Felicity Stripped Bare

by Vanessa Jaye

  “Stuart, I don’t have time for this. How did you find me anyway?”

  “That’s where fate stepped in. I was driving by and saw you—’cause you know I’d recognize you anywhere.” He gave her a soulful look. “So I made a U-ey. And here we are together again.”

  “We are not together. There is no we, Stuart.”

  He wagged his finger at her. “You say that now…”

  “I said that last year. Remember? When I walked in on you and Val—”

  “And there goes the ancient-history train leaving the station. Are we going to argue over this again? Tell you what, where’re you going? I’ll drop you off.”

  She wanted to tell him where he could shove his little choo-choo, but she weighed her options. Accept his offer and grind her teeth for the next ten minutes, while he tried to get back in her good graces, and pants, again.

  Or turn him down and deal with Tony.

  Not such a hard choice after all. Better the devil you knew than the asshole you worked for. She let him guide her down the street towards an SUV parked halfway up on the sidewalk.

  “So, where to?” he asked once they were on their way.

  Felicity breathed in his cologne. He smelled different. That is, the cologne was the same, but the effect was different. She didn’t melt. Didn’t secretly want him to beg her to come back again.

  The difference was Daniel. He smells different from Daniel. Stuart repeated his question and Felicity gathered her wits. “The Uptown.”

  “Isn’t that the dump where your skeezer friend Cheryl works? He gave her a sharp, appraising look. “You peeling now, too?”

  Something inside her went twisty-twist. It wasn’t just the comments about Cheryl—who couldn’t care less what anyone, especially Stuart, thought of her—but the look he gave her, and the note in his voice. Judgment.

  Her hands curled into fists. “No. I wait tables.”

  Then a sliver of anger tinged the shame she felt. Lots of girls worked in strip bars, as dancers, bartenders and waitresses. She did honest work.

  At least she wasn’t some low-life two-timing slug who deserved to be pinned down in a petri dish, left out in the desert at high-noon. Then salted.

  “Know what? I think I’ll take the streetcar after all.”

  “Okay, okay, let’s not fight. Please?” He gave her the disarming smile his groupies fell for. The one she had fallen for. Imagine, all this time she’d thought she hadn’t deserved him. She was right.

  Felicity looked out the window, willing the ride to be over while she thought about wasted years. But by the time they came to the next red light he’d slipped one of his CD mixes into the player and the tension eased under the relentless beat. Soon they were talking about mutual friends—actually, they were Stuart’s friends—then the reminiscing started.

  When they drew up in front of The Uptown, Felicity was feeling more than a little charitable towards Stuart. So when he took her hand in his, she didn’t pull away.

  Until he popped the question.

  “Wait. Hold-up. My boy Lose-art wanted you two to be what?” Cheryl’s mouth remained open.

  Felicity pursed her lips. Not about to repeat herself.

  Cheryl leaned closer and raised her voice slightly over the music. “Bumping booty buddies?”

  Felicity took a sip of her coke.

  “Panting panty pals?”

  She spewed out the cola. Eyeing Tony, who had his back to them while he tended the till, she wiped up the mess. “Will you quit it?”

  “The noive of him. The unmitigated gall. So what did you say?”

  “What do you mean what did I say? I said no.”

  “Hey it couldn’t hurt. You do seem a bit testy lately.”

  “I do?”

  “Yeah, you do. Maybe you should take the anti-stud up on his offer. Could be you need to release some of that sexual frustration instead of taking it out on your friends.”

  Cheryl didn’t know how right she was. Felicity had sex on the brain. And she wouldn’t mind having it on the bed, on the floor, the kitchen table, the sofa—

  She took a deep breath. Okay, get a grip. “Gotta take it slow with Daniel.”

  “What?”

  She froze. “What, what?”

  Under the flashing lounge lights, Cheryl’s narrowed dark gaze took on an eerily strobed effect. “You said Daniel.”

  “Nuh-uh.”

  “Oh yes you did.” Cheryl was barely holding in her excitement.

