by Tara Sivec
“No, not another bad date,” I finally answer. “I was with Cindy and Ariel.”
“Did you happen to get a phone call tonight?” he asks, turning to look at me.
I narrow my eyes at him, wondering how in the world he would know that.
“What did you do?”
He pulls his feet down from the coffee table and pushes up from the couch, walking over to stand in front of me, sliding his hands in the pockets of his jeans.
“Did you get a phone call?” he asks again.
“Yes. And I’ll ask again: What did you do?”
“I took care of it,” he says with an easy shrug.
“What do you mean you took care of it? Took care of what?!”
“I didn’t like the idea of you going on another date with a fucking stranger, so I followed you to that Mexican restaurant. I saw you run out of the place like your ass was on fire. After Ariel picked you up a few minutes later, I went inside and had a nice little chat with Steven and Stephanie,” he explains.
“YOU WHAT?!” I screech. “You can’t just do something like that!”
“Did they apologize?” he asks with a raise of his eyebrows as he looks down at me.
“You are ridiculous! That’s not how this works!”
“Did they apologize?” he asks again.
“Yes! They apologized! Oh, my God. I can’t believe you did that! Why would you do that?”
“I took care of it,” is all he replies.
With that, he turns and walks away from me, scooping up his book from the couch cushion and disappearing down the hall.
After a few minutes of angrily pacing back and forth in the kitchen, muttering to myself about creepy stalkers who sit outside a restaurant while I’m on a date, and then say God knows what to Steven and Stephanie to get them to call me and apologize, I stop pacing when a lightbulb goes off in my head.
“Oh!” I gasp, covering my mouth with my hand.
He sat outside the restaurant while I was on a date. He saw me run out of there all freaked out, and he went inside to find out what happened, and lord only knows what kind of intimidation tactic that man used to make Steven and Stephanie call me tonight.
Oh, my God. Maybe he really does care about me a little bit.
Grabbing my purse from the counter, I quickly pull out my notebook and pen and cross out all of the cons about making the first move with Vincent.
Chapter 15: I Don’t Trust Strippers
My foot nervously taps against the rung of the barstool as I absentmindedly look down at the notes I took the other night during our stripping-party field trip. With a frustrated sigh, I push my notebook away and start tapping my fingers on the countertop as well. I’m anxiously waiting for Vincent to come out of his room, and it’s impossible for me to concentrate.
I’ve actually seen him the last few days, ever since he told me he “took care of it” with Steven and Stephanie. Mrs. Potter felt bad for me when I told her about my disastrous dates and informed me that she’d open up the library for a couple of days because, she said, I deserved a few days of sleeping in to recover. Vincent and I have had some time together each day, sharing lunch right after he woke up and before I left for the library. I actually got a little more than a mouth twitch out of him when I told him my version of my date with Steve. I didn’t get a full smile or anything crazy like that, but it was still wonderful.
“And then he asked me if I’d be interested in a threesome. Can you believe that?! And his wife was totally on board. I don’t get it. I’ve never read anything like that in a romance novel,” I told Vincent, shaking my head as I took a bite of one of the ham sandwiches I made us for lunch.
“I once had to break up a fight between a married couple at the club because the wife paid for a lap dance for her husband. He didn’t want it,” Vincent informed me as he grabbed a potato chip from his plate and popped it into his mouth. “They were sitting in one of the booths against the wall and I could hear them screaming above the music. ‘I BOUGHT YOU A PERFECTLY GOOD WOMAN WITH A NICE RACK AND A GREAT ASS! LOOK AT HER BOOBS! LOOK AT THEM RIGHT NOW!’”
Vincent’s voice got high-pitched as he shouted, mimicking the woman, and it was so out of character for him that I immediately started laughing and couldn’t stop as he continued, lowering his voice to imitate the husband.
“‘I DON’T WANT TO LOOK, CHERYL! PLEASE, DON’T MAKE ME LOOK AT ANOTHER WOMAN’S BOOBS. LET’S GET A REFUND AND JUST GO HOME!’”
“I can’t believe that actually happened,” I said through my laughter.
“True story,” Vincent replied.
He told me a few more stories that day about crazy customers at Charming’s that made me laugh so hard I cried. It was fun and easy, and now I’m about to ruin all of that with what I’m going to do.
I’ve made my lists. I’ve rehearsed in front of the mirror a million times, and I think I’ve figured out a way to see if there’s anything between us without actually coming right out and asking him, at the risk of being humiliated.
When I hear his bedroom door open, I perk up in my seat and smooth my sweaty palms down the skirt of my yellow cotton, three-quarter-sleeved baby-doll dress. I hear the creak of the floorboards as he makes his way down the hall, and I blow a few strands of hair, which are falling out of my messy bun, out of my eyes, pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose and taking a deep, fortifying breath.
He steps out into the hallway and my nerves skyrocket, as well as my heart rate. He’s wearing his usual pajamas of drawstring sweatpants sitting low on his hips and no shirt. His hair is rumpled, and his eyes are still heavy from sleep as he gives me a nod on his way to the coffeepot.
