by Baylin Crow
My lips flattened. "I'm really not sure why I thought you'd help. Forget it." He chuckled before he disappeared behind the wall. I pointed at Dylan, whose dark blue eyes danced with amusement. "You, stop trying to find a reason to stab me."
He rolled his eyes. "I can't believe Isaac told you that shit. I don't get off of stabbing people. I just like it a little."
Truthfully, Dylan spent the majority of his time holding a tattoo machine, but he did seem to get a sick thrill from sticking metal through any body part asked of him.
I sighed, and he winked before strolling away, whistling a song conveniently titled Pain.
Dylan loved giving me a hard time in an attempt to ruffle my feathers.
With nothing left to keep me busy, my thoughts turned to Phoenix. The date he'd taken me on had been amazing, even if it hadn't sparked the inspiration intended for my book. He couldn't have chosen anything more perfect. I'd accidentally smiled enough times over the last two days to earn knowing looks from my uncle and the guys at work. They'd been brought up to speed on my relationship with Phoenix because my uncle had a big mouth.
Boyfriend. My lips hooked up on one side. I really liked the way it sounded.
As I often did when thinking about Phoenix, I fished one of the folded pieces of paper I carried everywhere from my pocket. At some point I'd have to break the new habit because the stack was growing thick.
The words that filled the sheet were written last night after he'd made me come twice and then held me. The lyrics told our story up to that point and tugged at my heart.
With no one watching, I smoothed the creased paper over the counter and read it—maybe for the fiftieth time—even though I had the entire song memorized already. But I liked seeing them in his scratchy, cursive handwriting.
"What's that?" Dylan's voice startled me, and I jerked upright. I scrambled for the paper, but it was in his hands before I could put it away.
"Give it back," I demanded and popped my hands on my hips. "Why are you always so nosy?"
Instead of listening to me, he turned his back, dodging my attempts to retrieve it. He began reading out loud, laughter in his voice, but trailed off after the first verse, finishing silently.
"What is this?" he finally asked with a curious expression as he held the song over my head. "I wouldn't have pegged Phoenix as a poet. But this is actually really good."
"It's not poetry. Well, I guess it sort of is." I jumped to grab it, but he only lifted it higher out of my reach. "But that was private, Dylan. Give it back."
"Tell me what it is and I will." He continued to hold the page hostage.
My shoulders tensed and I swiped my hair away from my forehead. The idea of telling Dylan pricked at my conscience as if I was betraying Phoenix. I wasn't sure what his reaction would be, but it was too late now. I wanted my song back in my pocket where it belonged. "It's lyrics, okay?"
"Wait? Phoenix is a songwriter?" His brows lifted. "Interesting. Why doesn't he submit his stuff? This"—he shook the page—"is the kind of shit that makes it in that business."
"He tried for a while, but things happened." I shrugged as I recalled the conversation about Phoenix's mom. There were some things Dylan couldn't pry out of me, even with his impressively annoying persistence.
He hummed as he lowered his arm, and his gaze skimmed the page again. "I know someone that might be interested in taking a look at this. It would be a long shot…but who knows."
Just before I darted forward to seize my property back, his words penetrated my frustration. I froze. "What do you mean?"
"You know we have high profile clients. You've met some of them. But one of my guys is sort of a big deal," he bragged and flashed a cocky grin.
Curious, I tilted my head. "Who?"
"Have you heard of Drake Avery?" When I only blinked, he sighed. "Courting Echoes?"
They were one of Phoenix's favorite bands. My eyes popped wide. "You do his tattoos?"
He guffawed. "Fuck, no. That guy's a prick. But, ready? Drumroll, please!" He laughed to himself, and my brow furrowed as he beat against the wall with his free hand. "His drummer is my client."
Oh, ha. Drumroll. I got it—but I wondered if my uncle was attempting to work on Dylan's jokes as well. "Wow, I didn't know that."
"Yeah, I got that." His lips twitched at my expense. "Anyway, you know how these guys get talking in the chairs—their mouths run and they overshare. Well, when I was giving him his…sixth tattoo?" He shook his head and frowned. "Seventh, I think."
