by Tiffany King
“My only objection with that costume is being able to keep my hands off you. I’m trying to take things slow so I don’t scare you off. If you wear this costume, you’ll be fulfilling every fantasy I’ve ever had.”
“Oh,” I said, getting a taste of what he’d just felt. I stood contemplating what he’d admitted. He’d all but told me he fantasized about me. This should have jerked me to my senses, caused me to ease off, but it did neither of those things. If anything, his words made the desire I’d been holding back rise to a near boiling point that throbbed through me as completely as the bass had in my car earlier that day.
His eyes were on mine. I watched as they darkened and I could practically see my own reflected in them. Did he sense I was entertaining thoughts of jumping his bones? Did he know I was imagining what those hands would feel like elsewhere?
A voice squawked across a loudspeaker telling us that the store would be closing in fifteen minutes.
“So you have a thing for Princess Leia,” I finally said, stepping back so I could control my hormones.
“I hate to break it to you, but half the male population had a thing for Princess Leia,” he replied.
“Really?” I asked, adjusting the wig. “Why?”
“That costume, right there,” he said, pointing to my selection. “The gold bikini from Return of the Jedi. She looked, you know, sexy.”
“Oh, well, now I have to get it,” I declared, heading for the registers. I was pretty sure I heard Trent mumble something about how I’d been warned. I smiled.
There was a small line at the register and I nearly groaned when I spotted Chuck standing two customers ahead of us. I was tempted to dump the Princess Leia costume and leave before he could spot me. He had tried to call me a couple times after his asinine behavior at the frat party. I only answered once and that was to tell him to stop calling me.
Trent pulled two suckers out of his pocket. “Tootsie Pop?”
Dragging my eyes from the back of Chuck’s head, I snorted, eyeing the candy Trent was offering me. It reminded me that Chuck had never offered me anything when we were together.
“Thanks,” I said, accepting the sucker as the line moved forward. Chuck placed a hockey mask on the counter and pulled out his wallet. I tried to maneuver my body so that Trent was blocking me from view as Chuck finished his purchase and turned to leave. I knew before he even said my name he had spotted me.
“Tressa? What are you doing here? Girl, are you done breaking my balls and ready to go out with me again?” He stepped to me, not giving Trent a thought.
I rolled my eyes, unsure what I had seen in the asshole. He was nothing but a party buddy, which was an aspect of my life I was glad to leave behind. “You’re joking, right?” I asked as the line moved forward.
A hard look crossed his face and I turned away. Chuck was nothing but a blowhard.
My amusement disappeared when Trent stepped between us. I placed a hand on his shoulder, not relishing the idea of scraping him off the floor after Chuck was done pounding him.
Chuck looked like he wanted to say something else, but with a small audience of customers, he thought better of it. “Whatever,” he said, shaking his head as he walked out of the store.
I let out a pent up breath and turned to Trent, ready to tell him we had dodged a bullet. I was surprised to see he was looking at me incredulously.
“What?” I asked, placing my costume on the counter.
He shook his head. “You seemed relieved that your pal left without saying anything else.”
“One, he’s not my pal. Two, I’m relieved that he didn’t accept your silent, but unnecessary challenge. He would have wiped the ground with you.” I took my bag from the cashier and walked toward the exit.
“I’m insulted,” Trent said, following me.
“Don’t be. Chuck is a big lug. He’d put most guys on their asses,” I said, climbing into the car.
Trent closed my door and walked around to his own side. “How do you know I can’t take care of myself, especially when defending my woman?”
I raised my eyebrows. It was sweet that he was willing to stick up for me, but I wasn’t crazy about him thinking I was his girl. I chose to ignore him as I buckled my seat belt.
“So, is that it?” I asked as he started the car and backed out of the parking space. Sure, the date was unconventional and didn’t exactly feel like any of the dates I’d ever gone on, but until we ran into Chuck I had been having fun, which had been sadly lacking in most of my dates.
