Look Don’t Touch

by Tess Oliver

"I wish I did, but yeah, cheap isn't easy around here. Southern California, the land of perpetual sunshine and costly living expenses."

  "I'd settle for more clouds if it meant paying less for rent." She slammed shut the car door. "Guess I better get back to the stockroom." She sidled past me and looked admiringly at my bike as she headed back to the bar. "This looks fun. Be careful out there. Those California drivers are lunatics."

  "Thanks, I will." I watched her disappear around the corner to the side door. I stared into the chaos of clutter in her car. She was living out of the backseat, but she was still smiling.

  I headed back to my bike and picked the helmet up off the seat. I lifted it to pull on over my head, but then stopped. It was crazy. The whole idea was fucking nuts but then nuts ran in the family. I set the helmet back on the seat and headed to the side door of the bar.

  I still hadn't formulated what my proposal would be as I reached the open door. I stopped at the doorway and looked inside. I couldn't see Shay. Finding the stockroom vacant felt a bit like a warning. Turn back around and head home, Archer. This was a stupid idea.

  But before I could talk myself into turning away, Shay stepped out from behind a stack of wine crates. Her eyes rounded with surprise when she realized someone was standing in the doorway.

  "Oh, it's you," she said with some relief. I instantly wondered if she was worried about her ex showing up to hassle her. "Did you need to talk to Rocky?"

  "Actually no, I wanted to talk to you." I wasn't thrilled by her reaction but then I couldn't blame her for being hesitant. I was, after all, standing like a creepy stalker in the doorway. It seemed not all women were ready to throw themselves into my arms, I thought wryly.

  She wiped her hands off on her jeans. "Did you think of a room for rent?"

  "No." I decided not to step inside and lingered in the doorway. "Well yes, sort of. I know a place you can stay for free. At least temporarily until you find a place of your own." And until I've finished my insane withdrawal from women plan, I added inside my head. "I've got a proposal for you which I think will benefit both of us. I want you to stay at my beach house in Malibu."

  Her face lit up. "Do you need me to house sit? I'll do it for free because as you saw, I'm living in my car. I'm very good at house sitting. I promise all of your plants will still be alive when you get back. Especially if they are succulents or cacti, I'm exceptionally good at not killing plants that prefer to be ignored."

  "Actually, you won't need to worry about plants or taking care of the house because I'll be there."

  Her smooth dark brow disappeared under the curtain of white bangs. "I don't understand." Something seemed to dawn on her, and she took a step back.

  "You're safe. I'm not going to touch you, now, or when you move into my house. In fact, that's the whole point. It's far too complicated to tell you in a quick chat, but here's the deal. You need a place to live until you find a new apartment, and I have a room in my house. A very nice room and a luxury bathroom goes with it. You'll have free access to the entire house, the pool, the private beach—"

  "Pool? Private beach? Luxury bathroom? Not sure what constitutes luxury in a bathroom. Quilted toilet paper?"

  I smiled. "And a few more amenities I think you'll enjoy."

  "What's the catch?"

  I hesitated, not entirely sure how to continue. She took the pause as something sketchy.

  She backed up again. "I take my clothes off on stage, but I'm not a whore. I think this conversation is over." She headed back to the crates of wine.

  "Wait, Shay. I told you I won't touch you. I will even add that to the contract—

  "There's going to be a contract?"

  "It's always a good idea to have a contract if someone is being paid a large sum of money."

  She stopped and turned around. "Who is getting paid a large sum of money?"

  "You. I'll pay you. Like I said, it's complicated."

  "I've got to get back to work." She backed up without taking her eyes off of me. I'd fucked up. My entire approach was wrong.

  I pulled a business card out of my wallet and wrote down my address on the back. "I'm going to leave my business card here on this stack of pallets." I placed the card down. "In case you change your mind."

  Just then, the door to the stockroom opened, and Rocky walked inside. His expression went from surprise to annoyance. Rocky didn't know much about Jack and me except that every few weeks we showed up in our expensive cars to drink beer and watch the dancers. His thick black brow arched in full suspicion. "Nash, you know I don't let my customers bother the dancers."

