by Jody Kaye
“Renata said you missed your daddy/daughter date tonight. Was that for me?”
“I’ll make it up to her,” I say in the same reassuring tone I used with Sylvie.
The waitstaff is back with a piece of triple chocolate layer cake for Cece and a raspberry mousse tart with dark chocolate crust for me.
“You dropped everything when Sylvie needed you. It says a lot for your character.”
“Yeah, whipped by a member of the Cartoon Princess Mafia.” I lift a spoon of Chambord cream to her lips, nudging Celine to open up.
Cece laughs, “You’ll appreciate it someday. So will she,” before accepting the bite. “Wow! That was tastier than I thought.”
“So what about your family?” Settling back in the too small for my stature chair, I try blending in with my surroundings. I have the same awkward sense I do when Sylvie makes me play tea party.
“My parents fed and clothed us until we were eighteen and sent us on our way. They struggled for what they had and what they could give us. Then Morgan got in trouble and any lingering closeness we had disappeared overnight. Guilt-by-association was an embarrassment for my father in a rural town… My mother still gets in touch, on occasion. I kept my dancing at Sweet Caroline’s from them because I was afraid of how they’d react. Now, with it in the past, it’s none of their business how I afforded my degree and who helped me get where I am today when they refused. Sometimes the family you wind up with is the one you find along the way, right?”
I nod, understanding. “You’ve still got your brother.”
“Which makes our relationship all the more special. I have some regrets. I mean, I was the one who asked Carver to find Morgan a job when he was released from prison.”
“That doesn’t make him a bad man. Morgan’s my friend. His jail time doesn’t change anything.” I may get sick of Morgan’s overprotectiveness, but I can’t blame him. I comprehend the why of wanting to keep your family out of harm’s way and doubt if Skye made a play for Celine he’d act any differently. “Neither does how any of us rake in extra cash.”
I stop, letting the last line soak in for Cece. I’m paid well doing maintenance at the factory and strip club. Skye invests a portion of my salary. I don’t ask in what. All I know is he hands me a paper once a quarter showing how much it’s grown by. Even with a professional income, I never believed I’d see that kind of money. It’s enough to cover any concerns over what might happen to Sylvie if I weren’t around. Renata will have enough to raise her and then some. I’ve offered to get us a newer, bigger place to live, but Renata is content in the home she made for her family. Anytime something needs replacing, I take care of it because she’s taking care of us.
Celine looks as if a cat’s got her tongue before she gets the gumption to ask, “How’d you get roped into working at the mill?”
“Carver and I grew up in the same trailer park… Well, for a time we did. Both my parents were out of work… He’s always been the sort who you think doesn’t notice you and is out for themselves. But he looks out for the little guy.”
“You’re hardly a little guy, Dusty.” She teases, squeezing my bicep. The jolt goes straight to my dick and I’m glad the table cloth is hiding my lap. Any man can walk around semi-hard at Sweet Caroline’s and no one gives a crap if you’re horny or not. A classy place like this is another story. Damn, my fingers ache to touch Cees. To feel the zap of electricity between us. And I know she likes it when I do.
“Renata knows about your job?” she pries.
“She knows my handyman salary is invested if that’s what you mean. Got a decent chunk from the legal settlement. So did she as Beth’s mother. I don’t do more than fix broken stuff if it’s also what you’re asking.”
“What about your parents?”
“North Carolina got too cold for them. They’re in Florida.”
“That makes so much sense to me. I’m not the biggest fan of winter. So what did you do before the accident?” A ghost of a grimace appears on her face as if she doesn’t want to dredge up more awful memories.
Reaching across the table, I cover her small hand with my larger one. “I was an electrical engineer. I liked tinkering when I was a kid, taking things apart to see how it worked. Using spare parts of broken stuff—alarm clocks, radios, handheld video games—and fixing it.”
“You didn’t want to go back to it?”