  Cornered, Felicity continued to shake her head as Cheryl scooched closer, rubbing her hands together. The avaricious gleam in her eyes told Felicity there was no way out of this except to ‘fess up.

  “I know what I heard, girl. Now start talking.”

  “We kissed.”

  “I knew it, I knew it!” Cheryl grasped Felicity’s arm. “Hot damn, that man, named Dan.”

  “It was just a kiss.”

  “Ain’t no ‘just’ about it. From that goofy expression on your face, I’d say my man Dan knows what’s what and where to put it.” If it was possible, Cheryl’s smile widened a few more inches.

  “Getting involved with my landlord isn’t a great idea.” Felicity rubbed small circles on the table with her cloth.

  “Shoulda thought about that before you did the lip lambada with him.”

  Good point. She was saved from answering when Tony caught her eye. Squinting through the cigarette smoke that wreathed his head like a personal greenhouse effect, he pointed to the clock.

  Tony was a man of few words but many interpretive threats.

  “Break time’s up.” She pushed away from the table.

  “Think it over.”

  “What?”

  “Exactly.” Cheryl winked as she got up too. “What’s what and where to put it.”

  Felicity watched her sashay towards the stage. Friends weren’t supposed to encourage friends to be dumbasses.

  ***

  Daniel sat in a tufted leather chair placed in front of his father’s mammoth mahogany desk and gazed out the corner office’s windows. A muscle pulsed in his clenched jaw while his old man leisurely scanned the latest summary report on the Maple/Klein Industries merger.

  “Okay let’s wrap this up.”

  Finally. Now they could get on with the command performance.

  Michael Mackenzie made some invisible adjustment to monogrammed cufflinks, before removing his rimless bifocals from their perch on the Mackenzie nose. The same nose Daniel had until age fifteen, when an errant hockey puck kissed it.

  “How are you for time on the Maple deal?”

  “Another three months, maybe.”

  His father shrugged. “It’s Fred’s dime.”

  “The closing would be faster if we got a few more juniors on it.” Daniel let some of his frustration creep into his voice.

  His father’s dark eyes skewered into him. “This is a real job. The big leagues.” He tapped the desk with the bifocals, then pointed at Daniel. “Don’t mess this up because of your misguided attempts at being some nobody construction worker.”

  Daniel sprang up. “Then perhaps you should take this deal and give it to someone more qualified to handle the big league stuff.”

  “I already have my best man on the job.” Michael Mackenzie tilted back his chair and studied Daniel like a principal regarding a recalcitrant student.

  “Then stop questioning my every step—” a short rap sounded at the door, but he wasn’t through venting, “—like I’ve turned into some kind of a major fuck-up overnight.”

  “If you don’t mind, you can stop your swearing right now.” His mother closed the door she’d just stepped through.

  Daniel swept back his unbuttoned jacket, resting hands on his waist and muttered, “Sorry.”

  “Why can’t you two behave?” Elise Mackenzie pinned both men under her bright green scrutiny.

  “It’s just business, Elle,” his father placated. “I don’t know why you get yourself worked up.”
r />   “I get myself worked up because it’s not just business.” She dropped her leather bag in the chair Daniel had vacated. “This has been going on for years, except now you’ve graduated to swearing. I’m sick of it.”

  So was he. All his life he’d tried to measure up to his father’s impossible standards. No more. “Are we through here?” Daniel checked his watch; he’d told Rob he could spare half an hour this afternoon, but that was before his dad called this meeting.

  Right on cue there was another rap at the door. His father gave permission to enter and the door eased open wide enough for Michael Mackenzie’s executive assistant to stick her head through. “Daniel? Mr. Caira is at reception for you.”

  He thanked the assistant, kissed his mother on the cheek and headed for the door.

  “Don’t forget dinner Friday, sweetheart.”

  Daniel swallowed a groan, damn, and managed to mask his displeasure before facing his mother again. “I’ll try.”

  “Do more than try, Daniel. It’s important that we have dinner together as a family. With no business talk.” She cast a sharp glance at her husband. “Just a nice, quiet evening. Just the three of us.” The smile she gave them brooked no argument.

