by Aubrey Cara
This emotional tailspin I’m in is not rational. And I didn’t even get close to stepping back from the situation before losing my shit. I can’t remember the last time I flew off the handle. I think last night and this morning qualify. I’ve been in a haze, pissed off beyond reason. A million excuses for why I reacted so damn strongly pop into my head, but plain and simple, Candi Dawson is under my skin.
Her devastated look when I dropped her off eats at me.
I backed her into a corner. She understably lashed out, and I took that shit personally. I can see that now, but I don’t know what the hell I should do about it. Hell, I’m not sure I should do anything about it. She’s a complication I don’t need. Never wanted. Maybe it’s better this way.
When I get back to the house, Wyatt is fully dressed, sitting at the kitchen table eating cereal. A packed duffle bag is on the floor next to him.
I quirk a brow. I can’t believe he’s taken this Candi thing so hard.
“Overreact much?” I bite out because I’m pissed Wyatt’s all asshurt over this shit.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” he says, rolling his eyes. “My brother called. My dad…he’s not doing so hot, and Sheriff needs help running things.”
Sheriff is Wyatt’s older brother and, if he’s calling Wyatt home, that means things are seriously bad. I blow out a breath, feeling awful Wyatt’s dad’s health is failing. Wayne Hatlen is a great guy, and proof life’s a fickle bitch. Even the good ones aren’t immune to getting dealt a shitty hand.
He’s been struggling with one type of cancer or another on and off for a while now. I hope like hell he pulls through, for his and his family’s sake. They aren’t like my family or any family I grew up knowing. They’re tight and loving in a way that makes me equal parts uncomfortable and envious every time I’m around them.
“Man, I’m sorry to hear about your dad. Do you want me to go back with—”
“Nah, you got your own shit here. You need to stick around and take care of the bar. You already promised your old man. Besides, from the slapping and moaning coming from your room last night, I think you’d be missed.”
Not so sure about that. I scratch the back of my neck and shrug in apology. “Man, I—”
“Save it, dickwad. My ego is bruised, not broken. I had a feeling there was something between you two. I’ll just have to find a hottie on the flight home to console me.”
Wyatt’s grin is back in place. If the me-and-Candi thing is chafing his ass, he doesn’t care enough to make a thing out of it, but I can’t let it go. I’m not sure when we’re going to see each other again. For the first time, it seems like our lives are going in different directions.
“If it makes you feel better, she’s more than just a piece of ass to me.” I’m not exactly sure what she is to me, but I feel like he needs to know I’m not a complete traitorous dick. I’ve never poached on a chick he’s claimed interest in or vice versa.
A slow grin spreads over the dickhead’s face. “Hank Buchannan, getting all sappy assed over a chick. I never thought I’d see the day. I’m sorry I’m not going to be around to watch you screw this up.”
“Why are we friends again?”
“Hey, whatever, I owe you. Remember Mandy Greenling? Mandy of the long brown hair and deceitfully fine ass?”
I chuckle, remembering the chick he is referring to. We were so fucking young, about to do our first tour, and dipshit Wyatt falls for this girl we met in Charleston, South Carolina. And he fell hard. They corresponded the entire time we were over in the sand pit. We all gave him hell over it, and he took it all in stride. Wyatt was crazy about her. When we got back, he moved heaven and earth to be able to go visit her. Once he finally got to go, he showed up at her place only to discover she lived with her boyfriend. A guy equally pissed to find out about Wyatt.
“Yeah, well, I think we all knew that girl was going to stomp all over you. I mean, when you met her she was on a date with another guy,” I say, still smiling.
At the sink, rinsing out his bowl, Wyatt laughs. “Man, I’d forgotten about that. You got to admit, I got game. I mean, I poached a chick on her date!”
I just shake my head grinning. I’m not about to point out the fact that the girl was easily swayed and faithless. “Whatever. If you want a ride to the airport, you better grab your shit, so we can go. I have a thing I have to do for Slater this afternoon.”