“You don’t seriously think the date’s over, do you? I’m not letting you off that easily. I haven’t even fed you yet.”
“I hate to break it to you, geeky, but you’re not going to find any restaurants open this late unless you’re thinking fast food,” I said, pulling out my phone to show him the time.
“That works perfectly.” He looked unconcerned, pulling out of the parking lot.
“Taco Bell?” I teased, trying to come up with places that were open late. I had plenty of after-party experience with that.
He shook his head.
“Wendy’s?”
“No way, I hate that place,” he said.
“What?” I asked, completely scandalized. “How can you hate Frosties? I think that’s classified as un-American. They’re perfect to dip french fries in.”
“They’re overrated. Give me a chocolate shake any day. Gross on the fry thing, though,” he said, turning down several side streets that were lined with warehouses.
“No way. Fries dipped in ice cream should be added as a food category.” I peered out the window as he slowed the vehicle down and turned into a gravel parking lot behind a nondescript building. The exterior paint of the building was peeling so badly that the industrial steel beneath it gleamed in the moonlight. It had definitely seen better years, like twenty or thirty years ago.
I would have thought I was in an episode of Dexter and Trent was leading me to a plastic-draped room if not for the relatively full parking lot.
“Ready for phase two of our date?”
15.
“We’re eating here? I’m not much into rats and bugs,” I quipped, climbing from the vehicle. I eyed the building with interest. I was definitely intrigued. I didn’t know of any raves in this area of town. I was doubtful it was anything like that considering it was Trent who had brought me here.
I mentally ran through a list of things that could possibly be hiding beyond the double doors he was leading me to, but my brain was blank. He pushed the door open for me, guiding me into a dark hallway. Maybe this was a haunted house. My friends and I had gone to one near here last year. It was strange there were no signs, but I prepared myself for someone to jump out at me at any moment. The hallway was dimly lit by industrial-looking outdoor lights like you might find on a construction site. They were attached to the walls with S hooks and connected by heavy-duty cords.
My haunted house theory went out the window when we’d walked the entire length of the hallway without a zombie, ax murderer, or mummy jumping out at us. I was a little disappointed since a haunted house would have been pretty awesome in this building.
We reached the end of the hall and turned right to face a large wooden door that had a small peep slot. Trent knocked on the door twice before the little window opened and a very round face with a nose that looked like a squished tomato peered out at us.
“Password?”
“Oh lord,” I muttered. This was going to be some nerd convention where they trade those idiotic cards that were so popular when we were thirteen.
“Very funny, Peewee,” Trent said, shooting me a look of reassurance.
This was what I got for caving and agreeing to a date with a nerd. Our tastes ran down totally different rivers. Finally, the burly guy behind the door swung it open.
He reached out a hand that was as plump as his face. “Dude, is this your girlfriend?” He eyed me appreciatively.
“That’s the plan,” Trent answered. I
didn’t know where the authority in his voice came from, but it was a side I might like to see more of.
“He wishes,” I answered, holding out my hand. “I’m Tressa.”
“Trent and Tressa. The double Ts. That’s cool.” He chuckled at his reference. “I’m Peewee. Ironic, right? It’s okay. You can make fun of my physique. I do.”
A laugh tickled my throat. I liked this guy.
“Not cool, man,” Trent said, walking around him.
“Hey, don’t want to give the lady the wrong impression. You can head in. Your usual table is open.” Peewee sank back on a stool, waving as we walked away.
“What is this place?” I followed alongside Trent as he pushed open another door. I was floored by the space we had just entered. We were in some kind of restaurant/jazz club judging by the bearded saxophone player who had just stepped out onto the small stage. It looked to be a factory that had been converted to a club, but still maintained a very industrial vibe. Tables that looked like they had been rescued from thrift stores and garage sales were scattered around, and no two chairs were the same throughout the entire place. The cool thing about the tables was that they were covered in old ticket stubs, concert flyers, and papers with handwritten notes, and were lacquered over for protection.