"Dylan," I said impatiently.
He snapped out of the fog clearly clouding his brain. "Right. So, Gage told me Drake had dried up and isn’t writing new material. He's going through a rough patch, or something, but he’s been stubborn about bringing in outside songwriters. Gage said the whole band is frustrated." He shrugged. "But you never know. I don't mind giving him a call and seeing if they are interested in at least looking at it."
The offer was more than tempting. It could be the biggest break Phoenix could hope for in the industry, but that song was written for me. It was private. Or at least it was before Dylan stole it. I chewed on my lip as I weighed the situation. "I don't know."
"Does Phoenix still want to do this?" Dylan asked as he flicked the paper, and I flinched as if I'd felt the sting.
"Of course he does, but—"
"No buts," he rudely interrupted. "You should let me give it a shot."
As if it was that simple. I was torn. If sharing Phoenix's song that was meant for me had even the slightest possibility of giving him the career break he'd once wanted so badly he'd lived and breathed it… I sighed. The indecision was giving me a rare case of anxiety.
Dylan examined me closely. "I'll make this easy for you, okay?" He set the paper on the counter and pulled out his phone, angling it to take a picture. I didn't stop him. My shoulders slumped as I gave in, accepting Phoenix might hate me for this. "Listen, Arch. No one is going to see this other than my nosy ass and the band if Gage says they're interested. These lyrics don't fit Drake's brand, but he might be intrigued because honestly, they flow similarly to how he writes. If he can get off his high horse and consider outside talent…" One shoulder lifted. "If not, the words end there. Drake, Gage…none of them will even know who you and Phoenix are."
"You swear it goes no further?" I peered at him, searching for any trace of a lie.
"Yep, that's how it works. Yes or no, and then it's over." I snatched back the paper when he held it out to me. Quickly refolding it, I slid it in my pocket. "Besides, there is a ninety-nine-point-nine percent chance nothing comes of this. Like I said, Drake's a stubborn dick. But best case scenario, he's interested, and Phoenix gets to work with one of the biggest bands in the world."
My phone buzzed on top of the counter, and I leaned over to check the screen. My heart sped up when I saw it was from Phoenix. Sometimes, I was convinced he had a direct line to the butterflies swarming in my stomach.
"Fine," I relented, and Dylan grinned.
I wasn't sure I was making the right call and knew I should ask Phoenix first. Maybe I was afraid he'd say no, and a big break would slip through his fingers. And I didn't want to get his hopes up when the odds of anything happening were so low.
"Awesome." Dylan stuffed his phone back in his pocket. "I'll let you know what they say."
I nodded just as the door chimed and a guy oozing emo vibes walked into the shop.
"Come on back, PJ. I'm ready for you." Dylan waved the guy back. They disappeared behind the curtain, leaving me wondering which piercing the guy was getting. An involuntary shudder ran through me as an unwelcome mental image flashed of a large needle stabbing through the tip of my dick.
Remembering the text from Phoenix, I grabbed my phone with shaking hands and swiped the screen.
Phoenix: Can you pick me up? I'm getting out of here early and my car is giving me problems.
My brow furrowed. Phoenix was working his boss's birthday event tonight and shouldn'
t be getting out of there for several more hours. Maybe the party had been a bust, I considered.
I walked toward the stations and stood at the entrance to where Isaac worked, head bent and lips pursed in concentration. "Hey, Uncle Isaac. Phoenix needs a ride. Since we're slow, do you mind if I cut out early?"
He glanced up and absently waved me off. "Go ahead. Dylan can take over when he finishes up any minute. Until then, the shop will survive."
"Thanks." I tapped out a reply as I headed back toward the register.
Me: On my way.
I signed out of the system, and then headed for the back room where I grabbed my keys and went out the back exit.
The club's bright sign lit up the night. As I drove closer, it became clear the party hadn't been a bust after all. The parking lot was packed full, and when I entered the garage, the empty spaces were limited.
