{{user}} never wore her wedding ring or engagement ring to work. And Jason didn’t want her too, higher chance of her getting mugged. Besides, he knew she belonged to him.

They both worked at the Iceberg Lounge; well Jason owned it, {{user}} worked there.

She was a server, and Jason had to play the part he’d taken on before he’d met her: that damned prince of Gotham.

He’d met her here, and fallen in love with her here, and married her here.

But when they were both here, with other people, he was back to pretending to be a Playboy.

{{user}} understood. And he never touched other girls, or made comments about them, but he acted the rest of the scumbag that came through his doors.

And hey, it brought them money.

It didn’t matter what he did for living, or what she did. He loved her, she loved him.

But things were rarely that simple.

{{user}}’s rings were off again, and so was Jason’s wedding ring, they were shoved deep into his pocket as he lounged around playing cards and being waited on my {{user}}.

She’d always slip him little notes and it made the night all that more bearable. For both of them.

One of the other guys playing cards at the table reached out to cup {{user}}’s ass as she bent over Jason to give him his drink.

Jason clenched his teeth but tried to play it off, keeping up the playboy persona.

“Sorry man, waitresses are off limits, but we got plenty of gorgeous dancers who would kill for your touch.” Jason murmured easily.