I sighed, “I’ll think about it. Thanks, Ty.”
He was about to say something else when Britt strutted into the room followed by Wallie. Britt was her normal bubbly self and bounced into her seat, talking about how glad she was that the night was over.
Wallie, who never spoke—well not around me anyway—glanced around the room as if he were looking for threats. After he didn’t find any, he locked eyes with me in the mirror. His electric blue eyes sucked the air right out of my lungs, and I couldn’t move. Every time our eyes met that occurred, and I wasn’t sure what to do about it. Finally, Wallie jerked his gaze away from me and turned to Britt.
“You need anything else, Britt?” His voice was even deeper than usual and I fought not to shiver as it slithered along my spine. Man, he wasn’t even talking to me and I reacted that way to him. I seriously needed a night out on the town to let loose.
“Nope, I’m good, Wall. Thanks for another great night.”
He nodded to her and, ever so briefly, hesitated as if he were going to say something else. He glanced my way again and then spun military-style and marched out of the room.
The moment he was gone, I could finally breathe normally again. Why was it that as soon as I saw that man, my brain began to misfire and my lungs stopped working? Anxiety filled every cell of my body because he seemed not to like me. He joked and flirted with every other woman who stepped through the doors of this establishment. Since the day I had started over a year ago, he’d probably grunted a hundred mono-syllabic words to me, the proverbial Neanderthal.
I didn’t understand it, but I supposed that in the long run it didn’t matter. I had a major crush on the guy. Even though his comments were tasteless and rude and they could even sometimes be construed as vulgar, there was something about him that called to me. Deep inside, I knew that if we ever had the chance to connect, we would be perfect together, but that would never happen. Mr. Monroe didn’t allow dancers to date any of the employees. He didn’t care if anyone else dated. In fact, one of the waitresses was married to one of the kitchen staff, and a trainer was engaged to a masseuse. It was only taboo to date one of the dancers—yet another reason I didn’t want to be a dancer, even a part-time one.
I was tired of being single. I was twenty-nine years old, and I wanted to find a man with whom I could fall in love and settle down. I wanted children before I was too old to have them. I didn’t care that women were having kids into their forties now, I didn’t want to wait that long. My heart ached every time I heard a baby cry. When I’d gone to see Pepper’s baby last month, I’d cried as I’d held the sweet little boy in my arms. My biological clock had been ticking for the last few years, and as I approached thirty, it ticked more loudly by the day.
I pulled the sweatshirt over my head and undid the bikini top that I’d worn on the stage under my sweatshirt and pulled it out my left sleeve. I tossed it into my bag to wash at home before I pulled up a pair of leggings and then shoved my feet into my off-brand fur-lined boots.
“Hey, you’re off tomorrow, right?” Britt asked as I grabbed my down jacket and began to walk out of the dressing room.
“Yeah,” I replied, praying she didn’t ask me to take a shift for her.
“I’m decorating my tree and baking cookies tomorrow. Do you want to come by?”
I blinked in astonishment and wondered if I had heard her correctly. “You bake cookies?”
Britt laughed. “Yes, I bake cookies. Don’t you?”
“Um, no, not normally.”
Britt jumped out of her seat and her enormous bust bounced. “Then you need to come over. I’ll text you with the time when I wake up.”
“Okay,” I replied. I was too shocked that Britt baked to even think of saying no. Somehow, I never pictured her doing anything other than dancing. Funny, I know—because she was only at the club for eight or nine hours a night, four times a week. It was strange how little I knew about my colleagues, even stranger that the only person that I really wanted to get to know was leaning against the wall in the hallway wearing a suit and wouldn’t give me the time of day.
During work hours, the guards were required to wear suits, although they did not have to wear ties. Sometimes they did, most times they did not. Every time I saw Wallie in a suit, it took my breath away, okay, so fine that happened pretty much every time I laid eyes on him, but when he was in a suit, I felt the attraction even more viscerally.