Pulling up to the departing flights drop-off, I let Wyatt out between JetBlue and American. We clasp forearms, this stupid thing we started doing one drunken night ages ago, before we were old enough to drink. The Vikings did it, and that was good enough reason for us. We were fearless warriors. Or just dumb and full of cum.
Hell, it seems like a lifetime ago.
“I’m going to miss you, brother,” Wyatt says, and I get a sense of finality. Like this is where our roads are splitting.
This is how life goes. We’ll always be friends, but it’s never going to be the same. We’re not the roommates and wingmen of our crazy youth. We haven’t been for a while now, but there was no reason to go our separate ways, until now. I’m not bent up about it, but damn, I’m going to miss the cocky bastard.
“Try not to get anybody pregnant,” I advize. Our first year in, our CO said that every time anyone had leave.
“Goddammit, condoms were made for a reason,” Wyatt says, completing our CO’s speech.
As I drive away from the airport I try to get into the appropriate headspace for my meeting this afternoon, but damned if my thoughts don’t circle back to Candi. I’m not really an apology kind of guy, not that I’ve ever been in this position. The position where I have a falling out with a woman and I still want to see her again.
When I dropped her off, that should have been, sayonara, have a nice life.
My sigh sounds loud in the car. I’m already worrying about the fact she doesn’t have a working vehicle and she has no money to get it fixed. Shit, and it’s sitting in Sugar Daddy’s parking lot. I should call and have it towed.
I glance at the time and reason I can get cleaned up and call her before this meeting I have to go to. Or I could just stop by her house. That’s not going to come off as crazy after being a dick and basically shoving her out the door this morning. Not. At. All.
Shit.
14
CANDI
I’m late. Not late, late, but Dom strikes me as the type of person who expects punctuality. It’s one seventeen on the nose when I pull into the parking lot of Sugar Daddy’s. Byron fixed the leaking hose on my Jeep, but it took him longer than he anticipated, causing me to be late. I don’t think Dom will care for my excuse.
Hightailing it to the front doors, I find them locked. I knock then cup my hands around my eyes and try to peek inside, but I can’t see anything through the tinted black glass. I knock a few more times before a giant neckless bald man, with muscles on top of tattooed covered muscles answers the door. He’s got on jeans with those flashy studs along the front and back pockets, and a skin tight white v-neck I can clearly see his nipple piercings through. He looks me over with interest, but instead of saying anything, he just quirks a questioning brow.
“I have a meeting w—”
He rolls his eyes and nods, moving back to let me in. He points a meaty thumb in the direction of Dom’s office then locks the door behind me before walking away in the opposite direction.
It takes my eyes a second to adjust to the dim lighting. The place has a different feel during the day. I’m not sure how it’s possible, but it seems sleazier. Without all the lights, people, and beautiful half naked women as a distraction, the overall dinginess of everything from the carpet to the stage shows through.
I rap twice on the door and hear Dom’s cultured voice. “Enter.” Unlike last night, as soon as I walk in, he leans back in his chair, giving me his full attention. “Well, hello there, Ms. Dawson,” he says as if he wasn’t expecting me. “I was under the impression our meeting was at one fifteen.”
/> Standing in front of him, in almost the exact same spot I stood last night, my stomach turns, and my palms begin to sweat. I’ve been so wrapped up in the crapstorm of other things going on in my life that I forgot to be nervous.
I wipe my hands on my skirt.
“I’m sorry.” No excuse is good enough for my tardiness, so I don’t give one. “I have considered your offer, and while I appreciate it, I would like to dance,” I say without preamble. No need to beat around the bush.
“Would you, now?” His gaze wanders over me, his face an impassive mask to what may be going on in his mind. I’m nearly shaking with nerves, wondering what he’s going to say or do next by the time he says, “Fine. Strip.”
“Like, right here? Now?”
He nods and makes a “get on with it” motion with his hand.
