Abducted for love ( Bad Boy BBW BWWM Romance)

By: Amanda Horton

It had been a hot, sunny day that was turning into a sticky night. The waves lapped the shore in a lazy fashion, as though they too were tired from the long day. Claire Underwood ran along the boardwalk ignoring the ocean. It was quiet this time of the evening—being too late for the daytime folk and too early for the night dwellers—but she was late for her shift, and her boss, Charlie, took exception to that.

The sign above Cool Joe’s was blinking into life as the sun finally began to dip below the horizon, slowly plunging New York into a merciful darkness. The heat wave had, so far, been unbearable. Hot enough to melt the asphalt, her father would say. Claire smiled at the memory. She would have to stop by the house some time…then again, maybe not.

With a wave to Nick, a tall Roman god of a boy, who was tending the outside tables, Claire ducked into the stifling, beer-scented, interior of Cool Joe’s. Established in 2017, this was the oldest bar – restaurant on the boardwalk. It had a fine history and had managed to send land developers packing whenever they came knocking. In fact it was practically an icon, and Charlie kept the place buzzing by employing staff that looked more like models than bartenders and waiters.

Of course not all of Cool Joe’s neighbors had been lucky and many of the old places, including the amusement park, had closed down. Now ugly holiday apartment blocks rose, so close to the ocean that some of them even boasted rooms below the water line, for those who could afford a truly ocean view.

“You’re late,” Charlie sneered. He was a short man with a hanging paunch that his belt would never circumnavigate. His staff shirt, a light blue golf tee with Cool Joe’s silk-screened on it, was sweat-stained and he smelled of cigars.

Claire rushed behind the bar, aiming to shove her bag under the polished wood top, but Charlie’s hand closed over her arm.

“You’re not tending my bar looking like that,” he said and let go of her. “Go clean yourself up. My customers want pretty girls, not ones that look like they just ran The New York Marathon.”

“Wow, Charlie you’re in rare form tonight,” Alicia, a tall woman with blue hair and big-boobs, sneered as she poured the one customer at the bar his beer. “Give her a break, huh?”

“I’ll do more than that!” Charlie said.

Recognizing the spat that was about to ensue between the two lovebirds, Claire ducked into the bathroom. Turning to the mirror, she looked at herself critically. Only twenty-five and she had bags under her eyes—actual bags. She prodded one with a long finger. Then, she lifted her handbag onto the side of the sink and rummaged for her make up.

“You have the best skin.”

Claire looked up, startled and saw Jenny emerging from a cubicle. She was very tall and muscular, and up until recently, she had answered to the name of “Jonah.”

“Hi Jen,” Claire said, pulling her eyeliner out of her bag and dragging it under her left eye.

Jenny stood behind her, her eyes roaming over Claire with obvious envy.

“You know if I looked like you, I would never wear these silly staff shirts like that,” Jenny said. “And I would totally do something else with my hair. I mean, it’s soft and such a rich black, it’s beautiful. Really! And those green eyes! How did you get those anyway? Your dad is…”

“Yeah, he’s black but my mom is Greek, I got them from her.”

“Good, because you didn’t get enough boob,” Jenny said. “Of course if we just do this,” and she grabbed Claire by the shirt, rearranging it a little so that it no longer hung like a limp sail and revealed just enough cleavage. “There. That should get you extra tips tonight. Now don’t tie that hair up darling. Let it be free.”

Jenny smiled at her and flounced out of the room. It was strange for Claire, but in Jenny’s presence, she always felt like she was the man in the room. She sighed. This was it. This is what her life had become: getting all dolled up to serve alcohol to people who would never know her name. What a waste. Oh well, it was work, and that was hard to come by. So Claire ignored Jenny’s advice and tied her hair up letting her long ponytail hang down between her shoulder blades. She was damned if she was going to overheat just for extra tips.

Fixed up properly, Claire returned to the bar and dumped her bag. Charlie ran an eye over her face.

“You happy?” she asked him.

“Yes,” he said. “Now sell your ass off. I want a record night.” ***

The bar filled up. It was a young crowd tonight, full of excitement and wanting cocktails more than beer. So Claire was up to her armpits in peppermint liqueur, Jägermeister, and something Alicia was mixing called Golden Bowls, that had just about everything it them except the kitchen sink.

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