by J. S. Scott
“Here you go.” Stephie set Josh’s second drink down.
“Thanks. Keep ‘em coming, will you?” he asked.
“Who are you?” Stephie asked. “Her new bodyguard or something?”
Josh’s gaze broke from the erotic sight of Grace getting it on with two others and focused on Stephie. “Why? Does she need one?”
“I personally think we all need one after what happened last week. But, no one’s springing for any service, so I guess we’re relying on our monkeys in suits.”
“Stephie!” Someone called from close by. “Need another drink over here, sweetness.”
She glanced at Josh again. “I’ll bring you another in a few.” Then she darted through the shadows to another table.
When Josh returned his gaze to the lap dance, Grace was gone, the original dancer still going at it with her customer.
He scanned the area and found Grace weaving through the club, greeting men, group by group, stopping to talk for a moment, then moving on. No lap dances. No running to get drinks. Josh couldn’t figure out the setup.
Josh downed the next drink in two swallows, but the first was already hitting his blood stream, making him bolder, braver, and—he knew from experience—far more stupid.
When the song changed and the women on stage transitioned once again, Grace watched closely, then scanned the club, like an overseer, her gaze pausing on every girl as they worked the room. And Josh could only compare her behavior to a lion watching over her cubs.
He was trying to figure her out while fighting complex emotions he was sure colored his perspective when her gaze passed over him. Then her eyes jumped back and held on his face with a spark of shocked disbelief. A sizzle broke out across his ribs. No turning back now. She’d seen him. She knew he didn’t belong here. She knew this wasn’t a coincidence.
But having her intense gaze locked on him made his chest ache.
Fuck, he’d missed her. Missed her friendship, her laughter, her quick mind. He hadn’t realized until now, their gazes locked yards apart, just how hollow he still felt without her in his life.
Her brow pulled tight. Emotions flashed in her eyes. And Josh felt a direct connection between them across the space. She started forward, never breaking eye contact. Josh took a slow, deep breath and tried to smooth the edge of raw nerves.
Stephie showed up and set his third drink down with a perky, “I’ll check back.”
Josh had never seen Grace look so absolutely stunning. This was not the girl he’d left last year. She’d always been strong and smart. But this woman was more—more secure, more confident, more in control. Josh had never imagined finding that so damn hot, but watching her walk toward him with all that self-possession was sexier than a brand new M4 submachine gun.
She paused two feet away, searching his face as if she still couldn’t believe he was real. The alcohol had definitely flooded his veins. He couldn’t get words out of his mouth while his head and heart were swimming with monologues he wanted to spill all at once.
“Josh?” She dropped to her knees, right there in front of him, hands on his thighs. Those clear, blue eyes he’d known so well for so long searched his. “Are you okay?”
He managed a nod.
Her hands tightened on his legs. “Has something happened to Isaac?”
His gaze slid lower, to her chest and the way the dress pulled her breasts up and together. She was luscious. A whole different woman than he’d expected to encounter. One that made him crazy with lust.
She cupped his jaw and lifted his gaze to meet hers. “Josh? Is Isaac okay?”
The sweet gesture pulled at all those buried memories. He covered her hand with his. It was small and warm, just like he remembered. “Beck’s fine.”
“Oh, thank God.” Tension drained from her shoulders and the fear in her face cleared as she sat back on her heels. But only a moment of relief passed before confusion...and a little suspicion...filled her eyes. “Then why are you here?” she asked. “And how did you find me?”
Chapter Three
Josh released her hand and reached for a lowball glass on the table. While he took a deep drink, Grace glanced at the two empties, which meant Josh was throwing drinks back faster than the waitress could get around to clear them.
“Josh?” she asked, prodding him to answer her earlier questions.
“I’m in town on business,” he said, voice rough, gaze staring into his drink—which probably meant he was lying. “I tried calling you, but you didn’t answer.” Now he looked at her, those beautiful eyes of his filled with barely veiled accusation. “So, I stopped by your townhouse to say hello and found you don’t live there anymore.”
Oh...shit...
All her muscles tightened up.
“The new owners,” he said, “were nice enough to give me your forwarding address.”
Oh...double shit...
Her fingers curled into fists against her thighs.
“And your new neighbor tells me you work nights at this club. I’m dying to know how you managed to pick an apartment in the only ghetto in San Diego. But we’ll get to that later.”
His bossy tone set her on edge, and she brought one foot under her to stand. But Josh wrapped his fingers around her forearm and leaned forward, his face just inches from hers. And God, he smelled good. Just a touch of spice left over from the day and a whole lotta signature Josh. The scent brought memories swimming back—of long quiet nights sleeping in his hospital room, of slow challenging days of physical therapy. Of trust built, friendship forged, laughter shared...
Hearts broken.
“Gracie,” he said, his voice softening, his eyes stormy. “What’s going on?”
She tried not to bristle. Logically, she understood he was worried. Emotionally, his concern felt a lot like judgment.
“Nothing’s going on.” She pulled from his grasp and stood, struggling to balance on her ridiculously high heels. “I’m just working, that’s all.”
His eyes narrowed. “That’s all? Seriously? That’s what you’re giving me? That’s all?”