I’m not sure why I’m surprised. I was expecting the unexpected, and this certainly is it. Before I can think better of it, I grab the hem of my shirt and lift it—
“Stop. Seductively.” Exasperation and annoyance tinge his voice, as if I should have known.
Right. I’ve never tried to be sexy, outside of a hot outfit and killer heels. I’ve conquered all the levels of ass sashaying, but that’s it for my “seductive” skill set. I’m not sure if that’s pathetic or normal.
From a young age, I accepted that people viewed me and treated me a certain way because of my looks. I used being a brainless, dumb blonde to my advantage on a regular basis, but I’ve never purposely been sexy. I have a feeling being seductively sexy is a necessary life skill I’d better get on board with.
“Is there any music?” I’m uncomfortably stalling and I’m pretty sure he knows it.
“None of my girls who work here need music.”
Of course they don’t. They probably just need a few grams up their nose now and then. My mind stutters on the unfair assessment. Who knows why the women who work here do what they do. Just because they work for a drug boss… I glance at the drug boss in question, and he’s looking mighty impatient.
My hips start swaying on their own volition, like my body has more survival instincts than my brain. When I reach for the hem of my shirt again, my hands are shaking, but I tease the material around my body.
An image of Hank pops into my head. Would he disapprove or would he find the sight of me stripping sexy?
I try to block out Dom sitting behind his desk with a bored expression on his face. It’s Hank I picture as I inch my shirt up, my body moving in dips and sways, as if to music. It’s Hank I unbutton my jean skirt for and play peekaboo with as I slide it down and back up again, finally letting it drop as I step out of it.
“Better,” he says. “Bra and panties, too.” His voice cuts me out of my Hank fantasy.
“But none of the girls I saw danced naked.”
“Well, if you want to be treated like the other girls...” He pushes back his chair and goes for the closure on his pants.
I’m feeling defiant as I unclasp my bra, rip it off my chest. and hold it at arm’s length before letting it drop. A self-satisfied smile stretches over his face as I do much the same with my panties, kicking them off after I shove them all the way to the floor in one motion.
He gives me time to grow uncomfortable in my nakedness as he bores into me with his gaze. The most disturbing part is that he stares me right in the eyes. His are like crystal-blue, soulless chips of ice. I stay locked into our staring contest for as long as I can, trying not to show any kind of weakness while his gaze tells me countless tales of horror.
I crack, my heartbeat an erratic thing as I look away.
He stands and comes out from behind his desk. Slowly, he circles me while I hold still, hardly breathing. I can smell the mints on his breath even though he’s a foot away from me. I don’t believe I’ll ever be able to smell that scent again without my stomach rolling.
“Bend over.”
I lean forward, trying to keep from trembling, or being sick on the carpet.
“You can do better than that, dear. Touch your ankles.”
Tears sting my eyes as I bend myself in half for his sick amusement. I can feel his eyes on me, and I’ve never been so aware of my own vulnerabilities. After what I experienced last night with Hank, I can’t fathom allowing anyone else to touch me, let alone…
Horrifying scenarios of what Dom’s about to do to me are play in my head, and I have to shut them down so I don’t cry.
“Lovely. Nice and bare.” He runs a finger over my ass and mound. Scratches his nails down my right butt cheek.
I bite my lip so hard I’m going to draw blood, but it’s taking everything in me not to flinch away.
“These bruises,” he says in reference to the little purple and blue smudges on my hips and inner thighs from Hank’s hands and hips. “Someone’s been a busy girl. You’ll need to put makeup on them.”
Where he’s scratched me throbs and stings but it’s nothing compared to how sick I am to have him checking me over this way.
Hand brace my hips. A cloth covered erection presses into the crease of my ass. Presses against my pussy, branding me with its unwelcome heat.
My tears run up into my hairline from my bent-over position, but I don’t move or make a sound. I’m braced for more of his touch, but it doesn’t come. He releases me, steps back, and there’s a shift in the air as he opens his office door.
“Well, come along. Let’s see what you can do on stage.”
