BeefCake, Inc. 02 - Beefcake & Mistakes

by Judi Fennell

  Jenna was not feeling sexy now. She didn’t know if she’d ever feel sexy again. The heels were threatening to break her ankles, the wig was giving her a headache, the greasepaint weighed like five pounds on her skin and dragged it down her face , and the dress only needed one flick of her finger to blow off with the specially designed vent she was to stand over at the end of the number.

  She so could not do this.

  “Break a leg, Missy .” Desiree used the name Bryan had given her as the call came to go on stage.

  Sadly, she just might do that as she wobbled up the stairs.

  Bryan grabbed her arm. “Seriously, Jenna, I can’t thank you enough. I really appreciate it.”

  He wasn’t going to when she made a complete fool of herself.

  And then he’d know she wasn’t Mindy.

  Oh, God. She hadn’t thought about that. Mindy would know how to do this. Mindy would be great at it. Mindy would actually relish the moment in the spotlight.

  Okay, so maybe Jenna didn’t have to relish it, but she did have to put on a show. Had to convince not only the patrons, but Bryan that she was stripper material or he’d start wondering how on earth she’d worked that bachelor party.

  The music started and the guys sauntered on stage one by one . “It’s Raining Men.” Seriously? Was there a more cheesy song for a strip club? She thought Bryan had said this was a classy place.

  And then it was Bryan’s turn.

  Oh my.

  Jenna forgot all about cheesy. She forgot all about the music because the real music was the rhythm in his body as he undulated and shook and swerved and flexed and did all sorts of good moves that c ould be cheesy but , on him, so weren’t.

  His hips rolled in perfect time to the downbeat and his vest came off so suggestively she knew every woman in the audience was running her tongue over her lips imagining what all that hard smooth scul pted chest t asted li k e.

  She tucked her tongue back into her mouth.

  He teased the audience taking the vest halfway down , then pulli n g it back up, looking over his shoulder while he did so , shaking his backside in perfe c t time to the beat, his black pants hugging him like her ha n ds were itching to do.

  She curled her fingers into a fist.

  Then it was the next guy’s turn. Jenna watched hi m for a bit, but she couldn’t ignore Bryan at the back of the stage, his left foot taping to the b eat, his hands on his hips, his broad chest, the vest giving her peek-a-boo glim pses of glistening skin.

  The next guys followed, each one talented, but neither doing for her what Bryan had. They worked the stage, muscles flexing, butts straining against the tight pants—other parts straining too… God, they put on a good show. She was glad Cathy had suggested coming tonight—well, she would be when this was over.

  And then it was the women’s turn.

  Oh, God.

  Desiree was first. The woman cou l d shake her booty.

  Jenna’s heart dropped into her toes. She could n ’t do that. At most she’d get the cellulite jiggle.

  Luckily, Marilyn’s dress would hide that until the end, but they’d assured her that th e lights would go down three se c onds after her dress flew off . She could be exposed that long.

  Maybe.

  Keisha was next on stage, all done up in a Jessica Rabbit costume. She didn’t shake her booty; she did n’t need to. Hers undulated to the music like a snake, sleek and sexy and sensuous. She put her arms ov er her head, weaving them like a harem girl , tossing her head back so her long black hair—completely fake, but it was a good wig—brushed the floor , and the same movements she made with her body rippled through her hair.

  Now that was talent.

  And then it was Jenna’s turn.

  She refused to look at Bryan. Sh e couldn’t or she’d fall apart—which she couldn’t do. She had to be convincing. Had to make him believe she knew what she was doing.

  Jenna took a deep breath and curved her left hip forward while she ran her hands along her thighs. She’d se en enough Marilyn Monroe movies to get the walk down pat. Throw in a couple of s houlder shimmies, some dragging—her -fingers -along -one -arm, and enough oomph in her hips to knock a horse over , and she could do this.

  And then she was doing it. The heat of the lights hit her, blackening out the a udienc e , and the music ratche ted up until it was all she could hear, every downbeat, every low hum, thudding through h er body like an electric current.

