I tell Mickey to make sure the other guys are in similar attire and I assign the songs I want them dancing to. Normally, I would tell them myself, but I wasn’t in the mood to navigate their bullshit. This is going to be a get in and get out kind of night. I am going to give this girl an experience that will keep her warm when her husband is staying late at work to do the secretary.
I go backstage to watch a new cowboy routine that some of the guys have put together. City girls can’t get enough of cowboys. The dance is well-choreographed and the women love it. A new dancer in the back, whose name I don’t know, is off on his timing. He’ll either get it together in the next two weeks, or he’ll be looking for a new job.
Mark is leading a group of women to a table right in front that is held for parties, big tipping groups, and VIP’s. This must be my bachelorette party. I do a quick survey to pick out which one is the future bride. Usually it’s easy because she is wearing a ridiculous tiara or a veil.
The woman walking next to Mark is a hot blonde in an almost non-existent white dress. I peg her as the “give my friend the night of her life” maid of honor. The blonde is all over Mark. Despite the expensive clothes, shoes, jewelry and salon blonde hair, she still looks cheap. The next woman is an entirely different story.
She has long hair that is dark to the point that it’s almost black. It is straight and sleek and so shiny that it reflects the light. She is tall, at least a few inches taller than the other women in her group. She walks with the ease and confidence of someone who has everything they have ever wanted and know their future is set for them.
Her dress is black and shimmers in the club lights. It clings to her breasts and hips, accentuating a flawless body. The dress does not show too much skin though. She has long legs and covered curves and it’s making me hard.
Money or not, this bachelorette is a class act. I have to give props to the man who managed to tie her down while she is still so young.
She is young; by the looks of her, younger than me, and I’m only twenty-two. What could drive someone who is so young and hot to want to get married? Could it be true love? After my parents and this job, I don’t believe there is such a thing as true love. Whatever her reason for getting married, it’s not my business and it has nothing to do with my job. I can guarantee, however, that I will make her forget the groom, no matter who he is, before this night is over.
The star of the party appears nervous sitting at the table. She is looking everywhere and anywhere but at Mark when he brings them shots and champagne. She is just as timid about doing the shot as she is of looking at the waiters, in their hot shorts. It’s refreshing for me to see a woman in this place that isn’t jaded and predatory. I wonder what kind of friend this bridesmaid is, to think this is the best idea for her bachelorette party.
“What’s her name?” I ask Mickey. He looks down at the yellow notepad he uses for everything.
“Aria,” he tells me. “What the hell kind of name is that,” he grumbles.
“I like it,” I say. “It suits her.”
The music comes on and four dancers go out to warm up the crowd for me. Not that I need a warm-up act, but it does get the women loosened up. Then when I get on stage, I can focus on Aria, and the other guys can keep the rest of the girls busy. Many of the women are already out of their seats and rushing the stage. My target hasn’t even turned around to watch the show. I just hope she isn’t frigid and decides to bolt when the show gets too hot.
I never think about or observe a woman in the audience for long. So why is it that can’t I take my eyes off of her? I shake it off, telling myself that I’m not nervous because of this one woman. It’s the potential monster tip that has me on edge. To be honest, it’s the tip, her long dark hair, and killer figure all combined that have me on edge.
I come out on stage and many of the regulars shout out my name. I do a quick scan of the crowd to orient myself and to make sure every lady in the place feels special. When I look to the bachelorette table, we lock eyes. I kid you not. I have actual tunnel vision when I look at her. She’s this glowing pinpoint of light and everything and everyone else become nothing but a blur of color.
The song I chose for my dance is a slow groove. I’m grateful that it’s slow. This gives me time to regain my bearings before I work my way down the stage. But even with the temptress watching me, it doesn’t take longer than a second for me to ease into my dance. Dancing for women is like second nature.
I can tell I don’t have to worry about her being frigid. The beauty’s entire body is responding to me. I grasp her small waist with both hands and lift her. Her dress feels as silky as it looks and rises up beneath my hands. I move my hold down her hips and let my fingers splay across her ass. It is skin on skin; her flesh is hot and feels like satin. I know she must be wet. I want to slip my fingers under her panties and find out for sure. Good thing for me, wanting and doing are two different things.
I lift her higher and she straddles my shoulders. She presses against me and moans. It’s a good thing the dance is about to end because I don’t know how much longer I can control myself.
I don’t usually chat up the women I dance for. There’s not a whole lot to say to each other. This girl has put a spell on me, though. I’m not going to give myself time to think better of going to her.
I sit down and what I immediately notice is that her eyes are blue. She has dark hair, fair skin, and blue eyes. This is my dream girl. I know she’s getting married but right now, I don’t care. She is shy with me, but doesn’t break eye contact. Her friends leave the table. The blonde looks at me like I’m dessert when she passes by.
“I’m Ryan,” I introduce myself to her.
I put out my hand to shake. Not because I’m feeling formal but because I need an excuse to touch her again. When she answers, I catch a faint hint of a southern accent.
“Where are you visiting the Big Apple from?” I ask.
I can’t believe I just said the Big Apple; talk about cheesy.
“I actually live in Brooklyn. I go to college there. I’m from Austin, originally,” she tells me.