As I left the dressing room, the two of us locked eyes again. I forced myself not to look away even though I was tempted to let my eyes wander over all six-feet-one inches of him. My fingers itched to run over the top of his buzzed hair. I wanted so badly to know if his dirty blonde hair was soft or coarse on my palms so I could fantasize how it would feel between my legs. An involuntary shiver raced down my spine as I approached him.
Along with guarding Britt, Wallie was assigned to door duty which meant he would escort me to my car. As I stopped in front of him, his nose flared as he inhaled sharply and stood straight, putting space between us so quickly that I leaned my nose toward my shoulder and sniffed my armpit to see if I had somehow offended him.
Without a word or another look, Wallie pushed open the door and glanced around outside. When it was clear, he held the door open. If I had been anyone else, he would have taken my arm or put his hand on my lower back. I’d seen him take Britt’s and Pepper’s and even Destiny’s and Jewels’s arms as they stepped out, but not mine. He never touched me.
I wasn’t sure why, but for the first time it really bothered me—like, seriously pissed me off—so much so that halfway through the lot, I stopped and glared at his back as he kept moving.
Wallie turned and then scanned the parking lot, looking for a threat. “Why did you stop?”
“Why don’t you take my arm?”
He gave me an odd look, as if he thought I’d lost my mind. “What are you talking about?”
“When you escort the other girls out of the door, you take them by the arm, but you never take mine.” I stalked toward him, determined to find out what his problem was. “In fact, you don’t even talk to me, and you barely ever look at me. Why is that?”
His mouth dropped open for a second and then clamped closed. A muscle ticked in his jaw before he reached over and, none too gently, took my arm. “You want me to escort you, Ms. Reba,” he began to pull me toward my vehicle, stopping as he reached the side and immediately letting go of me, “then you have officially been escorted.” He balled his hands into tight fists at his sides.
I wanted to scream. Had touching me been so damned horrible?
“Jesus, you’re an ass, Wallie.”
His blue eyes flared. “Yeah, I’m an ass. That’s the safest way to think of me, Ms. Reba. Enjoy your night off.”
He stalked away as a variety of feelings twisted through my gut. Why did he say that was the safest way to think of him? Why didn’t he ever want to touch me? Or look at me? Or talk to me?
My mouth dropped open as I realized he knew that I was off work the next night. Either he’d been listening to my conversation with Britt or he’d looked at my schedule. Either way, he had just shown me he was more interested than he was letting on. Now if only there was something I could do about it. Damn—if only I could quit dancing now.
Chapter Two
Wallie
“You’re on Britt tonight,” Ty informed me as he joined me in our locker room. “Wayne has Jewels, and I’ve got Reba.” He grinned smugly at me, “Unless—you’d like Reba.”
“No, you can have her,” I ignored his bait.
“You know, one of these days you’re going to have to admit you have the hots for her,” he joked.
Wayne hooted from the other side of the room. “Yeah, like he’s ever gonna fuckin’ man up and do that.”
“Hey,” I growled toward Wayne, “you have no clue what the fuck you’re talking about, so watch it.”
Wayne grinned as Ty slapped me on the back. “Dude, you are not foolin
g anyone. There is not one person working in this building that doesn’t know you have your eye on Reba, except maybe Reba.”
I froze for a second. “Wait, Monroe doesn’t think anything is going on, does he? Just because people think something is going on, doesn’t mean something is going on.”
“Don’t worry. Quinn knows you’re not going to cross the line,” he pushed his closet door closed and lowered his voice, “but be careful, man, okay? I don’t want you to do something stupid.”
“I’m not going to do anything stupid,” I snarled at him and yanked my suit jacket off the hanger. “There is nothing going on with Reba, and there never will be, so just let it go.”
Ty put his hands up as if to hold me off. “Okay, I hear you, don’t shoot the messenger. I’m your friend. I’m just trying to help.”
“Yeah, whatever,” I muttered.