After finding a spot in a back corner furthest from the elevator and stairs, I parked and checked my phone. There hadn't been a response since I’d told Phoenix I was coming to get him, which I thought was off. He always messaged me back.
Me: Hey, the lot was full so I'm parked in the garage. Where are you?
My fingers stroked back and forth over the steering wheel as I waited. Ten long minutes later, I called his phone, but it only rang until an automated woman’s voice told me to leave a message so I rattled one off for him to call me.
I wasn't sure whether I should go looking for him, because he'd told me about the party. The event was invitation only, and you had to be on the list to get in.
As the minutes ticked by, my mind wandered to many scenarios. Maybe Phoenix wasn't getting my messages and calls because his phone died. What if he'd chanced making the trip home anyway? He hadn't specified what was wrong with his car, and I hadn't driven behind the club to see if it was still parked outside.
Deciding to do that first, I pulled out. Behind the building sat a parking lot, and I easily spotted his silver car, reflecting the city lights in an array of colors.
So, he was still there. I rolled my lips together as I once again found my parking spot. Only after a slight hesitation, I climbed out and sought out the stairs. Only one floor up, I quickly reached the ground floor and crossed the street.
Fast-paced, thumping music hummed behind the closed doors as I joined the short line. Standing alone was uncomfortable and only made worse when I scanned the outfits of those in front of me.
Dressier than the crowd from my birthday, men and women were decked out in evening finery edging on garish. Silk suits with Italian leather dress shoes met high heels and embellished gowns that swished from the warm breeze. The clothing struck me as odd at the entrance of a strip club, even if it was a high-end establishment.
Then there was me. My jeans and soft forest-green t-shirt were complemented with a pair of plain white sneakers.
"It's fine. I'm not going inside anyway," I muttered to myself. The goal was to have a message delivered to Phoenix.
The line moved quickly, and once it was my turn, I stepped in front of the bouncer, a different man than my last visit.
"Hi, I… I need to get a message to my boyfriend inside." I pasted on an optimistic smile. "I was hoping you might be able to do something."
He lifted his gaze from the tablet, eyes hidden behind sunglasses, and his nostrils flared as he scanned me over.
"Name?" his rusty voice choked out.
"Archer West." When he looked down at his tablet, I cleared my throat. "You won't find my name there. That's why I was hoping you could deliver a message." I eyed the high-tech earpiece and mic on the right side of his head.
"If you're not on the list, I'm afraid there's nothing I can do."
A frustrated breath rushed from my lungs as I considered what other options I had. None. "All right. Thanks anyway."
As I turned to leave, he held up a finger, and I paused. "Now wait a minute, kid. You said your name is Archer West?"
"Yeah." My eyebrows scrunched together. "Why?"
"You're on the list." He tapped on the touchscreen. "Show me your ID and I'll let you in, but fair warning, you may be asked to leave since you didn't adhere to the requested dress code." One brow rose, and his lip curled in disapproval.
My mouth opened and then snapped shut. What? "I'm on the list?"
Phoenix must have added me after texting me, I decided. But I still didn't understand why he didn't just meet me outside or at least, let me know I should come inside.
"ID," the bouncer reminded me, and I quickly tugged my wallet from my pocket. After a quick skim of my photo, he unhooked the rope. "Have a good evening, Mr. West."
Still confused, I only nodded before I pushed open the door. I wasn't sure where to even start my search for Phoenix. After the door closed behind me, I checked my phone again and this time, wasn't surprised to find nothing from him.
Chewing on my lip, I scanned the sea of tables filled with guests and dodged the few gazes that briefly connected with mine.
It was obvious the night wasn't just a typical Friday for more reasons than I'd already observed. For one, there was a huge banner that crossed the stage, reading "Happy 50th Birthday!" Red and black balloons floated on strings and matching streamers hung in wide scoops from the balcony railing.
Dancers roamed the main floor in black shorts with cutouts that bared their cheeks, more revealing than the ones I'd seen before. My mind immediately jumped to whether or not Phoenix was dressed the same. My stomach cramped as I watched another dancer tease an older gentleman seated at a table with an up-close view of his exposed skin.