  Oh, this was why they used that song. It was made for stripping. It was made for sex. Forget the words, it was all in the bass and beat below them.

  Jenna worked it. She swished her hips. She tossed her head back, opening her mouth like she’d seen Marily n do, with that little butt-push by bending her knees . She tossed her hair, thankful the wig was so tight so she could toss her head , then she slowly spun around and looked back at the audience, winking at just the right moment.

  Then the lights went black and the rest of the dancers filed by her.

  Bryan squeezed her arm. “Great job,” he whispered as he passed.

  Now all she had to do was get through that last blast of air.

  Sucking up every ounce of sexuality that she’d felt out there under those lights doing those moves, Jenna channeled Marilyn once more and sashayed toward the vent, each move a measured step with just the right amount of sway and hip movement—and careful foot placement so she didn’t fall on her face.

  The dancers were taking their clothes off now, and, yes, she did see what Bryan meant about it being classy. Keisha’s dress slithered off and if it weren’t for the green fabric giving way to brown skin, no one would notice because it was so effortless and so sensual . Where the dress ended, her skin began , and it was one long continuous movement .

  Keisha then slid her dress up her leg and caught it in the crook of her knee before she flung it offstage in a pure bedroom move that was sheer artistry.

  Jenna could practically hear half the audience sighing.

  The other half were growling.

  The extended version of the song was coming to an end as Desiree did her number , and Jenna stepped onto the vent.

  The lights were off her and there was a black curtain in front of her so no one would know where she ’d gone. She listened to the words, knew the end was coming.

  How should she pose? No one had given her any direction. How exactly would the dr e ss come off? Was she supposed to have her arms up? Stretched out? Or should she pose with them clasped on one bent knee?

  Well, no, the dress wouldn’t be able to do what it was supposed to do if she did that.

  “Ready in three,” the stage hand said behind her.

  Crap. She had to decide now.

  And then the curtain dropped to the floor, and the blast of air hit her, and Jenna didn’t have to decide. The air went straight up, her arms went straight up , and the dress went straight up.

  And there stood “Ms. C.” in all her tasseled, th onged glory.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The rest of the show had been much easier to get through. They’d done a quick costume change and she’d chosen another Marilyn outfit, knowing that this time, she only had to slither the dress down her back and walk off trailing it after her like a feather boa. She could do all the little wiggles and mouth pouts and short shoulder shimmies straight out of Diamonds Are A Girl’s Best Friend .

  “It’s more the suggestion of sexuality than the actual nudity,” Bryan had said when he’d handed her the first costume before the show, so she’d used that.

  Sure, her ass had felt exposed out there in that piece of dental floss they called a thong, and she might have covered herself a little more than Desiree would have with the dress when she was walking off stage, but all in all, she didn’t do too badly . Not enough to make Bryan suspicious , at least.

  “Holy moly, woman !” Cathy grabbed her backstage when she came off from the final number. “Seriously, I think you missed your calling in life. That was hot .�
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  Now embarrassment was creeping in. She hadn’t felt any once she’d gotten over the initial shock of what she was doing, but now, back in real life, she was going to have to face people. Thank God only Cathy and Bryan knew who she really was.

  Bryan.

  Oh, God, how was she going to face him ? Sure, she’d pulled that off to protect Trevor, but Bryan had been watching her. Had he been thinking about their supposed night together? Was he wondering if he’d touched all the parts she’d revealed? And those she hadn’t?

  Or did he know he never had?

  “You are never to mention this again, Cathy Mayfield. Do you hear me?”

  Cathy smirked. “It’ll be our little secret. Though, damn girl, I didn’t know the set of ta-tas you’ve got on you. Nothing little about them.”

  Jenna rolled her eyes. “Go back to your seat and wait for me there. I can’t deal with you now.”

  “But you’ll deal with me later.”

  “You got that right.”