“My recovery took a year. Still get headaches. I try to keep them at a minimum. It’s difficult to work a normal job. Plus, hiring managers have a hard time with my sluggish speech. Combined with the way I look? Their first instinct is there’s not much going on in between my ears.” The bigger the sentence, the longer it takes to get everything out of my head. I tap my temple reassuring her it’s all up there.
“That’s not fair.”
I give Cece a knowing look. She darts her gaze away. I’m not stupid as to what she’s thought of me. Sometimes you see what’s on the outside of a person before you get a glimpse of the inside. The fact that our first encounters were one-sided—with Cece taking off her clothes in front of a crowd while I watched—isn’t lost on me. My initial attraction to her was shallow.
I tip up her chin so her pretty dark brown eyes connect with mine. I’m not ashamed of the way we started out, and I don’t want her to be either. What I want is for us to move on to the next phase.
“Doing what I do gives me plenty of time with my kid. That’s the most important thing. To me.”
“I understand,” she says.
It seems like we have mutual respect for the way one another leads their life. If she’d been mine, I’d have been more overbearing. My jealousy aside, Cees has proven she has a one-track mind to achieve her goals. I was never upset at her, but the way other men ogled her.
The table gets cleared and as we’re waiting on the check, Cece lets my thumb graze over her knuckles in soft swirls. This is definitely how I’d imagined it would go and how I see taking her out again. The naturalness of being in public is freeing and the best part of getting to know Cece better someplace where we have no explaining to do. It’s our choice whether we decide to tell people this is a continuation of a long-standing attraction we’ve kept quiet or the start of something entirely new. I’m one step closer to being able to show our friends how I feel about this woman.
Dusty uses the back alley behind the factory to pull into the parking lot. He maneuvers the truck into a spot away from the harsh street lights and kills the engine.
“Hope you had a nice time tonight.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Haven’t taken anyone out in a while. I’m rusty.”
“I had a wonderful time. Sylvie is great. I bet you can’t wait to get home to her.”
“She’ll be fast asleep.”
“I hope the Tooth Fairy comes before she wakes.” I have a plastic baggie tucked in a box, filled with my baby teeth. When I was small, I kept them in case it was a magical mishap that she’d forgotten to visit our house.
His chin tips down and his lips spread into a sheepish smile, showing a genuine amount of pearly whites and proving he’s smitten by his daughter.
“Well, ah, goodnight. Thank you.” I’m the first to lean in, planning to give Dusty the briefest kiss farewell.
Our lips brush against one another’s and his beefy palm encases the side of my head. I’ve tried to stick to casual-acquaintances-bordering-on-friends. The reality is, until this evening, the carnal knowledge Dusty and I shared was all we knew of each other. I haven’t led him on. Yet, I’m back to the night he walked me across the street from my shift at Sweet Caroline’s. When I tried to flirt and he took the opportunity with his lips, igniting sparks.
Dusty deepens the kiss, our tongues taste the lingering sweetness from our desserts. He grips my hip, sliding me closer. The same hand that cupped my face with such tenderness slides under the hem of my dress. The skirt has inched above my waist. His fingers dig into my skin, searching for something that’s not there. They skid to a stop
, almost like the scratch of a needle against a record.
“Shit. Where are your panties?”
“I don’t wear them. I don’t like them.” I developed the bad habit after I started dancing. It was one thing enduring the bottom half of my costume riding up my ass for an hour, but the way the g-strings cinched against my hips? The way it aggravated my senses led to any style of underwear doing the same. I have a handful in my lingerie drawer for modesty’s sake when there is no choice than to put them on.
“You’ve been bare-ass naked, sitting across the table from me, and never said a word.” Dusty’s possessive growl is enough to make me cream my panties. If I had any on.
“The top of me is covered,” I tease.
“Not for fucking long.”
His fingers skim the insides of my thighs. Nudging up, he flicks a knuckle against my sensitive areas. For the first time, I understand why Dusty excels at his job and how his engineering background gave him the boost to tackle so many tasks. Before he’s reached back to unbutton the top of my dress I’m done for. He might not realize he’s doing two things at once, but the multiple things he is doing have every part of me anticipating what’s next.