It was impossible not to picture Phoenix in the same position.
I puffed out a deep breath. Though it was only a small relief, at least I knew Phoenix was off already so I wouldn't have to witness it.
As I loitered at the mouth of the room, I skimmed over the faces crowding the room, but there was no sign of him.
We hadn't had a real fight yet, but I was making mental notes of how our first would likely go down. Finally, I gave up and headed toward the stairs in search of him, wondering if I should just ask someone if they'd seen him.
The entrance to the VIP was unguarded, and my stomach churned with nerves as I ascended the steps.
Once I reached the landing, I wasn't sure in which direction I should go, so I opted to stand there while openly curious gazes were flung my way.
Scanning the maze of tables, curtains and unfamiliar faces, one caught my attention. The dark-haired dancer that had interrupted my private dance with Phoenix was bent at the waist, whispering into the ear of a man who resembled a young Robert Redford.
I hesitantly approached him as he curled his fingers around the man's wrist with a smile meant to seduce.
"Um, hi," I started, and that seductive look flashed my way, causing my cheeks to heat in discomfort.
"I'm booked for the next half hour, love. But if you're around afterward, I'm all yours." He winked and his obsidian eyes raked over my body.
My hands grew clammy under his scrutiny. "Actually, I'm looking for…Nix." The nickname smarted on my tongue. "Have you seen him?"
"He's a favorite, and I believe he's tied up with a reserved party for the night." He licked his lips. "If I'm not your cup of tea, there's just about every flavor floating around in here."
I frowned up at him as my confusion climbed higher. "He's still working? Phoenix texted me to come get him because he's having car issues."
Dark eyebrows lowered, his forehead creased and he dropped the saucy smile. "Any chance your name is Archer?"
My brows shot high. "You know who I am?"
Instead of answering me, he cursed and then turned to the man he'd been talking to.
"Give me five minutes and I'll be back. Wait for me?" he purred.
The man snaked an arm around his waist and grabbed a handful of his exposed ass. I jerked my eyes away just before the sound of a solid swat landing on his flesh followed by a gasp reached my ears. And then I knew t
he true meaning of awkward.
"Archer." The dancer stood in front of me and lightly grabbed my arm. His dark eyes drilled into mine with his expression drawn in concern that he attempted to mask with a smile. I wasn't fooled. Something was wrong. I knew it and so did he. "Stay put, okay? Let me go see if I can find him real quick."
"Thanks. I'll be right—"
Loud laughter drew my attention over his shoulder, and my heart sank under the weight of complete devastation. "Never mind. I found him."
The dancer spun around and his shoulders squared. "Fucking Aiden. I knew it."
Half hidden behind a gauzy curtain, Aiden dressed as a cop grinded against Phoenix from behind to the deep bass pumping out of the speakers. My boyfriend was dressed in a prisoner outfit—if it could be called that. The fabric was striped black and white, but otherwise was really only a pair of tight shorts and a sleeveless shirt, ripped open down the front. His ink on display, he sold the look of a naughty inmate. Too well.
Numbness gripped my limbs as I stood frozen and unable to look away. A flash of silver caught my eye. One of Phoenix's wrists was shackled in a handcuff, and Aiden held onto the other half. My hands pressed against my stomach as it turned at the sight.
Why would Phoenix allow that to happen, and why wasn't he pushing him away? A blanket of insecurity folded around me, and a spark of anger lit momentarily before it fizzled in my misery.
Heavy hands landed on my shoulders, gripping tight. The dancer moved until he blocked my view of Phoenix. "You can't do anything, okay? Phoenix will lose his job if you cause a scene."
Cause a scene? My heart was a gaping, bleeding wound, draining me of all my energy. It hurt. Everything hurt.
I trusted Phoenix when he said he kept away from Aiden at work. It didn't make any sense. I replayed what happened at the party and began questioning myself. Had Aiden been so jealous for a reason? Was I completely naive when it came to Phoenix's feelings for me? I swallowed hard.
"Phoenix…" I cleared my throat to cover the way my voice trembled. "He told me about Aiden—about them—but he said it was over."