“Good morning!” I chirp brightly.
He turns around, leaning back against the counter and staring at me over the lip of the mug as he brings it up to his mouth.
“So, I have another date tonight,” I tell him with an awkward giggle.
He growls under his breath as he pulls the mug away from his mouth.
“Why in the hell are you continuing to go on these stupid things?”
“It was Cindy and Ariel’s idea. And I know the first two were disasters, but I’m hopeful about this one. Plus, I’m a woman of her word, and I would feel bad if I didn’t honor my commitment.”
And I’m kind of hoping that if you know I have another date, it will make you jealous because you care about me and maybe you’re a little bit attracted to me.
“You see, I don’t really have a lot of experience when it comes to men, which you probably already know, since I told you I’ve only kissed one guy before and I’ve never had my heart broken. And to top it off, I’ve only had sex with one guy, one time,” I tell him hurriedly, not wanting to lose my nerve. “It wasn’t the best experience, let me tell you. It was over in like, ten seconds. And it took him, like, twenty minutes just to get it in and—”
“Stop.” Vincent interrupts me, setting his mug down on the counter next to him, but I ignore him.
It’s now or never, and I need to bite the bullet and just get this over with.
“He kept complaining everything was too tight and—”
“Stop,” he interrupts again, his face pinching, almost like he’s in pain.
“That I was too small and he—”
“Stop. Talking.”
Oh, crap. Now I’ve made him mad. Maybe that was too much of an overshare.
A few silent, tense minutes go by, until I can’t stand the quiet any longer, or the way he’s glaring at me and clutching the counter on either side of his hips so hard that I can his knuckles turn white.
“Okay, but can I just say one more thing? It’s really important.”
“Christ,” he mutters under his breath, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.
“I’ve decided I’m probably not going to meet my prince charming on these stupid dates, and all I’m doing is wasting time, hoping they’ll be decent human beings I’m attracted to who can give me the ex
perience I need to learn how men think and what they want, in order to start stripping for The Naughty Princess Club,” I tell him, talking as fast as possible so he won’t interrupt me again. “I already know you so I wouldn’t be wasting my time getting to know you, only to find out you’re an idiot. And . . . well . . . look at you. You’re a guy. A very confident, attractive guy who could teach me about men. And bonus for me, you work at a strip club. You watch women dance and flirt with men every night so they’ll give up lots of tips. I don’t know how to be sexy. I don’t know how to dance. So save me from another horrible date and teach me how to be sexy and flirty with men.”
I take a deep breath, holding it in with nervous anticipation. It’s so quiet in this house you could hear a pin drop. Right when I think I’ve just made the biggest mistake of his life, Vincent finally speaks.
“I’m not a happily-ever-after guy, princess,” he reminds me.
My heart drops just a little bit at his words, but I power through, hoping that if he agrees to this and we spend more time together, maybe he will be a happily-ever-after guy. Maybe he could be my happily-ever-after guy.
“I know. And that’s fine. I mean, it’s not like I think we should get married and have babies or anything,” I say with a nervous giggle.
Oh, God, he would make beautiful babies.
“And I’m not helping you become a stripper,” he scoffs.
“Don’t say that like it’s a bad word! You work at strip club!”
He finally pushes away from the counter and moves to stand across the island from me, crossing his arms over his glorious, naked chest.
“I don’t trust strippers. They’re nothing but liars.”
“Well, I’m not a liar!” I argue. “And I’m not doing this because I’ve always dreamed of taking my clothes off for money. I’m doing it because I need to finally do something new and exciting with my life. And also because it pays really, really well.”
“Oh yeah, it definitely pays well. It pays so well you can get yourself a fancy new place to live, expensive clothes and shoes and jewelry, and probably a nice, expensive car for everyone to be jealous of. Or you can do what they all do and find yourself a nice sugar daddy who will buy all those things for you,” he says angrily with a smirk.
“What are you talking about?! First of all, how dare you suggest that’s the kind of person I am! And second, PJ only employs single mothers and nothing at all like who you’re describing,” I argue, trying really hard not to throw something at him.
“Let’s just say PJ wasn’t always so particular about the women he hired. Some of them lied and cheated and did whatever they could for money,” Vincent informs me.
There is so much hurt and anger in his voice that I want to get down from my stool, move around the counter, and wrap my arms around him, but I’m still too ticked off about what he insinuated about me to move. He’s obviously talking about his own experience, even if he’s not coming right out and saying it.
“Who was she?” I whisper.
He winces, and for one moment, I think I see sadness wash over his features. Just as quickly, that look is gone and replaced with an angry tic of the muscle in his jaw as he glares at me.
“This has nothing to do with me. I’m not teaching someone how to be a stripper, no matter how sweet and innocent she might pretend to be.”
That does it—I hop right off my stool, angrily grabbing my notebook from the counter and shoving it as hard as I can into my purse.