Grace grit her teeth to keep from saying something she’d regret, but his attitude stung.
The songs changed and Grace met his gaze with a serious one of her own. “Look, I have to get back to work. If you’re still in town tomorrow, maybe we can have coffee...or something...”
“Coffee? Are you fucking kidding me?”
Josh pushed to his feet, and Grace fell back a step. She’d forgotten how tall he was. How imposing. She’d seen him in his Navy whites a couple of times, but never in business casual. His muscled body filled out the button down and the slacks like they’d been tailor-made for his body, and heat kindled low in her belly.
“Gracie,” he implored, “you’re talking to someone who knows you. Someone who knows that if you’re here, doing this, there’s something wrong.”
That’s all it took, one perfectly placed cynical dig, and the sexual heat transitioned into anger. “You don’t know what I’m doing. You’re assuming.” She felt others’ attention slide their way and she forced her voice down. “There’s nothing wrong, and you sure as shit don’t have any right to pass judgment on my life. I’m perfectly fine. Goodbye, Josh.”
She turned, hands fisted, and moved quickly toward the black velvet curtain leading to dressing rooms at the back of the club. Her stomach hurt. Her brain spun. Her heart ached.
“Grace, wait.” He called behind her, half demand, half plea.
She cringed at the use of her real name, but kept moving. Adrenaline surged, burning along her limbs. She ducked between the drapes and hurried down the walkway, her heels clicking loud on the concrete.
“Grace, stop.” His voice sounded right behind her at the same moment he grabbed her arm and spun her around. He gripped both arms and pushed her back against the wall.
After one long stunned second, she shoved at his chest. “What the hell is wrong with you? You’re the last person I expected to manhandle me. Let
. Go. Now.”
He instantly released her and stepped back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...” Scraping both hands through his hair, he paced. “I just don’t know what to think. I’m worried about you, Grace.”
“Stop calling me that. I don’t want people knowing my real name.”
He flung his arms out to the side and let them drop to his thighs. “If that doesn’t scream problem, nothing does.”
She crossed her arms, all the hurt and judgment from the past resurfacing like grease on water. “Why do you insist there has to be a problem when I’m telling you there’s not?”
“You’re working in a strip club, Grace. You’re dressed in...” he gestured toward her, then groaned out, “God. This isn’t right. This isn’t you.”
“You haven’t seen or spoken to me in a year. A lot has happened in that time. You have no right to decide what’s me and what’s not.”
“I’ve known you for seven years.” He was growing edgy, a little frantic. “You couldn’t have hidden this.”
She rolled her eyes at his absurdity. “My ex-husband still doesn’t know I got my bachelor’s degree while we were married. The truth is that we all become the people we need to be to get by, the same way you and Isaac became killers to survive as SEALs. I never held that against either of you, and I damn well deserve the same respect, regardless of what work I choose.”
“Whoa, whoa...” He put his hands up, his expression twisted in confusion. “Where in the hell is this coming from?”
“It’s coming from you, walking in here and passing judgment.” She twirled her finger in the air. “So just turn your sweet ass around and get the hell out.”
She turned and started walking again, fisting her hands, clenching her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut to force the new wetness back. Chanting let him go in her head when she ached to wrap her arms around him for a bear hug. Just to feel him close again.
“Okay, hold on.” His hand wrapped around her arm again, but gently. “Let’s back up. I didn’t mean to turn this into a fight.”
No, no, no. That soft, congenial voice tried to crawl into her heart. She couldn’t let that happen, because he’d just reject her again. Walk away again. Leave her alone again. It had taken her months to find solid ground after he’d moved to LA. And she was barely holding onto her crazy life now.
“Look,” she said, softening her voice and pressing her hands to his chest. His hard, warm chest. She drew a breath. “There is nothing for you to worry about. I truly love this job. I love the club, my boss, my coworkers. The work is fun, challenging, and rewarding. Even the customers appreciate what I do.”
“Yeah,” he huffed, disgusted. “I could see that.”
She threw her arms out to the side and stepped back. “I don’t need a fight tonight.”
He looked at the ceiling and rubbed a hand over his face with a troubled exhale. She may have toughened up and found her latent sexuality over the last year, but her heart was still as soft as it had always been, and it was killing her to see him so frustrated.
“Put your pea-sized brain to rest, Josh,” she told him, “I’m not stripping.”
One golden brow lifted in disbelief, and his gaze skimmed down her body.
“God, you’re such an ass.” She crossed her arms again. “I talk to the men. They tell me what moves and routines they like to see from the dancers. I train the girls to do what the men like, which makes them more money. And when they make more money, I make more money. I’m. Their. Choreographer.”
That wasn’t the job title her boss had given her, but it’s the one she’d built around her position as house mom. So, in addition to managing all the girls’ needs backstage, which included being a surrogate mother, a psychologist, a make-up artist, a troubleshooter, and a comedian, Grace also taught them how to dance. How to tease and please. And her work had pushed the club onto the top ten list of strip clubs in San Diego. It had also helped the dancers pay for medical care and school tuition and quality daycare for their kids.