Dizzy with relief as much as being upside down, I take a moment to regain my balance from the head rush standing up causes and swipe away any telltale signs of tears before I follow. I’m not sure what kind of fucked up mind games Dom is playing, but it’s obvious I’m way out of my depth.
There are a few workers milling in the back of the club who weren’t there when I first got arrived. They seem to be restocking the bar, not paying the least bit attention to me peering out at them from the doorway. Stepping out into the main club takes Herculean effort on my part. It’s not just the other people who unnerve me. I’ve never been naked in such a large open space before.
My stomach is in so many knots, I’m shocked I haven’t thrown up. Any confidence or defiance I had in the office has deserted me as if it never existed.
Dom smirks at me, reading my discomfort, and I try like hell to shake it off.
“All right. On stage with you,” he says standing casually with his hands in his slacks’ pockets.
The sounds of lights being switched on echoes in the room as I climb the stairs up onto the stage. I’m in the spotlight the second I hit the last step and raise my hand to block being blinded by the light.
R. Kelly’s song Cookie comes on, and I groan. Shielding my eyes, I see Dom smirking as he makes a “cut it” motion across his neck to the back of the room.
“Play that one that Sabrina danced to last Saturday,” he calls out.
Lana Del Rey’s “West Coast” comes on. He makes the “get on with it” motion again with his hand, and I walk up the stage, stiff and unsure of myself as I try to relax. It’s a sexy song, and I try to harness that in dips and rolls of my body and hips. I walk around the pole, holding onto it as I shimmy down and back up.
Getting into it, I have a moment I think about jumping on the pole but abort the idea and stumble a little as I swing around it with my feet on the floor. I catch myself and keep dancing. The song has an effortless grace, which I’m lacking, and I’ve never been as relieved as when the last chords play and the music is shut off.
Dom’s standing at the end of the stage. He’s no less intimidating at a distance and below me.
“Not too bad,” he declares. “Not particularly good either, mind you.” His eyes rove over me from tits to toes. “ Luckily, you’re hot enough, no one will care. You can start on the floor. Try not to fuck up lap dances. Be back here at four—”
“Oh, but I have a shift tonight at the bar I work at. I’m filling in for someone—”
One glance at his face
tells me he doesn’t care.
With my hands clasped together, I ask, “May I please start tomorrow night, sir? Please?” I’m just short of falling on my knees.
If I don’t show up at the bar tonight, Hank might come looking for me. Or he may fire me. Either way, John will be informed. After everything John’s done for me, I don’t want him to be disappointed in me, so, like a fool, I throw myself into trying to sway Dom.
I know I’m the picture of witless innocence. It’s something I’ve been perfecting from the time I was eight and my dad started taking me with him to seedy joints for high-stakes poker games.
Dom’s face is amused, like he knows my game. He crooks a finger at me, so I sit on the end of the stage and hop off, slowly walking up to him as if he may bite.
Knowing him, he just might.
His face is relaxed, but that in no way puts me at ease. He’s like a viper who’ll strike without warning.
He pets my cheek, and a chill sweeps through me. Just one touch, and my insides feel frozen. I’m waiting for him to grab me like he did the other night. I’m braced for the pain and shock of whatever comes next. He stares at me so long, I’m sure the grass outside has grown an inch. The entire time I try to keep my expression blank. Witless. I’m sure I’m failing and look more like a scared rabbit about to be devoured by a rabid wolf.
“Tomorrow, then,” he says, finally.
He turns and walks back toward his office. “I hope nothing happens to your brother between now and then. It would be a shame if his military aspirations have to be cut short because his big sister is not being a cooperative girl.”
My lungs burn before I realize I’m not breathing. My body flashing hot and cold, my skin prickles with pins and needles. I take a few deep, steadying breaths, hoping I’m not about to pass out.
Dom strolls back out of his office with my clothes in a neatly folded pile. “You seem to have forgotten something, dear.” He hands them to me, his expression placid.
I nod and take the clothes.
“Say thank you,” he says.
“Thank you,” I parrot.