The well-dressed patrons who took up most of the tables clashed with the club’s décor. By the looks of the place, I would have expected to see poor college kids who were too cheap to pay to get into one of the trendier places near campus.
Trent seemed at home as he weaved his way between the tightly packed tables before stopping near the front of the stage. The small round table was barely big enough for two people. I’d call it a little less than cozy, but definitely intimate. Our knees knocked together as I slid my chair under the table. He didn’t scoot his chair back like I might have expected him to. Instead, he spread his legs apart slightly so one of my knees slid between his.
It was a bold move and erotic as hell. Where had this debonair person come from? It was as if the building had morphed him into someone else. Maybe calling him Clark Kent was appropriate and this was where he’d turn into Superman. Or maybe I’d already spent too much time with Trent and I was the one morphing into someone else. Like the Geek Queen.
“What is this place?” I asked again, examining the relics underneath the clear hardened surface of the table.
“It’s called the Secret Club,” he answered, returning a nod from a couple sitting two tables from us.
“Seriously?” It was so hokey I figured he had to be messing with me.
“I’m serious. It’s one of the best-kept secrets on the East Coast.”
“And they couldn’t come up with a more obvious name than that?”
“I know, but you wouldn’t believe some of the talented musicians, poets, and even writers who got their start here. The place is only open on Fridays and Saturdays. Saturday is for musicians and Fridays are for poets and writers. I’ll bring you back for that sometime. It’s a different crowd than this—more serious and very scholarly.”
“They should have called it Club Irony. A secret club called the Secret Club with a big guy named Peewee watching the door, and now you want to bring me back to hang out with a bunch of scholars. It’s almost too funny.”
“Kudos for the observation, other than the last part about you. You need to give yourself more credit,” he said, watching the saxophone player onstage.
Not fair. I was trying to find reasons why Trent and I wouldn’t work, and he was not helping by giving me the best compliment any guy had ever given me.
“How come I’ve never heard of this place?”
He leaned in close since the music was too loud for real conversation. “As funny as the name is, they really do manage to keep it a secret. This is the sort of place you can’t just show up to and hope to get in. Peewee’s mom, Shirley, started this place back in the sixties. It’s rumored she was friends with some of the greats in rock music. You name some of the legends and chances are they sat at these tables. It was supposed to be a kind of safe haven for them. They knew if they came here, fans wouldn’t mob them and the press would never find out. To even perform here you have to sign a confidentiality statement. To get in you have to either know Shirley directly or have friends with connections.”
“So how did someone like you find out about this place?” The question came out harsher than I’d intended. “I mean, what’s your connection?”
He didn’t look insulted by my question. “One of my professors last year is Shirley’s brother. That’s how some of his lit majors find out about the Friday performances.”
“You’re not a lit major,” I said, still confused.
“No, Shirley needed my help with something else. I refused to accept money, so she told me to consider this place my second home.”
“What kind of help did she need?”
“Computer issues. Hackers had gotten into her personal and business accounts. I set her up with firewalls and made sure she had virus protection,” he said as a waitress approached the table carrying a tray with two plates loaded with burgers and fries and two glasses of water.
I looked slightly confused at the plates after she plunked them on our table. She smiled at Trent and shot me a territorial look before walking away.
“The kitchen only serves burgers and fries. Shirley always says that’s what she likes to eat, so that’s all she’ll serve. I can get you something other than water if you want.” He picked up his burger and took a big bite.
I eyed the food warily. I was as hungry as a rhino, but it was a little unsettling not knowing where it came from.
“You don’t like burgers?”
“Is it safe?”
“Really? You eat Wendy’s.”
