by Casey Hagen
“Order’s up, handsome,” Lulu said and slapped the counter where she’d set his coffee.
“Thanks,” he said. He grabbed the cup which had to be at least thirty-two ounces and faced Mabel Lee.
The petal-pink filmy dress hugged her subtle curves. The skirt danced just above her knees as the fabric shifted with her movements. Damned if she didn’t look sexy as sin and virginal all at once.
Her blue eyes shot wide with shock, and her mouth fell open. “Uh, Kellen. Hey. I mean, hi.” Her startled gaze shot to the door, and he’d swear by the way she fidgeted on her feet, she would flee at any second.
“Hey, are you okay?”
“Great! Good. I’m good. And you, how have you been?” she said, barely sparing him a glance and looking at the door once again.
He followed her gaze and spotted a short woman with salt-and-pepper hair waving as another lady walked toward her car. When she put her arm down and turned for the door, the blood drained from Mabel Lee’s face.
The pieces started to slide into place. The woman was her mama.
And terror had gripped Mabel Lee by her pretty little throat.
He tried to keep the bitterness from filling him. He really did. But they were adults. Hell, he was almost thirty, and she was in her mid-twenties, employed, and had her own apartment. Why was this even an issue?
“Mabel Lee, dear. Did you get those drinks yet?”
“They’re coming right up, Mama. Why don’t you go wait in the car? I can get it.”
“Nonsense. I could use a good stretch.” Inquisitive eyes met his, and her mouth turned down at the corners. “Who’s this?”
“Oh, he’s a customer here. Um, I didn’t get your name,” she lied.
Given her reaction, he expected her to pretend they hadn’t just been on a date a couple days before, but he sure as hell didn’t expect her to pretend that they’d never met before that moment. “Kellen,” he said, the words tasting like rancid liquor sliding down his throat.
“You shouldn’t be talking to strange men, Mabel Lee. It doesn’t look right,” her mama whispered not so quietly beside Mabel Lee.
“No worries, Mrs.?”
“Montgomery,” she said, her wary gaze traveling over him like he was some convict that had just escaped the penitentiary.
“Mrs. Montgomery. I have appearances of my own to keep up and don’t make it a habit to speak to strange women.” He turned back to the board, anger pumping through his blood. It wasn’t the mature response. Not by a long shot, but it was the same attitude based on assumptions that she’d aimed at him, so why not?
He listened to the commotion behind him. With each second that passed, he wondered more and more if he’d just been the world’s biggest idiot. He didn’t have a hair-trigger temper. Of course, he could get mad with the best of them, but usually ignorant people left him amused, not angry.
But this was Mabel Lee. This poked at everything he worried about as they got involved. First, the stripping, which didn’t have an end on the horizon and that was non-negotiable. Then twinges of insecurity about his job that often left him coated in sweat and caked in dirt, rumbling around in his work truck every day, and sometimes at night.
She’d warned that her mama had eyes everywhere, indicating the tight rein she tried to maintain on her daughter, and that was bad enough, but the fact that Mabel Lee didn’t put a stop to it was her fault entirely.
And if she really wanted to see where this could all go, she couldn’t be ashamed of him. And she could never pretend he was a stranger again just to save face.
It wasn’t fair to either of them.
When he thought it might finally be safe, he turned to find Mabel Lee taking one last look back at him, hurt in her eyes.
Well, that made the two of them. He’d never once been so dismissed by someone, especially someone he cared about.
She hung her head, a look of regret on her beautiful face, a face he’d held in his hands just a few days before, and headed out the door.
Lulu sighed, her hands on her hips, an irritated pinch to her mouth. “That poor girl has been a living sacrifice every day trying to mend her father’s reputation. What kills me is that she already has, but she keeps maintaining appearances just to soothe that insecurity her mama carries like a chip on her shoulder.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, leaning on the counter next to Lulu.
“It’s not really my story to tell.”
“No, but you’re going to tell me anyway, right?” he asked.
She pursed her lips. “You are a charming one, aren’t you?”
“I’ve been told that, yeah,” he said with a laugh.
“Fine, but first, there’s something between you two, ain’t there?”
“It’s new, but yeah, at least I thought so.”
“Boy, there’s no thought so. That girl puckered faster than a sex offender’s asshole after getting dropped in state prison.”
He rubbed his hand over his forehead and winced. “I’m going to try to forget that gross explanation, but yes, there’s something between us.”
“Her mama won’t like it,” she warned.
“Looks like her mama doesn’t like anyone, so I won’t take it personally.” At least, he’d work on not taking it personally. For the moment though, he was going to stew a bit in his mad.
“Good. That’s good. Because that girl needs a solid man. And not those spineless boys from the church still being led around by the nose that her mama keeps trying to set her up with. She’s been trying to erase the stain on her daddy’s reputation for too long. A stain that never should have been there, but because of the gossips over there at Willette Baptist, it took on a life of its own.”
A memory niggled in his head with the name of the church that had his gut bottoming out and his skin prickling.
“What happened to her father?” he asked as a buzzing started in his ears.
