by Lexi Ryan
I don’t officially work here. Gary can’t pay me because this club serves alcohol, and therefore I can’t legally be an employee until I’m twenty-one. But if he’s not paying me, then he can pretend I’m just a customer who likes to get on stage. It’s not his fault my fake ID is so convincing.
Not that anyone’s checking up on him. Blackhawk Valley isn’t that strait-laced. Hell, some of my regulars have badges tucked into their back pockets.
Usually, I’ll let Hammer walk me to my car, and I leave the dressing room to look for him. Sometimes, assholes think that just because they paid for a lap dance and bought a girl a few drinks, they’re entitled to something more. We keep Hammer around for the ones who like to wait outside and ask for their “money’s worth” for their tips. Hammer isn’t really his name. They just call him that because rumor has it that Hammer’s fist feels worse than a sledgehammer to the skull.
I spot him talking to Gary and decide I’m too anxious to leave to wait for an escort. I walk out the back door, find a man leaning against my car, and immediately regret my decision to come out here alone.
But when I see the man with his slow, stoned smile and the greed in his gaze, I don’t turn around and get Hammer. I know this guy from before Nic went to prison. Clarence Houston is more powerful in this town than anyone realizes. People think the Woodisons have all the power because they have the flashy kind of wealth. They own Woodison Farms and the Woodison Pork factory, and employ half the people who live in Blackhawk Valley. But anyone who was raised on the other side of the trailer park fence knows that money doesn’t always come packaged in fancy houses and luxurious Caribbean vacations. Sometimes money comes packaged in expensive habits that go up your nose or straight into your bloodstream. Sometimes it comes as expensive women who’ve been paid to fulfill your dirtiest desires.
As much as I want to get Hammer, if Clarence is here looking for me, there’s a reason. And if that reason is Nic, I need to know what he has to say. I keep my distance, staying within reach of the back door. “You need something?”
His grin is slow and slimy as his gaze slides over me. If I wasn’t already in the habit of showering this place off me the second I got home, I’d be doing it tonight to wash away how his eyes make me feel. “I need a lot of things,” he says. He steps forward. “Mostly, though, I want my money from Nic Mendez.”
I arch a brow. “Your money?”
“Punk owes me fifteen grand.”
The number is a punch to the gut, but I don’t let anything show on my face. “And you think I have it?” I’m impressed my tone doesn’t reveal how nervous I am. The sound of Nic’s name alone still makes my stomach shimmy. But pair that name with someone as powerful as Clarence saying he’s owed fifteen grand, and I’m scared. I’m scared for Nic, and I’m scared for me.
“I heard you’re his girl,” he says.
“Really? You think that just because I slept with him, that makes me his girl?” I usually don’t mind this game, don’t mind pretending to be the slut who gets around. But when the man in question is Nic, I want to be more than that. Pretending that I was nothing more than Nic’s piece on the side feels a little like selling my soul. “I’m not Nic’s girl.”
“Who you belong to, then?”
I fold my arms and mentally correct his grammar before answering. “I don’t belong to anyone but myself.”
“You sure you’re not his girl?”
“I’m positive.”
“I guess I’ll have to find my money somewhere else, then.” He takes another step closer, and I notice the two guys standing in the shadows by Clarence’s jacked-up pickup. I’ve been able to recognize that car and the man who drives it since before Nic went to prison. “Stay away from him,” Nic would say, pointing out Clarence’s car. “And never let him know you’re my girl.”
“Guess you will.” I’m outnumbered in a big way here. Please come out back to check on me, Hammer.
“Sweet girl like you shouldn’t be dancing to pay the bills,” Clarence says, skimming that greedy gaze over me. “You need a man who can take care of you.”
There is no way in hell I’d sign on to let Clarence “take care” of me, but I’m not dumb enough to laugh in his face. Like I said, Clarence is powerful around here. “I don’t need anyone.”