I reach for his belt, unbuckling it, and loosening the fly on his dress pants. With his fingers plunging inside of me, Dusty doesn’t miss a beat. He shimmies his hips up. I spring his thick cock from his boxer briefs.
“This would be a lot easier if you went commando too,” I suggest, nipping at his lips.
“Taking it under advisement.”
In a smooth motion, he grabs me by the waist, hauling me over his lap to straddle his hips. I sit down on his impossibly hard length, moaning as he stretches me deep.
“Oh God, you’re huge.” I’d forgotten how well-endowed Dusty is.
“Appreciate the compliment.”
I laugh. The dirty words Dusty whispers in my ear aside, we never say anything to one another when we’re screwing. This is the first time we’re not forced into silence and the conversation strikes me as humorous. Dusty catches the soft, feminine giggle with a mischievous bite to my lower lip. His hands move back to my shoulders, tugging down the top of my dress. The fabric pools at my midsection.
“Christ, no bra either?”
I won’t answer. I normally wear one of those. This bodice has built-in cups. His hands are now doing a fantastic job of keeping the tits that have provided me an income pinned to my chest. This isn’t the moment to inspect how the garment’s sewn together when I’m about to fall apart.
He sucks on my neck, a nipple, my arms, any place my skin can meet his mouth.
“Fuck me harder, Cees.” Dusty commands.
With each rise and fall on my knees, he thrusts up, grinding the base of his cock against my clit. I’m so full when he’s inside of me, I think there isn’t any more I can take. Yet, when I slide up, my body yearns for that fullness and I want more.
In the darkness, I see the strain in his expression as he holds off, waiting to chase my orgasm with his. Never once has Dusty come before I have.
I want his consideration as a lover to be enough. But I let go for the first time, my voice unrestrained, reliving all the other moments I’ve let him hold dominion over me. Use my body. Be to Dusty what all the men who sit in the audience watching me strip want me to be for them.
Familiar warmth pulses inside of me. I slide against his broad chest. The beginning was good. The end was better. I wish that somewhere in between my past as an exotic dancer hadn’t crept in and my subconscious hadn’t labeled me a slut for sleeping with a man on a first date.
Our fiery breaths have fogged the windows, making something about the cabin claustrophobic. I adjust my top and zip up. Dusty uses fast food napkins from the glove box to wipe between my thighs. Disposing of them on the floorboard by my red shoes.
He brushes his knuckles against my cheek. I shift away as if a bee has stung me instead of reveling in the electricity of his touch the way I had before. Placing a swift kiss at the corner of his lips, in a hurry I thank him again for a wonderful night. Sitting up straight so he can’t chase me down again like the second swallow after a cheap shot of whiskey, I slide off of the seat and my toes hit the pavement.
“Hey.” He grabs my wrist as “When can I see you again?”
Again?
The shock on my face must be a dead giveaway. Dusty’s expression blanks and he lets go of my arm.
I enjoyed his company. Dusty behaved like a perfect gentleman until neither of us wanted him to be. Then we were right back to who we’ve always been to one another. I can’t say I expected the night to end any other way. However, mentally back to being the whore whose John pays with an expensive steak and an even more costly bottle of wine, I hadn’t allowed myself to consider he’d ask me out again.
“I’ll see you around the mill before moving out, won’t I?” I’m evasive. Doubtless, we’ll run into one another after I’ve had time to process tonight.
The overhead dome light is on. Dusty’s dark eyes bore into me. It’s not what he meant. My gut tells me I’ve blown it with the nicest guy I’ll ever meet.
“I’m busy with work.” I make a foolish excuse.
He nods. “Thanks for coming out tonight, Cees. Happy graduation.”
I lower my gaze to the gravel, closing the door. My high-heels clip-clop over the parking lot.
