time here. Thanks to my efforts, slipping into a role feels natural, even during moments like these when I panic inside.
The high-roller table erupts in cheers as I approach, with whistles and the wet smacks of drunken approval. They’ve been soaking in whiskey all night, and it requires effort not to crinkle my nose at the smell wafting from them. Despite its grossness, it's a welcoming distraction.
One of them tries to flirt. It comes out as a slurred, sticky mess. I smile anyway, giggling as one of them cracks a joke. Then I feel the brush of thick fingers against the back of my knees. My body doesn’t flinch. My smile doesn’t crack. Instead, I look down at the hand I can see—the one pinching a few crumpled bills.
That’s the real language here. The reason I can act the way I do. Any opportunity for tips is one I'll grab at.
I lean over him purposely and let him watch the way the pendant between my breasts catches the light, placing his eyes right where I need them.