  Jenna headed back to the dressing room. She wanted to get her stuff and get out before anyone recognized her.

  “Well, ladies, gentlemen, we pulled it off.” Bryan high-fived them as they filed into the dressing room . “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate each of you for coming in when you didn’t have to and doing such a great job with no rehearsal . You are true professionals. And as a sign of my appreciation, there’s a bonus in your check this week.”

  Cheers, more high-fives, the mood was festive as people started to change back to their street clothes.

  Uh oh. It was a communal dressing room; she wasn’t going to take off her make up and wig in front of everyone. And she couldn’t leave the club looking like this. That’d be a dead giveaway the minute she got in her car.

  “Uh, Bryan?” she whispered in his ear. “Is there somewhere I could, you know…” She waved at the dress then nodded her head to the rest of the dancers.

  “Oh, yeah, sure.” He fished a set of keys out of his pocket. “Here. We have an apartment upstairs for when Gage or I have to stay late . There’s a shower, too. Feel free to use it.”

  She ran up the stairs as fast as those platform menaces would allow her.

  Actually, halfway up, she stopped and took them off, her arches protesting at the flatness of the floor beneath her.

  She ignored the pain. If her nipples had been okay having pasties stuck to them, and her butt with the dental floss, her feet had no room to complain.

  The apartment was minimalist at best. A sofa, a tv, two chairs, a toaster and microwave in the galley kitchen , and not a picture ha n ging on the walls. They had spen t some money on the bedroom , however ; the comforter look ed fluffy and cozy and the high—def flat screen on the wall screa m ed bachelor .

  Luckily, they’d carried their same sense of luxury into the bathroom with thick towels, a couple of shampoos and soaps to choose from , and nice hot water from a pulsing showerhead with the perfect amount of water pressure . Jenna couldn’t scrub the show—and the tassels—off fast enough.

  Still, she had to admit , it’d been fun. Playacting up there, knowing people were watching, seeing her as a fantasy, knowing none of it was real, that was actually a turn on.

  She glided the soap down her body, every nerve ending standing up and paying attention. It’d been a long ti m e since she’d felt sexy. A long time since anyone had looked at her that way.

  She rinsed out her hair and turned off the shower, wra p ping one of the thick towels around her , then rummaged through the cabinet below the sink for a hair dryer.

  Half a dozen boxes of condoms, but no hair dryer in sight.

  What, exactly , did Bryan and Gage stay late for?

  Half a dozen boxes. Well, at least they were careful. Though that hadn’t served Bryan well four years ago.

  She thrust the thought of those condoms—and Bryan and Mindy using them—out of her head and scru bbe d the towel through her hair. She was just going to go home ; she didn’t need to look all dolled up.

  Still… She looked at the medicine cabinet. Maybe they had some product in there she cou ld put in her hair—Bryan? Product? He was about as alpha as you could get; she couldn’t see him using product.

  But still, desperate times called for desperate measures…

  Or an excuse to snoop .

  She shut her conscience up and opened the medicine cabinet.

  No product. Just some d ental floss, shaving cream, toothpaste and tooth brushes—a couple unopened ones.

  Jenna closed the cabinet. She didn’t want to think who would be usi n g those unopened toothbrushes. It was none of her business.

  Except it was. If he was going to be in Trevor’s life, he was her business.

  And what, really, did she know about him other than the man made beautiful babies and could kiss?

  She rolled her eyes. Seriously, Jenna, mind back on the present situation an d all its possible ramifications, not wondering what he did with condoms . Set the hormones to OFF.

  She went through the mental checklist of what she knew about him. It wasn’t much. He owned this place, worked a s an electrician , and liked to jump to conclusions. And strippers. He liked to jump strippers.

  And she was right back to those damn condoms.

  She got dressed quickly and hung the tow e l over the towel rack to dry. It didn’t matter who Bryan did what with. He had his life; she had hers.

  But they both had Trevor’s.