After Ty and Wayne left me alone in the locker room, I leaned against the wall next to my closet, feeling frustrated. Our locker room wasn’t a traditional locker room with metal frame lockers or institutional tiles. No, this particular locker room was for the security guards that worked the club. There were twelve closets. Each closet was four feet long and could hold several suits, had shelves for personal items, like workout gear and gym bags, and had room for shoes and accessories. We could even lock the closets if we wanted to, although none of us did, except Ty. Instead of metal or wooden benches, we had plush leather chairs and couches and several individual showers. It was the nicest locker room I’d ever seen, and it was nothing compared to the main one for the clients. That one was even more incredible with private changing areas that were leased by the clients.
I was generally assigned to the girls so I worked nights, and it was rare for me to be here on a day shift unless I was working out in the gym or helping with something else. I preferred to work with the girls. I didn’t much like to hang around with the stuffed suits, or clients, as we were supposed to refer to them. If I could get away with it, I’d never put a suit on, but for this gig, I did have to zip up the slacks and button up the silk shirts. At least Monroe paid us well enough that we could afford the nice threads.
Before I took this gig, I wore combat clothing even after returning from my three tours overseas. I was much more comfortable in fatigues and boots than society clothing, but you did what you had to do to survive. I was just glad that we had a gym here that we could use, and I didn’t have to waste money on a club membership someplace else. Monroe made sure we had the best of the best for working out. No matter what equipment we needed, all we had to do was ask for it, and he would supply us with it. He figured if we could use it, so could his clients.
I had no idea where he got the money or if the club was so lucrative that he could afford to spend money so easily, but that wasn’t my problem. As long as I was doing my job, paying my bills, and putting a nice chunk in the bank for a rainy day—I was happy.
Of course, I could be happier. If I had a woman, I might be happier. A woman like Reba St. James would make me happy, but the chance of ever having a woman as incredible as her in my life was very slim. I wandered out of the locker room and down the hall toward the dressing room as Wayne had just announced over the earpiece that Britt had arrived.
Reba only danced one night a week. I liked it better when she didn’t dance, not that she wasn’t an incredible dancer, she was. She had a fantastic stage presence that drew the audience in, and she really rolled bank when she wanted to. She had these incredibly-innocent green eyes that appeared so young and could seem scared or seductive with just a blink, and damn did she know how to use them on the stage.
As much as I loved to watch her move on the stage, I much preferred her to be wearing a longer skirt and blouse and serving cocktails to the clients. Of course, there the men could touch her and flirt with her, even ask her out on dates, but she was good with handling them, really good. I’d watched her closely for a long time and realized that while she flirted back, she was doing it for the tips. I’d never seen her genuinely interested in anyone. It was really going to suck when she did meet someone she liked.
What I really hated worse than her dancing on stage was when she disappeared into the private rooms on her dancing nights. From the second she went behind a door until she reappeared a few minutes later, I was always a raging mess. It was one of the reasons I’d told Ty never to match me up to her for protection duty. I would not have been able to stand outside her door while I knew she was on the other side giving some stuffed shirt a one-on-one lap dance where he might be copping a feel or getting an extra peek. I didn’t think Reba would allow that, but I didn’t know what she did behind closed doors. I’d seen the videos of what happened back there; Monroe videoed everything that happened inside this building for everyone’s protection, especially the girls’.
When the girls were in the private rooms, they were allowed to do what they wanted, as long as there was no sex involved since the clients were paying for the dances. There was a guard who was assigned to watch the video feed each night, and he was responsible for making sure that the girls were safe while they were inside the rooms and that there were no sexual favors. This was a club for entertainment, not prostitution, and it was taken seriously.
Personally, I think that’s why the girls liked working here. They knew they weren’t going to get groped or attacked. They could be sexy or sensual, give a little more, or be cautious, depending on how they felt, and their employer protected them. Most strip club owners didn’t do that—not that this was a strip club—but there was no way Quinn would allow anyone to abuse, harass, or assault any of his dancers, and the girls loved him for it.