“He got taken for thirty grand when he hired a guy to do the renovations at the church. Stuart Mouldon showed up maybe twice after that and then took off with the money.”
There it was. The absolute worst-case scenario staring him right in the face. Here he had been worried that she was a member of the church his father cheated, but nope. He would have been grateful if that had been his only challenge.
“He couldn’t have known; the man had solid references, but Preacher Montgomery opted to pay him up front when he was only required to put down a deposit. So the members of the congregation blamed him for being all sorts of fool and trusting so much of their money in his hands.”
“I can understand why they’re mad,” he said, forcing the words past the lump of dread in his throat. No need to call that attorney now.
“I could too, but eight years later? I tell you, all that preaching about forgiveness has not gotten through their fool heads, and Mabel Lee has been thrust right into the middle of all their nonsense, trying to protect that mama of hers who’s just as bad as the rest of them.”
“Thank you, Lulu,” he said and leaned over to kiss her cheek.
“You just keep charming that girl. She’s got it in her to do amazing things, but not if she doesn’t start setting some serious boundaries.”
“I’ll do that.” Maybe it was a lie; maybe it wasn’t. In that moment, he couldn’t know. He hurt. It was that simple. He wanted an apology, but at the same time, he knew full well he wouldn’t confess who he was to her. Not yet.
Which made him undeserving of the apology.
A selfish bastard.
And not much different than his lying father.
11
Mabel Lee tried to call him the minute she got home.
The first time it went to voicemail, she assumed he was still driving.
The second time, showering.
The third, maybe grabbing some dinner.
By nine o’clock, she had to admit that she’d screwed up.
She’d only just begun to narrow down the best ways to break
this all to her mama after ruling out a series of catastrophic ideas: a singing gram, plying her with wine, or making her a nice dinner and slipping her Cassidy’s Xanax.
But if he didn’t answer the phone, and really, who could blame him, she might not have anything to tell. Just that thought made her a coward.
She’d hurt him. She saw it in those turbulent eyes of his, and she needed to make it right.
She glanced at the clock; it had been almost a full twenty-four hours and not a peep out of him. Since she didn’t know where he lived and his day job took him all over, she only had one option.
Big Shift.
So, what did it make her if she walked into a strip club alone? Confident? Pathetic? Maybe she could call one of the girls to go with her.
Or not. They wouldn’t need someone to hold their hand if the position were reversed. They would walk in and handle their business without needing backup.
She would just have to do the same. Besides, he might not even be there, and the whole thing might be for nothing.
One thing was for sure; she was not drinking. Nope. Not one drop.
She sifted through her array of dresses looking for one in particular. One that made her feel pretty. The pale lavender cascaded through her fingers as she smoothed her hand over it. Tiny white flowers shimmered in the light. The smooth lining made her feel like she was nestled in her favorite pajamas. The cuffed sleeves stopped just above her elbow and the skirt right at the knee.
There wasn’t a hint of cleavage to be seen, but that was okay. Her girls liked showing off those parts of themselves, but she was most comfortable like this. Feminine, a tad modest, and maybe even a bit fearless.
She was going to need the armor of complete self-confidence if she was going to get through this apology and hopefully make up.
She refused to think about the alternative. Total success. That was her only option.
She rolled into the parking lot at eight and made her way inside. Not nearly as intimidated, she found a seat near the stage but off the side a fraction so as not to be the center of attention.
A dance beat thrummed in the background, and the banner over the stage declared it “Couples Night” which explained the mix of people around her.
“What can I get for you, darlin’?” a waiter wearing nothing but a set of chaps said as he leaned his ear toward her.
“Could I get a seltzer and cranberry juice please?”
“Sure thing. Hang tight and I’ll be right back,” he said with a wink before walking away, his butt on full display. And shiny.
They were all so shiny.
The music screeched like the sound of a record scratching, and somewhere from the darkness, an MC called out. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome…Catalina!”
A sexy Latin beat pumped through the speakers, and the curtain parted for an fierce woman wearing a leopard print fitted dress in the style that women did for doing the tango. Cat eye makeup that would rival even the best makeup artist’s abilities highlighted whiskey brown eyes that fairly glowed under the lights. Her hair cascaded down her back in a tumble of waves as she rocked and swayed.
How did they do it?
How did they forget all the eyes on their body and just go with the music?
She picked up the drink that had arrived without her noticing and sipped as she watched. The woman had beautiful curves, thick thighs, and full breasts.
Soon, the dress fell away, leaving her in nothing but a tiny thong that left little to the imagination. On her knees, she crawled along the stage, her round bottom high in the air, a predatory gleam in her eye, and her breasts swaying just a couple feet from customers.
The women for the most part seemed to be just as into the show as the men. Couples gravitated toward each other as they watched. Their hands wandering over their partners, sexual energy snapping and popping through the air.
Catalina reached her where she sat, smiled, flipped her hair, and cocked her hip.
Mabel Lee pulled out a ten and slid it in the strap of her thong.