His lips twist into a crooked smirk. “Sure you don’t. But just so you know”—his tongue darts out to wet his lip—“if you were Nic’s girl or if you just wanted to help him out, you and me could work something out.” He skims the tip of his index finger down my cheek. “You might even like it.”
I step back. “Like I said, I’m not his girl.”
He shrugs and tucks his hands into his pockets. “My offer stands. For now.” Then he and the two goons behind him pile into the truck and pull away in a puff of exhaust.
When I climb into my car, I can’t lock the doors fast enough. I’m shaking. Shaking because I didn’t know Nic owed Clarence money, and that spells trouble. Shaking because I’m smart enough to be scared of Clarence.
Present day . . .
After getting up early for practices most of my life, I usually love mornings. But this morning, I’m dragging ass. I spent my entire night and this morning’s run worrying about Bailey. The picture and message she got last night only reinforced my opinion that Blackhawk Valley is toxic for her, and I’ve been racking my brain trying to come up with something I can offer her so she’ll take my proposal.
She needs money, but she’s always refused to take mine. She needs a better job, but despite all her bluster, she has the self-esteem of a backward, pimple-faced teenager, and won’t pursue one. She needs to let go of the past—including Nic Mendez—and give herself permission to live her life. But for some reason, she buried her heart with her first love, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about that.
I’ve played by Bailey’s rules for four years, and if I were to keep playing by them, I’d make this easy and end our marriage. Telling Lindy about Bailey was selfish—the easiest way to convince her there’s no future for us. But suddenly getting Bailey to agree to move in isn’t only about Lindy or my career. It’s about Bailey.
I grab a protein shake from the fridge and sink into the couch, no closer to an answer than I was when I walked her to her car last night.
I pick up my phone and open the file with my pictures from Vegas. The whole weekend is catalogued here in one form or another—the first night when we went to Rain, our lazy day at the pool, Arrow, Mia, Bailey, me, and the rest of the crew piled into the party bus. As I scroll through the pictures, they transition from pictures of the group to just pictures of Bailey, and of Bailey and me together.
I stop at a photo we took of ourselves in front of the Bellagio fountain on our last night there. The rest of our group had paired off and disappeared back to their rooms, and we were the last ones standing. She was clinging to me as we watched the lights and water, reminding me how much I wanted more.
“Will you ever touch me again?” she asked.
Grinning, I tightened my grip on her hips. “I’m touching you now.”
“You know what I mean.” She turned into me and pressed her hand flat against my chest. “What do I have to do to convince you to take me to your bed, Mason?”
“Marry me.”
She laughed so hard, like it was the most ridiculous idea. “What, now you’re some born-again virgin who needs to be married to have sex?” I answered with a shrug, and she propped her hand on her hip. “Fine. I’m calling your bluff. Let’s do it.”
The wise thing would have been to say no, to point out that she was too drunk to make a decision like that, or to simply remind myself that she’d been pushing me away for nearly four years and one night in Vegas couldn’t change that. But my heart wasn’t interested in wisdom when Bailey was at my fingertips, daring me to take exactly what I’d wanted for years.
I scroll past the pictures of us at the fountains and hesitate when I see the play icon on the video f
rom our next stop.
She’s made it clear where we stand, and despite the chaste kiss we shared in my kitchen last night, I know better than to believe she’s going to change her mind about our chances as a couple. But that doesn’t mean that there’s no chance for the life she’d inevitably build here between now and the end of the season. What’s waiting for her back in Blackhawk Valley? Debt, obviously. A job she’s not passionate about. And assholes like Ron, who send her dick pics captioned with thinly veiled threats. Fuck that. She deserves better than that life, whether she knows it or not. If she’s not brave enough to move away from her hometown and start fresh, I need to help her. Maybe I can’t have her, but I don’t have to watch her throw her life away.
That means I can’t play by her rules anymore.
I pull up my contact list and call my agent.