“A country girl. I thought I noticed an accent.”
“Austin is a city, thank you very much,” she scolds me but with a smile, so I know she’s teasing. “If I’m completely truthful though, I grew up on a ranch way on the outskirts of Austin.”
A college girl, and she grew up on a ranch … I am willing to bet she can ride a horse like she’s Clint Eastwood and then cook an apple pie from scratch. Then she tells me she just graduated with a business degree and is going to work for her father.
“Do you like business?” I ask.
She hesitates before answering me and bites her bottom lip as she thinks about her answer.
“I think you’re the first person who has ever asked me that.”
I take her hand and stroke her palm with my thumb. I want to kiss away her concern and nibble on the lip she was just biting. How is this girl so accomplished and so vulnerable? I want to protect her even though I’m in awe of her.
“I studied business because that’s what my family wanted. I always knew this was what I was expected to do, so I never questioned it.” She is looking down at our clasped hands while she talks.
“It’s the same with Xavier. That’s my fiancé,” she blushes and pulls her hand away when she brings him up.
“What? You mean your parents arranged your marriage?” I ask, incredulous.
She lays out a story about how their families are friends and this is what everyone has always envisioned. She has known him her entire life. It will be a merging of families and enterprises.
From what she says about Xavier, I get the impression they haven’t had sex. And she certainly hasn’t been fooling around on him. That means this angel sitting across from me is a virgin. You could knock me over with a feather when I put the pieces together.
Her friends come back and it puts an end to our exchange.
I see Mic
key motioning to me out of the corner of my eye. I have work to do and she has friends that are here to celebrate with her. Before I get up, I lean over to whisper goodbye in her ear. Instead of goodbye, I say something to her that I have never said to anyone. I tell her to come find me if she doesn’t go through with the wedding.
Chapter 3
Aria
It takes me a second to realize why my mouth is dry and my head is pounding. I wish my amnesia had lasted longer. The entirety of last night comes flooding back to me. I remember the champagne, the shots, the strippers, the dancing, and, most of all, I remember Ryan. It’s not just dancing with him that I keep thinking about. What is making me blush is when I think about our conversation. I can’t believe I shared some of my deepest secrets and fears with a man who makes his living taking his clothes off. I can tell myself it was all because of the champagne, but I know it’s a lie. It is far too easy to blame my actions on alcohol and the discomfort of being in a strip club. My reaction to Ryan was more than just bubbles on the brain and being surrounded by gyrating men.
When Ryan was dancing with me, it was like nothing I have experienced or felt before. I know I sound like Ella, but I really want to be with him. I want to have his lips on my flesh, to feel our naked bodies pressed against each other. After I felt his hardness pressed against me last night, I am desperate to know what it would feel like to have him inside me. Rendering these feelings even more unbearable is the fact that I have never had them about Xavier.
I shake my head to get all thoughts of Ryan and sinful pleasure out of it, but I only succeed in making my headache from last night’s debauchery worse. It’s not only the desire for sex that has me feeling guilty and upset. The real dilemma is how good it felt to open up to someone. I can’t get over him being the first person who has expressed actual concern about what I want.
I need to get Ryan out of my head and the one person I hope can do that is Xavier. It has been far too long since we’ve talked and felt like a real couple.
I don’t know if I should tell Xavier about last night. I’m so confused about everything right now. I decide on calling Ella before going over to see Xavier. She is much more experienced than me at handling men and the problems that come with them. First and foremost, though, I am going to brush my teeth and shower. I need to erase last night from my memory.
After my shower, I have a glass of orange juice and am about to call Ella, when she texts. She wants to meet at the European style breakfast place a block from where I live. I slip on my favorite jeans, a blue cashmere sweater, ballet flats, and pull my hair into a high ponytail. I complete my look with lip-gloss and mascara.
Ella is already at our favorite table by the window. There are few things more entertaining than people watching in Brooklyn.
I don’t even have time to sit down before, Ella shouts, “I am so proud of you!”
I look around to see who heard, then remind myself that nobody knows what she’s talking about.
“I need caffeine and food before I can talk about it,” I tell her.
We both order coffee and croissants and some cheese and fruit to share. I really miss my mom’s breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon, and grits. What I wouldn’t give for real southern grits and farm-fresh eggs. In the country, it doesn’t matter how much money you have or who you are. Everyone eats grits and fresh eggs.
The coffee arrives and I drink it just like it is; hot and black. Ella sips a nonfat caramel macchiato.
“Can we talk about how amazing last night was? You and that dancer were like something out of Dirty Dancing.”
I blush at the memory of rubbing my most sensitive spot against Ryan’s face.
“Amazing or not, I need to talk to Xavier about it.” Ella stares at me like I’ve grown a third head.
“Tell him what? That for the first time in your perfect, meticulously planned life, you did something spontaneous?”
I know she isn’t saying this to be unkind, so I let the barb go by unchallenged. We sit there in uncomfortable silence until Ella finally breaks it.
“You should talk to him but don’t tell him about the whole bump and grind part. You said it’s been forever since you’ve felt close; don’t make it worse.”
I nod and blink away threatening tears.