And if the plan she’d put into motion spun out the way she’d planned, she’d slough off the house mom part of the job and take over her very own lucrative niche as dance instructor and choreographer to the area’s top entertainers.
But Josh didn’t deserve to know her secrets or her dreams.
He gave her a dubious slant-eyed gaze and planted both hands at his narrow hips. “Your job description doesn’t matter, Grace. You’re still here, still dressed—Jesus, I can’t breathe looking at you in that—and you still have to walk across that parking lot where some guy was gutted last week. Strip clubs breed crime—”
“So do liquor stores and planned parenthood pickets and TV violence for God’s sake.” She was tempted to tell him to go back to the part where he couldn’t breathe, but she was sure the tease would have been wasted. “We don’t stop driving because someone dies in a car accident. And I’m not going to give up a good job because some assholes drank too much and got in a fight.”
Songs switched again—the fourth change since she’d set eyes on Josh, which meant she’d been gone from the dressing room too long.
She continued the rest of the way down the hall, but paused before turning the corner, and glanced back at him. Hands on hips, shirtsleeves rolled up on his forearms, tension drawing all six feet of his amazing body up tight, he looked every bit the commanding presence he’d always been. Overhead lights made his wheat-colored hair shine like the sun. Her heart felt like it was being cut into tiny little pieces, and she cursed herself for one: falling in love with him in the first place, and two: never falling back out.
Her whole chest ached.
“Go home, Josh. There’s nothing here for you.”
* * * * *
Gracie finger-waved to the house mom who’d taken over for her at midnight. “Goodnight, Sadie. Remember to tell Rebecca to ice her ankle, please.”
“Will do.” She picked up a brush to fluff Clarissa’s hair before the dancer took center stage. “Have Theo walk you out.”
“Will do.”
She made her way through the halls toward the front door, exhaustion and heartache dragging at her. Seeing Josh again, so unexpectedly, had been tough. But sending him away with all the unease still between them left her feeling hollow and depressed. More than anything she needed a friend in her life now. The casual friendships she’d made with the staff at the club were great for everyday conversation and company, but she wished she had someone deeper in her life. Someone who really got her. And the reminder that she’d ruined that with Josh really hurt.
There had been a thousand times over the last year when she’d wished she hadn’t asked him to move in with her, that she hadn’t suggested there was more than friendship between them. Not because it hadn’t been true, but because she’d lost his friendship over voicing the reality.
Passing into the foyer, she searched for Theo, the bouncer manning the door. He was speaking to a patron, ushered him into the club, then turned to Grace.
“What’d you do to that guy, Nikki?” he asked. “He’s a mess.”
Grace peered toward the bar where Josh sat slumped on a stool, arms crossed on the bar, head resting face down on his forearms. His blazer was draped over the stool beside him. And Dean, her boss and the club’s owner, was standing thirty feet away, talking to a customer.
“Je-sus.” Her heart twisted. “Why’d you let him stay?”
“Because the girls feel sorry for him. Every time I approached him with the intention of pushing him into a cab, Kelly gave me the death stare.” Theo’s big shoulders lifted in a shrug, as if he couldn’t help himself. “And everyone really likes him. Even Dean. They sat around talking for over an hour.”
At that moment, Dean stepped away from the bar and started through the club toward the entry. He was dressed in his typical slacks, silky button down open at the collar, with a blazer over the top. He was in his early sixties, was never sleazy with the girls, paid fair salaries, and generous w
ith his appreciation of the staff’s hard work. Which was why she didn’t want to lose him as a boss. If Josh had said something—she couldn’t imagine what, but something—that would get her in trouble...or fired...she was going to turn homicidal.
“Hey, hey, Nick,” he said as he neared, his grin wide and authentic. “Did you hear the crowd going crazy for your Santa Baby number?”
She relaxed and returned his grin. “I did. The girls were amazing. I’m training a few new ones each day. By Christmas we should have twenty-five doing it at once.”
He reached out and tapped her nose. “You are amazing. I was telling your friend Josh there all about how you’ve turned this club into something really special.” He glanced over his shoulder toward Josh and laughed, his belly rocking with the sound. “Think I might have just talked him into a coma.”
“Um, yeah...sorry about that...”
“Oh, come on. This happens here on a nightly basis. Nice guy. We were both squids once upon a time,” he said, using the Navy’s alternative to “sailor”. “He was really interested in your plans for the studio.”
Grace grimaced internally, and she thought the skin beneath her left eye might have ticked, but Dean didn’t seem to notice. “Well, I’m glad you two hit it off. I’m going to see if I can get him off the stool now.”
“Good luck, honey.” Dean squeezed her shoulder and winked. “And great job with the girls. You’re my star.”
She smiled. “See you tomorrow.”
She strolled to Josh’s side and paused, greeting the bartenders, Sandra and Kelly. “How much did he drink?”
Sandra straightened bottles underneath the counter, and gave Grace a sympathetic grimace. “I cut him off when he’d finished half a fifth.”
Grace grimaced and sucked air through her teeth. That was eight shots. “Shit.”
Sandra lifted a shoulder, glancing at Josh. “He’s a big guy. Averaged about two shots an hour. He’ll be okay.”