He answers on the first ring—probably because he’s a workaholic who never leaves his desk. “Mason! How’s it going, bud?”
“Good, thanks.” I swallow hard. “Listen, I’m going to send you something, and I need your help releasing it to the press.”
The restaurant is fancier than I’d choose, but Emma made the reservation, so here I am. “Vodka martini with a twist,” I tell the server. Normally, I avoid drinks like martinis just because of the price tag, but tonight I need the double dose of booze.
When the waiter leaves, I decide to try my sister’s cell again. Emma is meeting me for an early dinner so I can show her the pictures from yesterday’s shoot. I’m early and waiting in our booth until my friend arrives.
I dial Sarah and hold my breath while I wait for her to answer.
“Hi, Bailey,” she says. She sounds tired, and I’m sure she is. Her days are long. She gets Faith ready in the morning and then works all day until she has to pick her up. She makes a healthy dinner and then rushes from one activity to the next, returning home in time for a bath before bed, and she does it all again the next day. The responsibilities of a single mom are no joke, and Sarah takes every one of them very seriously. “I have five minutes before we have to leave for gymnastics. Sorry I didn’t call you back last night.”
She sounds sincere, so I swallow back my insecurity. “It’s okay. I was wondering if you and Faith would like to do breakfast tomorrow? I remember that sweet little café down the street from your house.”
“Can’t.” Her voice goes muffled, and I imagine her covering it with her hand as she tells Faith to get changed. “I have an early meeting, and I don’t want to disrupt Faith’s routine. It’s hard enough to get that girl out the door. How about I call you when we get home from dance tomorrow night?”
I rub my arms and wish I’d brought a sweater into the restaurant. “Yeah. Sure, that’d be great. I don’t want to hassle you, but I miss you both.”
“I miss you too, Bailey. If I’d had some warning you were coming, we could have cleared our schedule. Our days are pretty busy.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” I bite my lip. “So, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Yep. Thanks. Have fun tonight, whatever you’re doing. But be safe, okay?”
I flinch. I’m sure Sarah imagines me clubbing all night long, and hell, right now that sounds pretty good. That’s not my regular night out, and I hate that she thinks it is, but I don’t have the energy to explain that it’s not like that. “I will. I promise.”
We say our goodbyes, and when I end the call I’m left feeling tired and lonely. Last night, after Mason’s ridiculous proposal, I went to a coffee shop by my motel and worked on the shoot I’d done with Emma Rothschild when I arrived in Seaside. Since Emma and her boyfriend, Keegan, are both good friends of mine, it’s really important to me that these pictures wow—not that it was hard, given how gorgeous Emma is.
It was easy to lose myself in my work until it was time to check into my motel and get some sleep. Unfortunately, once tucked into my dingy discount room, I couldn’t turn off my brain, and my thoughts have been scattered ever since. What am I going to do about Mason? I can’t be his wife, not for real, but could I play the part for a few months?
It’s been twenty-four hours since I kissed him in his kitchen, and I’m no closer to an answer now than I was then.
“Hello, hello,” Emma says, taking a seat across from me in the booth. She looks like something out of a magazine—fucking beautiful and glowing with happiness. Then again, that might just be sleep deprivation talking. I feel gross by comparison after missing my shower this morning (no way was I bathing in the disgusting space the motel was trying to pass off as a shower stall), but she seems especially radiant today. She’s grinning, and her curly red hair is down around her bare shoulders. “Someone needs a drink.”
I slide my phone back into my purse so I can give Emma my full attention. “You have no idea.”
“The divorce request didn’t go as well as you anticipated?”
I sigh. “He wants me to move in with him after training camp and act like his wife until the end of the year. Apparently, he needs a wife because he screwed up and slept with Bill McCombs’s daughter.” I shake my head. It sounds so dumb when I spell it out. I can see how telling the woman about me would help Mason, but surely we could find a way to do this without living together for the whole season.