All of the guards and essential employees around the club wore ear devices, and we had microphones clipped to the insides of our collars. Even Monroe wore one when he was in the building. I made sure that when Reba was dancing, I was guarding one of the other girls so I didn’t get stuck watching the video feeds in case she went into one of the rooms.
I’d heard that she actually preferred waitressing to dancing and wondered if she would consider giving up dancing altogether. If she did, then maybe I could ask her out. Would she even consider it? She was in a totally different league than I was. She was like a goddess, and I was a fisherman only meant to supply her with food.
Maybe that’s why every time I was around her I was tongue-tied and couldn’t think straight. When I stepped into the dressing room at the end of the night and our eyes locked in the mirror, I saw something that made my heart pound so hard in my chest that I would have sworn that she could hear it. Was she feeling the same apprehension at my presence that I felt at hers? No fucking way! It wasn’t possible—was it?
I stood outside the door to the dressing room, hidden in the shadows, and watched her as she removed her makeup. She was beautiful no matter what she wore, but as she took off the layers of heavy stage makeup, I was riveted by the fresh skin she unearthed. She pulled the sweatshirt over her head and undid her top. I should have felt like a peeping Tom, but I didn’t. It was my job to watch the girls. One of us was to observe them all the time if we could. Wayne and Ty had stepped away and I had door duty—which meant I watched the girls.
When Reba approached me wearing yoga pants, bulky boots, and a fluffy jacket, I wanted to laugh. She looked twice her size. She was tiny, maybe five-foot-four or five when she was barefoot, and I loved that she was that tiny. I could just imagine curling around her little body and warming her up on a cold winter night.
Her green eyes glittered with a question that I didn’t want to consider—and sure as hell didn’t want to answer. It didn’t help that as she reached me, her scent slammed into me so hard that I became dizzy, and I turned toward the door in record time. I opened it, pretending to look out, and sucked in fresh air to clear my fuzzy mind.
If she had been anyone else, I would have gently taken her arm and led her out to the parking lot, but I feared contact with Reba. Just being this close to her had my hormone
s snapping to attention, and my buddy below the belt was already paying close attention. I could not imagine what actual contact with her body would do to me.
We walked halfway through the lot before she came to an abrupt stop, and I turned and looked around, trying to figure out what was keeping her from moving toward her car when it was this cold out.
“Why did you stop?”
She shocked the shit out of me when she asked, “Why don’t you take my arm?”
Say what? “What are you talking about?”
“When you escort the other girls out of the door, you take their arms, but you never take mine.” She came closer and got into my face as much as she could. Damn—it would be so fucking easy to kiss her right now. “In fact, you don’t even talk to me, and you barely ever look at me. Why is that?”
Just kiss her! Do not fucking kiss her! I argued with myself.
I ground my teeth. I reached for her arm. “You want me to escort you, Ms. Reba, then I will officially escort you.” I nearly dragged her the last twelve feet and then let go of her. “You have officially been escorted.”
“Jesus, you’re an ass, Wallie.”
She didn’t know the half of it. She was lucky that the only thing I had done was lead her to her car. I could easily have pushed her up against her car and kissed her thoroughly, or shoved her into her car and had my way with her as I had fantasized doing for the last year. “Yeah, I’m an ass. That’s the safest way to think of me, Ms. Reba. Enjoy your night off.”
I was at the back door to the building when her car door slammed, and then her engine turned over but didn’t start. I paused with my hand on the door handle and waited. She tried again, and this time it started and she revved the engine.
Thank god, because I wasn’t sure I would have been able to drive her home if her car hadn’t started. We’d spoken more tonight than we had in the year she’d worked here, and suddenly it felt like things had changed. If I were stuck in a car with her for five minutes, it would feel four minutes and fifty-nine seconds too long.
Whispers of Winter: A Limited Edition Collection of Winter Romances Page 104