He had a point. I lifted the bun of my burger to get a better look. It looked good. I sniffed it before I took a tentative bite. It tasted as good as it looked. I hadn’t eaten all day, so I scarfed the food down quicker than normal. I would have liked the water to be a beer, but I didn’t want to ask if he wasn’t having one.
“Told you it was good,” Trent teased once our plates were carried away. The conversation during our meal was surprisingly smooth. Maybe it was because we’d been together so much during tutoring. Whatever the reason, it wasn’t as awkward as I’d imagined it would be. First dates were usually so hit-or-miss. Most times, the guy was a total freak show or an egomaniac. I could already tell Trent was different. He was smart, but didn’t make me feel like an idiot. And the stuff he was into was harmless. It didn’t make him a freak. I couldn’t believe I was sitting here defending Trent to myself.
“So, you’re telling me what you did for this Shirley woman was worth getting an all-access pass to all of this?” I asked, leaning back in my chair. The live music throughout our meal had changed genres multiple times. The sax player was replaced by a country singer whose guitar twanged as he sang about beer, horses, and no-good, cheating women. My favorite performer of the evening was an a cappella singer. I’d never heard anyone hit a high note like this guy. His performance had all the diners pausing midbite.
Trent shrugged modestly at my words. “A computer nerd who likes live music. I guess that makes you more cultured than me,” I teased.
He retaliated by gently squeezing my knee between his. He leaned in close. “Face it, Tressa, you’re beginning to find me pretty irresistible. You’re kicking yourself for not giving me a chance before.”
“Oh, I’m going to kick something. It just won’t be me,” I said, hitting him on the side of the leg with my free foot.
“Come on, why fight it? Can you honestly say tonight hasn’t been fun?”
“It’s been okay.”
“Bullshit, you’ve had fun.”
“Fine, I had fun. It’s probably a fluke.”
“Go out with me again and I’ll prove it to you,” he persisted.
I weighed his words before answering. It would be so easy to shoot him down and keep insi
sting we were too different for each other, but hell, my denial was even beginning to get on my nerves. What harm would it do to cave? If it didn’t work, we could walk away. No harm, no foul. It’s not like I was looking for some permanent thing.
“Fine,” I finally answered. I bit the inside of my mouth to keep from laughing as he did a fist pump. You could dress up the geek, but you couldn’t take the dork out of him.
“Halloween festival next week?” he asked, not missing a beat.
Holy hell. I’d decided to go out with him, but I wasn’t ready to go all balls-to-the-wall, batshit crazy and show up in Woodfalls like we were a couple.
“Come on, you know we’ll have fun. I’ll go as Han Solo.” His words brought a mental image to mind that took fantasy to a whole new level.
“What makes you think I’d like you to dress up as Han Solo? He was pretty buff and all,” I teased.
“Trust me, I think you’ll like the uniform.”
“Are you telling me you already have the costume?” I wasn’t sure if I should laugh or be horrified.
His look said it all. Oh lord. Was I really agreeing to go out with someone who liked to play dress-up? I couldn’t even imagine what Cameo would say if she heard this little tidbit considering we’d totally mocked the loser who wanted to role-play with her in the bedroom. The funny thing was my disgust alarm wasn’t going off. Truthfully, I found it a little cute. Not that I’d ever admit it to anyone. Least of all to Trent.
“Fine.” I couldn’t believe I had agreed, but it would satisfy my curiosity to see if he could really fill out the costume. Besides, agreeing to a second date would quiet my friends for good. They would never get to say that I didn’t at least give Trent plenty of chances.
We stopped talking when an elderly woman stepped between the red velvet curtains on the small stage. She was dressed in jeans that looked like they’d been washed just enough times to make them fit exactly right. She wore a black rock band T-shirt advertising a tour that ended like thirty years ago. Her forearms were covered in tattoos, and her hair hung to the middle of her back in a curtain of gray. She had to be close to sixty I would think, but she was a classic definition of the old saying that age is only a number. She looked totally badass. She was definitely someone I could hang with.