“I’ve tried really hard not to pry into your business,” Emma says, her tone cautious, “but do you want to tell me why you won’t just be with Mason?”
I lean back in my seat at those words. Where is our server? I could really use that drink. “You’re hilarious.”
“What’s so funny about that? You obviously love him.”
“It doesn’t matter how I feel about Mason. He’s not a choice for me.”
She holds my gaze and waits for an explanation. When I don’t offer one, she says, “Spill.”
“I care about Mason, but I respect myself too much to try to have a real relationship with him when I will never fit into his world.”
“Oh, Bailey, that’s not true. Look at me and Keegan.”
“I see you two, but it’s not the same with Mason and me.” I don’t expect her to understand, but I draw in a deep breath and try my best. “Before I was born, my mom was a stripper. She met my father at work and they had a relationship.” I drop my gaze to my hands. To this day, the story fills me with shame. Mom thought they were in love, but I don’t think my father cared about anything but getting off. Everything that came after was no more than a consequence he had to deal with. “He wasn’t a rich man by normal standards, but he was by Mom’s, and when she got pregnant, they tried to make it work. They eloped before I was born, and she gave up her apartment so she and my sister could move in with him. I was only a few months old when he died unexpectedly of a heart attack.”
“Bailey, I’m so sorry.”
I shake my head. “Don’t be. I never knew him.”
“But that doesn’t mean you didn’t lose him.”
Emma’s so sweet to understand that. I don’t grieve for my father, but there’s no denying I’ve always had a void in that role. “His family made Mom’s life miserable before he died, and hell after. They wanted nothing to do with her. He’d lived above his means, and anything left was used to pay off his debts, but they thought she’d blown through it all.”
“That’s terrible,” Emma says. “She was grieving, and they were focused on the money.”
“My mom still loves my father.” I think about my words then shake my head. “No, she still idolizes him. But the short time between moving in with him and his death was terrible for her. His family hated her. They thought she was beneath him and let it be known. It was terrible for them both, and to this day she blames his heart attack on the stress they caused. Marriage isn’t just about two people. We don’t live in isolation. We marry someone and their family comes with them.”
Her forehead wrinkles as she studies me. “Mason’s parents have been unkind to you?”
I laugh, but the sound comes out like a helpless squeak. “They have mad
e it clear that they don’t want me in his life.” It’s not the full truth, but it’s enough. “I respect myself too much to endure their disapproval and care about Mason too much to put him through that.”
“What are you going to do?” Her eyes are full of sympathy.
“I don’t know. I guess I’m considering it because I want to help him. If it’s only temporary, maybe it will be okay. I mean, he’s going to be so busy with football anyway, and I really think this is all about appearances and getting the girl off his back.”
“Oh, so he needs a pretend wife?”
I laugh. “I guess you’d know something about that.” We stop talking when the server returns with my martini, and Emma orders one for herself.
“I think my situation with Zachary was a little different than yours with Mason,” Emma says when we’re alone again. “But I’m all for it. Live with him for a few months. Enjoy yourself. Maybe by the end of it, his parents will have changed their tune and you two can give it a go.”
Her naivety is almost adorable. “Except Keegan would kill me.” I bring my martini to my lips and force myself to take a small sip when I want to chug. “I can’t just leave the bar.”
“Sure you can.” She waves her hand. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t give you any grief about it. Tia can handle it while you’re gone, don’t you think?”
I groan. “Why can’t you rationalize all the reasons to get a divorce, huh? I thought you were supposed to be my friend.”
“I am your friend.” She smiles, steals my martini out of my hand, and takes a drink. “That’s why I want you to move to Florida. Mason’s place is great and right on the beach. Enjoy yourself. You deserve the break, and I get to see you more. Win-win.”
Spoken like someone who could afford not to work another day of her life if that was what she wanted.
“Is it about the money?” she asks, because apparently, she’s a fucking mind reader.