Forever Bound

Poker

The day goes by fast just because I have to face my fears tonight.

But when 10:30 hits I start getting ready to go back to Apex, the club in the middle of the city.

Not in a party attire, just skinny blue jeans that are ripped at the knees, a white tank with a grey plaid shirt and some converse.

My hair is up in a half decent bun with waves framing my square jawline from work. Remi texts me that she is outside the complex so I go to meet her.

"What if he doesn't want the baby?" I ask, holding onto the seat.

"Then he's a piece of shit," she glanced at me, "c'mon, you know this already. Clearly he was only useful for one thing, which was blessing this world with a baby."

I crack a smile.

"Just go in there and be professional, he either wants in or not."

"My baby isn't a business agreement or a contract," grumble, holding my stomach.

In the corner of my eye, Remi's face lights up. "My baby now?" She teased.

My face heats up. "Will you be the God mother?"

"I should slap you right now. That shouldn't even be a question. We talked about this way in college already," she rolled her eyes.

"Just making sure nothing has changed."

"Is this it?" Remi points when the GPS says our destination is on the right.

I look at all the profiling in the building and feel the bass making the ground shake. "Mhm," I mutter, trying to recall that night.

"What's the game plan?" Remi goes a block further to park.

"The bar," I nod, "he seemed to know the bartenders."

"Okay," she says.

We walk through the cold air and wait in line to get let in. Remi follows me to the bar and I wave one of them down.

"Hey, we need your help," I yell to the young bartender over the loud music.

"What can I do for you?" He smiles charmingly with a rag in his hand.

My eyes roll upward as I picture him in my head "I'm looking for a guy: he has deep brown hair, it's messy-side wept, wide muscular build, tall as hell, hazel hooded eyes, and tan skin. You seen him?" I describe the man I met all those months ago.

The man behind the bar blinks making me seem crazy. "Well?" I ask, press my lips together waiting for an answer.

I don't get one, he instead calls over the other bartender and whispers in his ear. Confused and annoyed, I look back at Remi. She just throws her hands up and shrugs.

The other guy raised his brow. "You want to see Warren?" He asks in a think Italian accent.

I dart my eyes. "Uh, yes."

"What business you have with him?" His eyes narrow.

"It's personal," I put it simply. By the second, I'm getting tired of these questions. "Do you know where he is or not?"

He doesn't seem phased by my snappy attitude, he smirks. "Are you a prostitute?"

"Excuse me?"

"Warren doesn't see the same girl twice, love," he pats the shiny counter.

"Well neither do I," I fire back, "that's why I'm here to talk to him."

The two men look at each other. One is amused, the other is concerned. "Take the elevator to the third floor, go to your right, make a left and third door in your right. Knock before you go in.