  Her hand stalled on the door knob. She did have to consider what Bryan did w ith hi s life. What if he got married and then wanted full custody? What if Jenna didn’t like who he married? What if the woman tried to steal Trevor’s affections from her?

  Jenna sank down on the toilet lid. Oh , God, what if Trevor wanted to go live with Bryan and his wife? What if Bryan had kid s ? Trevor would love to have brothers and sisters.

  She started to shake. What was she going to do? What could she do?

  “Jenna?” Bryan was right outside the bathroom door. “You okay?”

  No she wasn’t. And it was all his fault.

  Literally.

  All of it. Trevor’s existence and this incredible worry that she was about to lose everything.

  “Jenna?”

  “Fi…” She cleared her throat. “Fine. I’ll, uh, be right out.”

  With wobbly legs and a sick stomach. If the dancers who’d eaten the pizza earlier had felt like this, she could see why they hadn’t been up to giving a performance. Yet she had to.

  She opened the door. Damn. He was right there.

  “You okay?”

  His low voice rumbled through her, touching every pulse point she had. Just like the downbeat when she’d been on stage .

  “Yeah, I’m okay.” She tucked her hair behind her ear.

  It didn’t stay. It nev er stayed. She didn’t k n ow why she did it.

  Bryan reached up and tucked it.

  This time it stayed.

  “I really want to thank you for tonight. You were great.”

  She slid her fingers up and untucked that hair. She liked it falling in her face when he was staring at her so intently. “Well, like you said, it’s just like riding a bike.”

  So were a few other things, one of which she hadn’t done in over three years and him standing so close was reminding her of th at fact with bells and whistles and big, crashing cymbals.

  “So, um, thanks for letting me use your shower.” She squeezed past him, willing all body parts and wayward arm hairs to steer clear. He hadn’t showered and her nostrils were making her well aware of the fact and the rest of her senses were telling her that was a good thing.

  “You still got it, Jenna.”

  Oh she had it all right. A bad case of the hots for Trevor’s father. Whom she hadn’t slept with. Or danced for.

  “Have you thought about getting back into this line of work?”

  Now she got a severely cold dousing of reality. Her? Strip?

  She’d take
n two steps into the room—his bedroom —then spun around, as much to avoid looking at his bed , as to remind him of one really important fact. “I’m a tea c h er, Bryan . If I danced for you, I could lose my job.”

  If she danced with him, she could lose a lot more. Her sanity, her inhibitions, all sense of propriety —Her loneliness. Her non-self-chosen celibacy…

  The latter had a lot to recommend it. But what if—oh God—what if he was suggesting this so she would lose her job? She’d have to work for him, then. She’d be beholden to him and be ripe for the picking should he ever want full custody of Trevor.

  “Right. I forgot.” He stood up from where he’d been slouching aga inst the door jamb in that quin tes s ential hot-guy-door-slou c h pose that made her wonder if there was a photographer around here somewhere, before he headed into the bedroom.

  Why couldn’t the bathroom have led into the hallway instead of the one room in this place she did not want to be with him?

  Because her luck had gone on vacation ever since that spur-of-the-moment trip to the grocery store she now wished she’d never taken.

  The bed called out to her as she walked by . Especially since Bryan was standing right beside it to let her pass. All she’d have to do would be throw herself into his arms, dropping them onto that bed , and Nature would take care of the rest.

  It was so tempting she practically f l ew out the door.

  And tripped over her stupid platform shoes.

  Luckily, Bryan caught her before she hit the floor.

  He didn’t, however , stop her from hitting his hard wall of a chest.

  With her palms.

  Flat against it.

  Oh my, he felt good.

  Especially when his hands tightened on her waist and she was snugg l ed up against him just a little more.

  There was nothing little about Bryan Lassiter.

  “Jenna…”

  It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a sigh. It wasn’t anything she’d ever heard before, so of course, she had to look up. Had to look at his mouth. At his lips…

  That were descending toward hers.

  He had to kiss her. Just on c e.

  One turned into two, d o ub led to four, and after that, Bryan lost count.