  "I'm just leaving. Have a good day."

  9

  It was early fall, but the California sun was still high in the sky. And hot. The sand burned the soles of my feet as I headed back to the house with my chair and empty beer bottle. Sunlight reflected off the massive front window of my beach house, temporarily blinding me as I reached the stepping stones that led up the small hill of dark pink ice plants. I walked through the transparent gate at the corner of the Plexiglas fence that bordered the pool area. Back when I was still winning in the game of life, I'd come out on top in a bidding war for the once dilapidated three thousand square foot beach house. Everyone interested in high end real estate understood that the house was a diamond in the rough. Especially with its prime location just feet from the ivory sand on one of California's best beaches. With some major remodeling inside and out, I had turned the place into a sleek, modern architectural marvel. It was my gem on the sea, the first house I ever bought. I'd had multiple offers to buy the place for three times what I paid for it, but I had no plans to sell it.

  Unfortunately, even my incredible gem on the sea couldn't bring me out of my dark mood. I was mad as hell at myself for approaching Shay the day before. And when Rocky stepped in and put an end to the conversation, it had dawned on me that I was still in failure mode. It seemed lately, I couldn't do anything right.

  Four beers and no lunch had only made my mood worse. I walked into the kitchen, a maze of smooth white quartz and high gloss steel, and opened the refrigerator. Half a roast chicken and a leftover burrito from my favorite Mexican restaurant were the only edible items, and edible was a loose term considering I couldn't remember eating either food at any time in the last week.

  The doorbell rang. I dropped the old food into the trash and headed to the front door. Kimberly was leaning against the porch column, talking on her phone. My no strings attached friend was exactly what I needed right now.

  "I'll see you soon, Dad. Bye." Kimberly dropped the phone into her purse and flashed her brilliant white teeth at me.

  "You're a fucking sight for sore eyes." I grabbed her hand and pulled her into the house. Normally, she would have slipped right past me, halfway to being naked before she even reached the hall. Instead, she lingered in the entryway.

  I turned back to her. "Want a drink first?"

  She rolled her plump lips in. It seemed she had something to tell me. Instead of words, she held up her left hand. A bright diamond and platinum ring sparkled on her finger.

  "I'm engaged."

  I laughed but cut it short when I saw that she was serious. "Congratulations," I said hesitantly. "I guess I had you all wrong. I figured tying yourself down to one man was the last thing you wanted . . . or needed."

  "Turns out, I had myself figured wrong too. And just because it's one man, it doesn't mean I can't still get tied down." She walked closer and kissed my cheek. "I'll take that drink." She headed into the living room, and I walked to the wet bar to pour her a martini.

  Kimberly sat on the couch and crossed her long legs as I walked toward the sofa. It was just a natural gesture, but I took it as a symbol that I was no longer part of her wild sex life. It was a major fucking blow.

  I handed her the martini. "You're not drinking?" she asked.

  "I'm good. I just had a beer. I had to wash away my visit to Hell House." Kimberly and I spent most of our time together in bed, bu
t in between, we talked enough to know about each other's lives and childhoods. We'd both grown up in wealthy households, only Kimberly's early life had been filled with glamour and excitement. Unlike my dad, her parents knew how to enjoy money.

  "I thought you seemed a little off." She sipped her drink. "And here I was hoping you were down because I'm officially out of the game."

  "Trust me. That depressing reality was just another blow to a long month of blows."

  Kimberly stirred the martini with the olive toothpick. "How is your new business going?"

  "It's not." I walked over to the front picture window and pulled open the drapes to watch the sun reflect off the deep blue ocean. There were thin wispy clouds layered across the horizon.

  "Why is that?" she asked.

  "Just don't have the energy to start it."

  "That doesn't sound like the cutthroat, failure-is-not-an-option man who used to fuck my brains out in every room of this house."

