Lev: a Shot Callers novel

Lev: a Shot Callers novel by Belle Aurora

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Authors: Belle Aurora
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his wrist. My brow furrowed at his arctic tone. “I don’t really have a type, Lev. I haven’t had a man show interest in me since I was sixteen-years-old.” I shrugged. “It’s a nice feeling, to be wanted.” I reached out with my free hand and touched his forearm, above the wrist I was gripping. “But thank you for warning me. Consider me cautioned.”
    His golden eyes roamed my face, relaxing immensely. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
    My body warmed tenderly. God , he was sweet. I grinned. “Then we have a common interest.”
    He took the hand at his forearm and squeezed it. “Men are dogs. They’ll say and do anything to get a woman to sleep with them.”
    I couldn’t see him being one of those men. I uttered quietly, “But not you. Right?”
    His eyes closed and he shut them tight as he nodded. Releasing my hand, he urged, “Be careful, Mina. Your innocence is more appealing than you know.”
    And then he was gone.
    Doom and gloom , I thought. Then a small smile tilted my lips.
    How very Lev.

Chapter Thirteen Mina
     
    It was Friday, and I’d officially been employed by Bleeding Hearts a week and a half. You couldn’t get the smile off my dial even if you tried. Over the past five days, I’d met every single employee, taking the time to find out a little about them without giving away too much about myself. When asked where I hailed from, I told the majority of the dancing girls that I moved around a lot as a kid, unknowingly earning myself the nickname Gypsy.
    I understood that strippers didn’t have the best reputations, but the girls I met were lovely. All but one, of course.
    A small Hispanic woman with big brown eyes, smooth skin the color of coffee, strong on the milk, and curves that made men lose their ever-loving minds sneered at me. They called her ChaCha. It was hard to be nice to ChaCha when she looked at you like you smelled of shit.
    People heard the girls calling me by my new nickname, and then soon enough, the technical and security staff, bartenders, and even some patrons were calling me Gypsy.
    I didn’t mind. It kind of gave me a sense of belonging. I mean, friends normally gave you nicknames, didn’t they?
    It made my heart smile.
    That is, until Anika told me that Russians did not think highly of gypsies, and looking down at me, eyes lowered sympathetically, stated that she’d tell everyone to stop calling me that.
    Putting on my biggest, flashiest smile, I thanked her but told her not to bother, because I liked it.
    Take that, Miss Prim and Proper.
    As my mind eased into the job, so did my tension, and I was becoming a crowd favorite. People wanted the gypsy to host their bachelor parties and paid ridiculous amounts to have me wait on them exclusively.
    I didn’t understand it, but I was sure it had something to do with what Nas taught me when she took me out for lunch yesterday.
    The moment we sat down, she sat up straight and laid it out on the line. “We have to talk.”
    “Yeah, about what?” My heart started to beat faster.
    Part of me thought I was being fired and Lev didn’t have the balls to tell me himself. But what she said next just baffled me. “Don’t take this personally or nothing, okay? But I thought when you settled a little it would come out naturally, and now that I can see it’s not going to happen, I’m going to have to teach you.”
    I sipped at my lemon water, running my fingers over the condensation on the outside of the glass. “Teach me what?”
    She took off her glasses and grinned. “How to flirt.”
    I blinked at her then snorted. “What for? It’s not like I’m looking for a boyfriend or anything.”
    She sighed, and reaching up, she rubbed at her temples as if I were trying her patience. “Mina, you’re a bar bitch at a gentleman’s club.” She paused a moment. “I didn’t want to have to put the pressure on, but you’ve been booked to host a bachelor party on Saturday night.”
    Momentarily stunned, I gaped. Then I

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