I’ve hardly gone a few yards when the truck engine roars to life and the headlights illuminate the path to the building’s well-lit back entrance. It shifts into drive, but the screech of the brakes has me turning to look back as it shudders to a stop.
Dusty gets out of the truck and rounds the hood. His right fist pounds twice on the metal and his left palm reaches out to encircle my waist. He draws me to his chest before his fist tangles in my hair, bringing me in closer for a toe-curling kiss.
I stumble in my heels, touching my lips. “What was that for?”
“Bye, Cees.” He’s walking backward as it dawns on me Dusty means it. We’ve never said goodbye. It’s so… final. My heart and my jaw are scraping the pavement with the sting of a skinned knee.
“But—”
“But what?” His spine stiffens to the point I swear I hear it crack. “What are we doing here?” His arms stretch wide in question. “Why bother to come out if it wasn’t to let me down easy?”
“What do you want from me?”
“A fucking chance?” He musses his hair. “God, I’ve never met a woman more interested in a quick roll and less intent on a second date than you.” He bats a hand as if I’m not worth his time.
“Why?”
“Cause you’re gorgeous. And smart. And I liked hanging out with you as much as I like banging you, Celine.”
The emphasis in those last words is caustic, cutting me for being the user, for acting like I’m entitled to use Dusty’s body and not care about his feelings. I hang my head, understanding I’m more than playing hard to get. I’m the player in this scenario, and I’m treating Dusty unfairly.
Dusty’s hands are in his pockets. He’s rolled his shirtsleeves to his elbows. The jovial smile he wore all night has vanished and I’m left with a cold dead stare.
I miss the guy he introduced me to this evening, the way I’d missed the man who’d cover my body with his over the past month.
“Where would we go?” I ask, wondering if my question is about a physical location or if I’m speaking to myself, curious over how we could ever make a go of a relationship. I’m not in the best headspace for it and can’t explain why.
He shrugs as if he doesn’t care. “Headed to Boone Friday night. You can come.” His thumb covers his mouth. He’s second-guessing if asking me to go away for the weekend was wrong. “You’re busy. I get it.” He’s not even looking at me anymore.
My mouth’s agape. All of a sudden, this train is moving too fast, but if I don’t start running in the same direction now, I’ll never keep up. “Can I bring my charts to catch up on?”
“Yeah… uh… You like to hike? ski?”
“I haven’t been in a long time. Hike, that is.” I’ve never skied.
“It’s cold, so pack a winter jacket. Extra socks.”
“Maybe some long underwear.”
“Some plain ‘ol underwear too.” He smirks and I almost see the man he’d acted like at dinner. “Stop your butt from getting cold while we walk.”
I laugh when he jokes at my expense. I deserve it.
“Are you sure about this, Cees?”
“I’m still trying to figure out what we’re do—” I pause. “Why me?” Why him and why now?
“Told you. Want a chance to see where it goes.”
“I guess it’s going to Boone.”
Daybreak is an hour away when I slide a pair of tailored pants over my hips and tuck the fitted blouse into the waist. My new wardrobe selection beats what I used to wear to work. Not only am I covered from neck to ankles, the lines of the fabric contour my curves instead of highlighting where my body flares to ignite a man’s fire.
“Knock, knock. I brought you some elixir of the gods.”
I kick my new red dress under the bed frame as Sloan slips through the doorway to my room.
“Thanks. So what’s up?” I take the hot mug.
“Why does anything have to be up?”
“The one person who lives and dies by caffeine is Kimber. She’s your go-to when things are shaky. I know when I’m being used as a poor substitute.”
The three of us have hung together the longest—since before Trig and Kimber got married. But where I’m a generation younger, the connection between Sloan and Kimber runs deeper.
“Nothing is wrong between me and Carver.” She pinches her forehead like she has a headache.
“If you say so,” I reply with a noncommittal shrug.
It’s only six am. The bags under Sloan’s eyes are a dead giveaway that she’s had a long night. And not in the same way my late arrival home was.