“I worry that he doesn’t really love me. I worry this whole marriage looks good on paper but that there is nothing else worth getting married for.”
“Oh honey, don’t think that. You need to go and talk to him today and get everything sorted. The wedding is just over a week away,” Ella reminds me with sympathy.
“I will,” I tell her. “I have to stop off at the cake shop to make some final decisions then I am going straight to Xavier’s.”
“Good girl,” she says.
“I just really need to hear from him that he loves me, and he wants this wedding to happen.”
Ella tells me she understands that I need to get going and can’t stay and linger over coffee and gossip like I usually do. I wish I could skip the cake place altogether but I know I can’t.
My mother has been doing almost all of the wedding planning. When she told me that I absolutely must make the final choice for the cake, I couldn’t say no.
When I finally arrive at the cake shop, the wedding planner, however, wants to drag the final cake pick out all day. I keep smiling and nodding and I agree to everything she and the pastry chef recommend. How long can they possibly make this appointment last? After what seems an eternity, they come to an agreement on the final version of the cake. I try to muster enthusiasm but it is for a wedding I am completely unsure of.
Finally free of the cake shop, I take a cab across the bridge to Manhattan, and have the driver drop me a few blocks from Xavier’s apartment. After being in such a hurry to see him, I’m nervous and want a few extra minutes of walking to collect myself.
The sun is shining and I slow myself to a Texas pace and let the New Yorkers swarm around me. I’m doing the right thing; I must be. I have known Xavier since I was born. He is a good man, loves his family, has a great career, and my mom thinks he walks on water. What could I possibly have to worry about?
Before I know it, I’m in front of his building. Luis, the doorman, lets me in and there is no turning back.
“Miss Aria, it’s been so long. I’m happy to see you. The wedding, it’s any day now?”
I smile and nod, just like I’ve been doing all day. “Yes, it’s almost here.”
“You must bring me photos. You will be moving in, right after the honeymoon?”
I think of my wonderful little apartment in Brooklyn. The first place I could call my own. I do have to remind myself the apartment isn’t really mine. My parents pay for it since I’m in college and have no income of my own.
“Yes Luis, I will be moving here when we get back. A month from now and you will be complaining about me like you do all the other tenants,” I joke with him.
Luis puts his key into the elevator so that it will take me all the way to the penthouse.
“He doesn’t deserve you, remember that Miss Aria,” he says just as the doors close between us.
I brush his words aside. Doesn’t deserve is just something people say. Nobody knows what goes on in a relationship. I smooth down my hair. It’s a nervous habit I can’t seem to kick. I watch the numbers climb to the 32nd floor. The doors open right into the entryway of his home.
I plaster a smile on my face. I know this will go well. It has to go well. Otherwise, what in the world have I been doing my whole life, and what will I do if it all changes? The elevator doors slide open into darkness. All of the lights are off. Could he still be in bed? It’s eleven in the morning, which seems late even for Xavier on a Sunday. I try not to make any noise just in case he is sleeping.
The living room is empty and I don’t hear anything in the kitchen. My flats don’t make a sound on the marble floors but I tiptoe across the marble anyway. I know Xavier must be here. Luis would have told me if
he had gone out. Would he have told me if he hadn’t come home? “He doesn’t deserve you” rings in my ears. Just before I turn the doorknob, I think I hear a noise coming from the bedroom. I hear it again, and there is no mistaking it this time; a low moan that sounds like Xavier. He must be dreaming, or doing sit-ups or push-ups or something. Xavier is nothing if not obsessive about his workouts.
I open the door and the last thing I ever expected to see is what greets me in the bedroom. It takes a second to realize exactly what is going on. It’s Xavier, in his usual winter Sunday attire of jeans, a dark t-shirt, and a V neck sweater. The only change from the normal is that his jeans are pooled around his ankles, and there is a blonde between his legs. I see her perfectly manicured purple nails digging into his thighs. Her head is rhythmically going back and forth on the length of Xavier’s erect penis. His eyes are closed, his head is tilted back, and the expression on his face is one I have never seen before. I am not sure that I have the vocabulary and experience to describe it. Bliss, maybe?
His fingers are wound into her hair and he is pushing her hard onto his shaft. The noises I heard were Xavier being pleasured.
I must get out of here. I don’t want to see any more of this. I turn to leave and the girl pulls away from him, and looks right at me. She wipes the saliva off her mouth with the back of her hand and grins at me.
“Aria,” she says.
It is Ella, Ella, my best friend in the world, giving my fiancé a blowjob. I want to flee but I am frozen in place, because I also want to scream and yell, and most of all I want to ask, “Why?”
“Aria,” Xavier grunts at me. “What the hell are you doing here?”
He looks down at Ella. “I thought you said she wouldn’t be back for hours?”
Ella shrugs and then beckons to me with her forefinger.
“I know you want to join us,” she says. “I saw an entirely new side of you last night.”
“Yes,” Xavier says. “Come here. I heard all about how you were practically having sex with some white trash loser on a dance floor. I’m pissed you’ve been holding back on me. But I’m glad you have it in you.”
Touchdown: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (Pass To Win Book 1) Page 18