  “Fine.” He left, taking deliberate care to shut the door softly behind him.

  Before he’d taken half-dozen steps, a slim arm snaked through his. “Hi, lover.”

  He looked down at Deirdra. They had grown up together, and even shared a brief fling once or twice, always parting as friends. She was one of the few people he was completely at ease with. Right now, though, he didn’t want company.

  “Hey.” She released him, her smile disappearing. “Big Mac on the attack again?” She used the childhood nickname they had for his father.

  “Again? When did he ever stop?” He nodded to another lawyer as they continued down the hall.

  “I know what could make you feel better.” Her hand wrapped around his biceps again. “How about you, me, a bottle of Merlot and some videos? Or any other form of entertainment you’d be interested in,” she added in a murmur with a sultry smile. “I’d make dinner, too. Keep up our strength.”

  They were at reception and Daniel stopped when he saw Rob. Waving his buddy over, he returned his attention to Deirdra. Her straight, dark hair was pulled back into a chic knot, her bright blue eyes full of enticement. Daniel was tempted. He’d been in a state of frustration for the past four days.

  But the hair he wanted wrap around his fist, while her slim legs wrapped around his hips, was a thick curling mass of chestnut-brown. The face he wanted to rain kisses on was clean of makeup. And eyes he wanted to drown in as he came were the palest silvery gray, not blue.

  “Just a nice, quiet evening. Just the two of us,” she whispered, her body swaying almost imperceptibly towards him.

  Her invitation echoed his mom’s and induced the same trapped feeling. Daniel pulled his arm away, giving her hand a little squeeze before he dropped it. “I’ve already got plans, sorry.”

  “The invitation is always open,” she said meaningfully, then flashed a bright smile at Rob. “We’re going to have to get you your own office, you’re here so often.”

  “I could always share yours.” Rob waggled his eyebrows for good measure.

  “I don’t think it’s big enough.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.” His partner’s grin was slow and suggestive.

  She laughed softly and chucked him under the chin, then bid them goodbye. The two men watched her shapely sway continue down the hall.

  Rob sighed dramatically. “I can’t believe you just turned her down. You’re losing your touch, man.”

  Daniel could assure him he wasn’t. But over the past four days he’d been slowly losing his mind. Just as he’d feared—insanity brought on by excessive horniness.

  Then Daniel felt a ripple of unease, because it wasn’t just lust that had him thinking about Felicity’s laugh or wondering what she was doing at odds times during the day. It was more than desire that had him looking forward to seeing her this weekend. Oh, yeah. He was certifiably crazy.

  “Come on, let’s go to my office.” He headed towards that sanctuary like the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels.

  Chapter Six

  “This ain’t going to happen, Fil.” Cheryl stopped trying to push her end of the sofa into the alcove.

  Reluctantly coming to the same conclusion, Felicity glared at the couch that had thwarted all her plans.

  “I told you it wouldn’t work,” Stuart offered.

  “You would know all about not working.” Cheryl gestured at him, seated on the coffee table, elbows resting on spread knees.

  “Hey, why should I work up a sweat and ruin my threads? Besides, what’s with all the rearranging, anyway?”

  “Why not?” Felicity shot back. It was her new motto. “You of all people should understand about change, Stuart,” she said pointedly. “Out with the old, in with the new, right?”

  “Yeah, out with the old coochie, in with new hoochie,” Cheryl clarified.

  “Hello? ‘Old coochie’ standing right here.”

  “No offense meant, hon. You ain’t that old. I was just going for a little solidarity.”

  Stuart tossed a sneer in Cheryl’s direction before focusing on Felicity. “I agree with you one hundred percent, baby. Out with the past, in with a new future. That’s why I think you should give us another chance.”

  She stared at him, speechless, but good old Cheryl came to the rescue.

  “Felicity ain’t no charity. She don’t need to give no punk-assed, two-timing, you another chance.”

  “You calling me a punk?”

  “If the shoe fits.” Cheryl rotated her neck.

  “Stuart, we’ve had our run. I can’t go back there.”