  "Maybe being cutthroat isn't so great and maybe failure isn't so bad. Enough about me," I said curtly. "You haven't told me about him, the guy who finally reined in the wildest heiress on this side of the Atlantic." I sat down on the couch.

  The turn in topic enthused her. Kimberly grinned as she admired the ring on her finger. "Paul has a winery in France. He's not overly wealthy, but he's very comfortable. And, I admit that's what attracted me to him. He has a better sense of reality than most men. You being the exception to that, of course."

  "Of course. But this was kind of sudden. Are you sure?"

  She smiled and her mind seemed to coast off to a daydream. "We've only known each other a month, but almost from the moment we first kissed, I was sure he could be my Prince Charming."

  "Wow, he must be really great." I tried to sound happy for her, but I just wasn't finding the enthusiasm.

  She reached over and squeezed my hand. "You should try it yourself, Nash. Being attached is not nearly as awful as I thought. The opposite in fact. And Paul is almost as good in bed as you."

  "Now you're just trying to make me feel better."

  "No, it's true. But with a little training, I'll have him whipped into shape."

  "Odd how your mind goes right to the word whip." I grunted in frustration. "Can't believe I'm never going to spank that beautiful ass of yours again."

  Kimberly laughed. "My ass is something else, isn't it?" She splashed back the rest of the martini and handed me the empty glass. "I've got to drive out to Bel Air. My parents are expecting me for dinner."

  I walked her to the door. She stopped in the entryway for a long hug. It was strange holding her as just a platonic friend and yet I wasn't feeling any sense of heartbreak. She walked out and I lingered to watch her walk down the steps. I liked Kimberly a lot, but I never loved her. She was fantastic and gorgeous and fun and sexy, but I never felt anything deeper than friendship with her. I didn't know how to fall in love. I'd grown up in a household that avoided even using the word. While my dad was busy molding his son into a money making machine, he forgot to turn on the human switch. Jack loved to joke about my lack of emotion, and I didn't mind because I'd grown up learning that feelings of affection, empathy and sorrow were the things that made people weak. But I'd let my physical needs, superficial as they were, get in the way. I was at a tipping point in my life, it seemed. Continue on the path of self-gratification until I reach the end, whatever that ending is, or straighten out and get back the steely determination and iron will to succeed.

  After a few more minutes of searching the kitchen for something edible, I pulled out my phone to call for a pizza but the doorbell rang. I glanced around to see if Kimberly had left her purse, but I didn't see it. Maybe she had changed her mind.

  "I knew you couldn't live without my cock," I blurted as I swung the door open.

  Big brown eyes blinked up at me. "Oh wow, I knew this was a big mistake."

  "Shay. Sorry. That comment was meant for someone else."

  "So that's not the way you usually greet people on your front stoop? Good to know." Her gaze swept along the front of the house. "Nice place. Guess this is what you meant by luxury."

  I stepped back. "Would you like to come inside?" I stood aside and waved her in, but she stayed put.

  "I'll just stay out here if that's all right. In fact, it was silly of me to come." She pointed back with her thumb. "I'm just going to climb back into my condo on wheels. Have a nice day." She turned to leave.

  Move in quick, make them an offer they'd be crazy to refuse. After my bumbling, rambling crazy sounding proposal in the stockroom, I needed to tighten up my offer. I needed to get back the sharp edge I used for every business deal. Because in the long run, that's what this would be.

  "Two weeks. A hundred thousand dollars wired straight into your bank account for services rendered," I called from the porch.

  She stopped and stared at her crumbling little car, weighted down with her belongings. I was sure she'd keep walking. But she turned back around. "Services rendered? I told you, I'm not a whore."

  "I'm not asking for sex. I will ask you to strip for me and wear sexy lingerie and do things that will turn me on. Although, trust me, you won't need to do much because I was turned on just watching you walk to your car." I walked cautiously down the steps, worried I might scare her off like a timid deer in the forest. Especially after my last comment. But she wasn't a timid deer. I didn't know much about her except that every inch of her was seductive, and it seemed she was a woman who knew how to survive.