“You are SUCH a jerk!” I shout, yanking my purse off the counter and glaring at him. “For your information, I’m not pretending anything! I don’t need money to buy fancy shoes or jewelry or any of that other crap! I need it to save my library. My home. The only place that has ever made me feel like I was normal, and like I belonged. The only place where people don’t look at me funny when I spout off random, useless facts. That place is my entire life and without it, I don’t even know who the hell I am! The board wants to close down the place that has been my safe haven for nine years. When I walk through those front doors and run my hands over the spines of those books, I feel like I can finally breathe. I refuse to let that happen and, yes, I’m willing to step out of my comfort zone and become a fucking stripper to save it! So, screw you and thanks for nothing!”
Turning around before the tears pooling in my eyes fall down my cheeks, I stomp across the room and out the door, slamming it behind me as I go. I can’t believe I actually thought there could be something more between us. At least I can be thankful that I didn’t do something humiliating by coming right out and telling that jerk I liked him.
* * *
I walk into Vincent’s house at ten o’clock at night after another disastrous date, kicking the door closed behind me and rolling my eyes at myself. I feel like this is the only kind of exit and entrance I’ve made since I moved in to this damn place.
“You’re home early.”
Just like always, I jump and let out a small scream when I hear Vincent’s voice.
“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” I ask in irritation, tossing my purse on the foyer table, wondering why in the hell I can’t catch a break today.
“It was a slow night. I got off early,” he explains, getting off one of the barstools and walking over to me.
“Oh, gee, did you decide to be a creepy stalker and follow me again?”
Even though my words come out sarcastically, part of me kind of hopes he did. Which is a really, really stupid thing to hope for after what happened between us earlier.
“No. What happened?” he asks, concern lacing his voice as he takes another step closer to me.
Even though I want to just shove past him and go into the spare bedroom to cry about my day and the things he said to me, I can’t do it. With a sigh, I begrudgingly tell him about my evening.
“Oh, no big deal. Just another date from hell. This time, with Mr. Jonathan Cogs. It was a positively stimulating evening that started off with his mother picking me up from the library and driving us to dinner because, and I quote, ‘Jonathan’s tandem bike had a flat.’”
Vincent actually has the nerve to twitch the corner of his mouth and I glare at him before continuing.
“We then had a lovely dinner at the Sunshine Diner, a table for three, mind you, because Mrs. Cogs was our chaperone for the evening. And you know, I get it, I was a daddy’s girl and all that. I still lived with my dad up until he kicked me out of the only home I’ve ever had because he didn’t approve of my new friends, and he didn’t like the fact that I needed to spread my wings and actually live life instead of just reading about it in the pages of a book.”
Good God, what is wrong with me? First I tell him about the library, and now this.
Blinking back tears and lifting my chin, I keep going with my story so I can get it over with, go to bed, and pretend like this entire day never happened.
“She cut his food for him. She did all of the talking. And she even asked me if I was fertile because her baby boy isn’t getting any younger and she wants grandchildren,” I finish, blowing out an annoyed breath.
A sound comes out of Vincent’s mouth that makes my heart flutter, and I stare at him in equal parts shock and annoyance.
“Did you just laugh? Are you seriously laughing at what I went through tonight?” I ask.
“I’m sorry. I know it wasn’t funny. I’m also sorry for being an asshole earlier,” he says in a low, serious voice that makes things flutter a lot further south than my heart.
Just when I thought hearing him laugh was shocking enough, he has to go and apologize.
“I believe I called you a jerk, not an asshole, but thank you all the same.”
The corner of his mouth twitches and he takes a step closer to me.
“Did Jonathan kiss you goodnight at the end of your date?” he asks softly.
“Are you serious right now?! So his mother could stand a few inches away from our faces, telling him how to do it? Why would you ask me tha
t?”
He closes the few feet of distance between us, one of his arms snaking around my waist and the other coming up to slide around to the back of my neck. He yanks me against his body and I let out a gasp of surprise, my hands flying up between us to press against his chest.
“I’m asking you that because you’re right, I was a jerk. And I’ve wanted to kiss that mouth of yours ever since you said it. Just wanted to make sure I’m the only one who will be touching those lips tonight.”
He adds pressure to the back of my neck, and before I can ask him what the hell he’s doing, he’s pulled my face closer and his mouth is on mine. I let out another gasp of surprise against his lips, and Vincent takes that opportunity to slide his tongue into my mouth. As soon as it gently swirls around mine, I am completely, and utterly lost. My legs become jelly, and I clutch onto the material of his shirt.
After years and years of reading about first kisses in books, I now realize they are absolutely nothing like the real thing. Nothing I’ve ever experienced in my life compares to the way Vincent kisses me, soft and sweet, and yet hard and demanding at the same time. His arm tightens around my waist, holding me as close as possible as he deepens the kiss. Our mouths push and pull against each other, each swipe of his tongue against mine making me feel tingles all over my body, and want and need that I don’t even know what to do with.
Long before I’m ready for this kiss to end, Vincent slows it down, gently pulling my bottom lip through his teeth, which sends a tingle up my spine. He pulls his head away from mine and looks down at me, his hand moving from around the back of my neck to cup my cheek.
“I thought you didn’t trust strippers,” I whisper after a few seconds, when I finally remember how to speak.