“Thank you, sugar,” Catalina said, her eyes already on the next table.
“Wait!”
“You want more, sugar? I’ll give you more.” Catalina settled on her knees before her and rolled her rather impressive stomach. Abs flexed, her thigh muscles bunched, and her breasts swayed at eye level.
“You’re beautiful, but actually I had a question,” Mabel Lee said, leaning toward her.
“Private dances are fifty. No touching,” Catalina said.
“Well, thank you. That’s good to know, but actually, I was wondering, is Viper here tonight?”
“He sure is, sugar. He’s next up.”
“Thank you. I’ll let you move on now. You’re doing a wonderful job.”
Catalina laughed, shook her head, and moved on, leaving Mabel Lee to wonder if she’d just made a total fool of herself.
Didn’t the woman deserve a compliment? It’s only fair that Mabel Lee gave credit where credit was due. Frankly, she had to give them a whole lot of kudos for being brave enough to take off their clothes and submit themselves to that kind judgment.
She wished she could be that brave. So far the bravest thing she had done was call the number on a condom and walk into Big Shift alone.
Baby bravery, but she was working on it.
Lost in thought, she missed Catalina’s exit and hadn’t even realized that she finished her set until the music changed and the emcee came over the speakers yet again.
“Okay, fellas, now that you’re all hot and bothered, it’s your lady’s turn to get a little tender loving care. Put your hands together for…Viper!”
Her mouth ran dry, and she held her breath, waiting for a glimpse of him. When she finally caught sight, her stomach plummeted right to the tips of her toes.
A black clergy robe with red crosses on the breast reached down to his shiny black dress shoes. The crisp white collar around his neck fairly glowed in the spotlight shining down on him, almost casting him as some divine angel hovering above the stage.
She should be offended, right? Surely this had nothing to do with her. His act would have required planning?
Instead, her heart kicked up, galloping with excitement under her modest neckline. Her skin all of a sudden felt too tight, too hot, as she watched him circle a scuffed table that looked to be a desk from centuries ago.
The music shifted, turned dark, with heavy percussion, the kind that wound its way inside of you until your body vibrated along with it. A drawn out, deep note as he set the bible in his hands on the scarred wood made her jump.
His fingers caressed the wood, the tips tapping the book before sliding away. He looked lost in deep contemplation, the weight of the world on his shoulders making him tug his hair until it stood up in odd spikes.
With a quick flick of his wrist at his throat, the top of the robe broke free, the collar along with it.
The women around her gasped, their gazes filled with sinful wonder.
He paced, his feet moving with the music. He didn’t dance, but boy did he titillate. Crisp movements with dramatic pauses following created this odd fascination that had the room almost silent as they took it all in.
Something about this man, the way every move was deliberate, evocative, enthralled audiences, and an odd sense of pride filled her knowing he had that power. That he cared about giving a quality performance in a profession most would consider trashy.
And he wanted her. This man she’d hurt. She just hoped when she got a chance to talk to him that maybe he still would.
“Another seltzer and cranberry juice?” the waiter from before asked from where he crouched next to her.
She glanced down, surprised to find an empty glass. She smiled. “Yes, please,” she said.
Her skin prickled.
Goosebumps rose on her arms.
She turned to the stage and found Kellen’s eyes on her. His eyes widened a fraction with surprise, his mouth hardened, and his robe fell to
the floor.
Lord.
Have.
Mercy.
It was as if he used his nakedness as a direct challenge. There were no steps, no teases, no slow undressing. This was a man of the cloth and then a man without.
Bare, just as when he came into this world and the image was so stunningly brilliant tears formed in her eyes.
The crowd didn’t even wait. Bills landed on the edge of the stage, some drifting off and falling to the floor.
The crowd wanted more.
Demanded more.
As for her, she wanted forgiveness for her sins and only he could give it.
12
Yup, he was a Grade A asshole.
If he’d had any doubts before, tonight clinched it.
Was there any worse of a routine for him to do in front of her? Shit.
The minute his set was up, he threw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and headed for the crowd, hoping that he wouldn’t be too late like last time.
The band of anxiety squeezing his chest from the first minute he’d spotted her eased when he noticed her in that ultra-feminine sundress and those shapely calves, her avid gaze on Talia as she commanded the stage.
The curious expression on Mabel Lee’s face as she watched one of their hottest female dancers made his lips twitch.
Only Mabel Lee. It’s like she saw Talia as a puzzle that she just had to figure out. Damned if it wasn’t just one more thing to love about her that deflated the balloon of anger that sat in his gut since the day before.
He snagged an empty chair and straddled it next to her. “What are you curious about, Mabel Lee?” he asked, attempting to slip slowly into the heavy issue they needed to tackle, and avoid one mountainous one that he hoped he wouldn’t ever have to hash out.
“How do they do it? I mean, I guess I just think it’s easier for men. This world gives them more latitude, but women are judged for everything. So how do they cast that aside and go up there with so much confidence even when they’re stripped bare?” she asked, barely sparing him a glance as Talia tossed her bikini top.