  "I don't understand. Why on earth would you pay me to stand around in sexy lingerie? And just to be clear, the good stuff, not the cheap polyester stuff with itchy lace?"

  I smiled. "Yes, the good stuff."

  "You still haven't said why."

  I was certain if I told her the real reason, that I needed to kick the pussy habit with a harsh form of self-denial, she'd climb into her car and never look back. I sure as hell would. "Let's just say it's a form of mental training. I'm trying to break a habit of sorts."

  "Like aversion therapy? So I'd be playing the part of the painful shock when you think about . . ." She searched my face as if she could find an answer there. "Exactly what kind of habit are you trying to break?"

  "One that's been getting in the way of my focus. And no, you wouldn't be the painful electric shock. The opposite in fact. I do things differently than most people. If I was trying to lose weight, I'd place slices of chocolate cake around the house to build up my self-control."

  "So I'd be the chocolate cake?" She hugged herself against the cold breeze wafting on shore. "Better than electric shock, I guess."

  "Yes, you'd be the tempting chocolate cake. I won't touch you. You'll be free to do as you please, and you can even leave the house for short times, if needed. But you'll need to quit the strip club and sign a non-disclosure clause. You'll be able to talk to friends, but you won't be able to tell anyone what you're doing here."

  The onshore breeze was kicking up. She pushed her hands into her sweatshirt pockets to warm them. "Why not?"

  "It's no one else's business."

  "Then I just stand around in your house all day, wearing skimpy clothes and admiring the view?"

  "Pretty much."

  She tilted her head to the side. "What if you fall in love with me?"

  "That won't happen."

  She laughed. "Sure didn't take you long to come to that conclusion. You could have added just a hint of a pause before you blurted that."

  "This isn't about feelings. None of this will have to do with emotion of any kind. It's a business proposition. That's all."

  "You sure know how to charm a girl. But you know what, my intuition is telling me to pass. After all, you are obviously rich and you are that perfectly dark and edgy looking type that women swoon for. I'm sure you've got a phone full of numbers. A different girl for each day of the week. I don't know why you'd need me." She swung around to her car and then spun right back. "In fact, that's a good question.
Why me?"

  I moved a few feet closer, but not too close, still working on the assumption that she didn't trust me at all. "Seriously? You have to ask that? Maybe it has escaped your notice that the entire Fantasm Club breaks down into chaos when you float onto stage."

  She shrugged. "I stay in my head when I'm dancing. It makes stripping a lot easier."

  "That makes sense."

  She glanced out to the beach where the sun was starting to drop on the horizon. The thin clouds were tinted orange and pink. "It's beautiful here," she said quietly and faced me again. "What if I fall in love with you?"

  "Trust me, there is not a damn thing loveable about me." I smiled weakly. "What do you say? Should I have a contract written up?"

  She shook her head and her long bangs fluttered in the breeze. A strand of blonde hair curled around her full bottom lip. "As much as I need money and a place to stay, I don't think this is for me. Thank you. I'm flattered by the offer . . . I think." She climbed into her car, and after three or four attempts the engine turned over. A steady stream of exhaust followed her shambling car down the driveway.

  10

  For whatever reason, I found myself driving to Fantasm. It might have been because Jack was occupied with his new girlfriend, and none of my usual, upscale and pompous haunts sounded the least bit inviting, especially since most people I normally socialized with knew by now that I'd blown a major partnership deal. I wasn't in the mood to face any of them. Or maybe Fantasm was just a place more suited to my mood. And of course, there was the fact that I had a crazy urge to watch Shay on stage. I couldn't deny that I was disappointed that she'd turned me down. It sure would have been nice to have one thing go right, to find some small sliver of success after a long stretch of failure.

  The parking lot was packed, and loud music thrummed through the thin walls of the bar. I headed inside and stopped by the counter for a beer. The dancer on stage had just finished her routine and was collecting cash from the appreciative audience. Rocky was racing back and forth behind the bar with a red face. He kept wiping his forehead with the dishtowel he had draped over his shoulder.