  “You keep saying that, but I know you don’t mean it.”

  All that hair gel must have shellacked his brain. He just didn’t get it.

  “I’ll mean it for her, butt-scrub,” Cheryl pounced. “Stop dropping by, stop calling, stop asking—go harass someone else. If you need a date so badly, try Rejects R Us, I’m sure they’ll hook you up with your perfect match.”

  “Is that where you find your dates?”

  Felicity put a hand up to stall Cheryl, who looked like she was ready to go all Matrix on Stuart and drop-kick his ass into next week.

  “Stuart, I’ve moved on. Get used to it.” Man, if that didn’t sound good.

  She’d moved on before. From one dead-end job to another. From her parents’ house to a brief stint on the streets, then one rented room after another. And her track record with boyfriends wasn’t much better. But now “moved on” was linked with “why not?” in her mind.

  Felicity looked around the room, seeing beyond the garage sale finds and junk store bargains. She took in the muted yellow plaster walls and the bare wood floors that creaked their secrets with each step, the drafty old-fashioned casement windows and high stucco ceilings that hinted at another era.

  She’d made like Martha Stewart too many times in her imagination with this place. But ever since she and Daniel had gone to Home Depot last weekend, her daydreaming had gotten worse. Now she was plagued with ideas for tearing down walls, adding pot lights, stripping and staining the floors.

  These dreams were safer than the ones she had about Daniel, though. The ones where she relived the way he’d touched her, kissed her.

  And then afterwards, when he hadn’t pushed for more, respecting her choice, despite his obvious condition. That had to mean something, didn’t it? In about two hours she’d find out.

  Cheryl waved a hand in front of her face. “Earth to Felicity.”

  “Sorry.” She hunched her shoulders.

  “You know you’ve been wearing that goofy smile all day.”

  “That’s because I’m here.” Stuart got up and swaggered over to her. He snaked his arms around her waist. “You miss me. Just admit it.”

  “Stuart, cut i
t out.” She frowned over her shoulder, stared into his puppy-dog brown eyes, and felt…well not exactly nothing. But something pretty darn close to it. Another smile slowly spread across her face.

  “See? Look at that smile.” He moved in for a kiss which she angled away from. “You know we go together, babes.”

  “You mean like an asshole and a hemorrhoid? No, wait a sec,” Cheryl flipped several braids over her shoulder. “That would be your relationship with the rest of humanity.”

  “No, that would be your relationship with your mirror.”

  “At least I have a relationship with my mirror. Yours filed for protective custody.”

  “Know what, I’m tired of your big mouth. Why are you always bitching?”

  “Because I speak ‘bitching’ fluently, in several dialects, including sign.” Cheryl gave him the middle finger.

  “Don’t you wish. ’Fraid you’re not my type Chewbacca.”

  “Guys!” Felicity tried to interject, wiggling for escape from Stuart’s arms.

  “Stuart if you were the last man on earth, I would get a sex change just so I could make you my bitch—”

  “Wrong again. Being a bitch is your job.”

  “What are you even doing here?” Cheryl demanded.

  “First ask yourself what you’re doing with that tragic weave.”

  “Trying to look like your mama.” Cheryl stalked to the door and flung it open. “Leave.”

  “Guys, enough! Okay? Let’s just move the sofa back,” Felicity pleaded.

  Neither moved.

  “Now. Please.”

  Cheryl pouted. Not a pretty sight. “Fine. But next time you want a decorating challenge, Fil, don’t invite Skidmark Stu over. Or ask Tony if you can make some changes—”

  “Tony? Who’s Tony?” Stuart’s hold tightened.

  “None of your business.” Felicity tugged at his wrists.

  “Just tell me who this guy is, so I can go kick his ass.”

  Cheryl burst out laughing. “You couldn’t lift your leg that high, Stu-runt.”

  “Am I interrupting?”

  Felicity stopped struggling, her attention drawn to the cold voice that came from the hallway.

  Cheryl spun round. “Daniel!” she gushed like they were long lost friends. “Come in, come in.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him into the flat.