**Steps Along Forgotten Roads**
**By Sophia Reed**
**Chapter 209: I’m Not A Call Girl**
**Judy’s POV**
“You were absolutely right,” I overheard one of Ethan’s friends exclaim, his voice dripping with anticipation. “She really does work here. This is going to be so entertaining.”
“Hey, call girl,” he shouted across the room, a smirk plastered on his face. “Can we get a table, or are you just going to stand there and gawk at us?”
Call girl? The term sent a jolt of indignation through me.
I placed the menus down on the table, my fingers trembling slightly as I waited for them to settle into their seats.
“I’m not a call girl,” I asserted firmly, trying to keep my voice steady despite the rising tide of anger within me. “Please, take your seat.”
As I leaned over to set down their beers, I felt a hand unexpectedly grab my rear end. A wave of shock coursed through me, freezing my body in place.
“I like this little uniform you’ve got on,” one of them leered, his eyes gleaming with a predatory delight. “How about you take it off and show us what’s underneath?”
Heat flooded my cheeks as I stepped back, forcing his hand to drop.
“Do not touch me,” I commanded, my voice rising above the din of their laughter.
“Oh, come on, Judy,” another one chimed in, his tone mocking. “Aren’t you here to satisfy men? So why not come over and sit on my lap?”
I pressed my lips together, feeling the weight of their words.
“I’m not a call girl,” I repeated, my voice firm and unwavering. “I’m a waitress.”
One of them chuckled, a cruel smile spreading across his face. “You got this job because you’re hot, didn’t you? The manager couldn’t care less about your skills; he just wanted someone who could flirt and rake in the cash. I’ll give you a nice tip if you let me see what’s under that uniform and sit on my lap.”
His words sent a chill down my spine, making my blood run cold.
“Come here, baby girl,” he said, patting his lap and winking at me as if it were all a joke.
I stared at him, disbelief washing over me.
My gaze shifted to Ethan, who was watching the entire exchange unfold, his expression unreadable. How could he stand by and let his friends speak to me like this? I remembered a time when he would never have tolerated such disrespect; he would have defended me fiercely, ready to confront anyone who dared to look at me with lustful eyes.
Now, he seemed indifferent, a shadow of the man I once knew.
“I’ll give you ten thousand dollars if you drink this entire beer,” one of his friends proposed, the challenge hanging in the air like a taunt.
My mouth nearly dropped open in shock.
“What?” I stammered, unable to comprehend the absurdity of the offer.
“You heard me,” he replied, a grin spreading across his face. “Down this whole beer, and you’ll pocket ten grand.”
“Each of us will give you ten thousand if you drink all of our beers,” another chimed in, his enthusiasm infectious.
I glanced at the frothy beer before me, then back at the men, feeling a mix of frustration and desperation. My eyes met Ethan’s once more; he raised his brows, silently urging me to make a decision.
Swallowing my pride, I approached the table and seized one of the glasses.
I detested beer, but the allure of quick cash was hard to resist. I needed money—money to bail my father out of prison and settle his debts.
With a deep breath, I lifted the cup to my lips, letting the bitter liquid slide down my throat. I grimaced at the taste but forced myself to keep going until the glass was empty. Cheers erupted around me, the men chanting my name as I drained the cup.
Slamming the empty glass back on the counter, I turned to the next guy, who slid his beer toward me with a wink.
I chugged his beer as well, the cheers growing louder, egging me on.
But halfway through the third glass, I felt a firm grip around my wrist, and before I knew it, I was yanked away from the table.
Ethan’s friends booed, calling him a party pooper, but I had no idea where he was taking me. He remained silent until we stepped outside, where he spun around to glare at me, his expression fierce.
“Accept my offer and stop this nonsense,” he commanded, his voice low and dangerous.
“I won’t be your mistress, Ethan,” I shot back, narrowing my eyes, my head spinning from the beer. “You can forget about that.”
“You’d prefer to act like a little slut instead?” he spat, anger radiating from him. “You looked utterly ridiculous in there!”
“Why do you care?” I retorted, my heart pounding. “You have your fiancée. This is my life, and my life no longer involves you.”

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