Believe It or Not

by Tawna Fenske

  Violet closed her eyes and sighed, wishing like hell it were true.

  ***

  Across town at the bar, Drew was having a slightly less restful evening.

  The music was throbbing more loudly than usual, or maybe it was just his head. He normally enjoyed the pulse of the music, the hum of conversation, but tonight it just reminded him of a migraine.

  A dreadlocked woman dressed in a bright orange caftan shouted for another round of drinks. Drew watched, recognizing a few of Moonbeam’s buddies. Sam shoved an empty tray at him.

  “Your turn with the hippie chicks,” she said. “Are they part of that place next door?”

  “Friends of hers, I think.”

  “Thought so. They had a couple of gift cards for a free cover charge. They said it was a present from Moonbeam.”

  Drew frowned at her. “Moonbeam gave them free passes?”

  Sam frowned back. “You gave Moonbeam free passes?”

  “I do it every week as a joke,” Drew said with a shrug. “She gets mad and tears them up and lectures me about dishonoring the spiritual and physical body. It’s our fun little ritual.”

  “If that’s your idea of fun, you need to get out more. Speaking of which, you’ve been slowing down on the bimbos lately. What gives?”

  “I’m pacing myself.”

  “Right,” Sam said, shaking her head. “And Violet’s just a friend.”

  Before Drew could snap off a clever comeback, she began piling drinks on the tray. “Here. Take this over to them. Greyhounds all around. If they ask, the juice is organic. And watch out for the blonde, she’s a grabber.”

  Drew scowled at the table. Why the hell would Moonbeam send her friends in here? She hated him, hated his business.

  Didn’t she?

  He sighed and carried the tray over to the table. “Good evening, ladies,” he called as he began passing the drinks around. “How are you all doing?”

  “Hey, I know you!” squealed the older woman at the end of the table, pointing a finger at Drew. “You’re the owner!”

  Drew squinted down the table at her, recognizing her as the woman who’d come in with Violet that first night. Was that only a week ago?

  “Butterfly, right?” Drew asked tentatively.

  “That’s right!” she said, beaming happily up at him. “These are my friends Sage, Petal, Harmony, Quinn, and Oat. This is Drew. He’s the gay owner.”

  Drew gritted his teeth. “Actually, I’m not—”

  “The manager, then. Whatever.”

  “No,” Drew said with exaggerated patience. “I own the place, and I’m not gay. Seriously, I’m going to get a tattoo that says that.”

  “I can do it!” piped a perky blonde in a crocheted halter top, wearing a big crystal around her neck. “I work at a tattoo parlor part-time. Want me to schedule you an appointment?”

  Drew paused for a moment to appreciate the pleasant bouncing going on under the halter top. “Um, thanks. Some other time, maybe.”

  “Are you really straight?” she pressed. “Moonbeam said you were straight, but Butterfly said you weren’t.”

  “I’m straight. Really and truly 100 percent…” Drew frowned. “Why was Moonbeam talking about me?”

  The girl shrugged. “Maybe you’d like to go out sometime.”

  “Aren’t you already out?”

  “Out with me, silly. On a date. With sex and stuff.”

  Butterfly smiled at the exchange. “Petal is very open with her natural sexual energies,” she said proudly. “She’s also a nude model.”

  “For sculptors,” Petal declared. “Artists.”

  “Okay,” Drew said, backing away a little. “Are you ladies having a good evening?”

  Butterfly offered a broad smile. “Oh, we’re having so much fun. That man over there gave me a very nice lap dance.”

  Drew peered in the direction she was pointing and sighed. “He doesn’t work here. That’s a customer. And this isn’t one of the nights we feature male entertainers, so you really shouldn’t be getting lap dances from anyone.”

  Butterfly waved a dismissive hand. “It’s all part of the experience.”

  “Right,” Drew said. “Well, looks like you’re all set with the drinks. I’m heading out, so if you need anything else, just wave at Sam or Jamie.”

  “Where are you going?” Petal chirped, jostling pleasantly under that flimsy top.

  “Home to watch ESPN in my underwear.”

  “Boxers or briefs?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can I come with you?”

  Petal smiled, her eyes wide in her pixie face. She had a dainty floral tattoo around her bicep, and her arms were toned and attractive. Her blonde hair curled wildly around her ears, and she was definitely braless under that top.

  Drew waited for his blood to heat up. There was a little percolation, but no boiling…

  “What the hell, why not,” Drew muttered.

  “That’s the spirit!” Petal said, and hopped up out of her seat. “Let’s go!”

  ***

  There was no way Drew was taking Petal to his house. That much he knew. He was willing to take her out for a drink, maybe go back to her place if things went well.

  But if they didn’t go well, he had the sense Petal was the sort of girl to cut his boxers into tiny scraps while he was still wearing them.

  He drove in silence while Petal sat in the passenger seat, sending text messages on a cell phone dotted with daisies.

  What are you doing, idiot? Drew asked himself.

  Same thing I’ve done for years, he answered silently. Going out with an attractive woman who throws herself at me at the bar.

  Drew frowned, annoyed to discover that his newfound inner voice was now having conversations with itself. That was almost as irritating as the realization that he really had very little interest in sleeping with Petal. Not even her hand sliding up his thigh was causing him to have thoughts more lecherous than wondering if he should stop for fuel at the next Chevron.

  He shook his head and gripped the steering wheel tighter. This is what he needed to do. He had to get his mind off Violet. He had to get back to his routine, to his habit of meaningless sex with women who wanted nothing from him except a good time. Women who were not high-strung, who wouldn’t try to control his life or—

  “Where are we going?” Petal asked from the passenger seat.

  “Doug Fir Lounge. It’s a nice little bar just down the road a bit. Good music.”

  “You own a bar, but we’re going to another one?”

  “Sometimes it’s nice to visit a bar I’m not paying for.”

  Petal seemed to mull that over as Drew pulled his car into the parking lot at Doug Fir. He killed the engine and got out, ready to walk around and open her door for her.

  Petal scowled and flung her door open, narrowly missing his gonads. Drew jumped back.

  “I am a liberated, independent woman and I can open my own door.”

  “By all means,” Drew said, stepping aside.

  “I can open the door to the bar, too.”

  “Hey, knock yourself out.”

  She flounced ahead of him and grabbed the handle of the bar’s front door. Then she turned and threw him a coy smile over her bare shoulder. “I do give great blow jobs, though. I’m not too liberated for that.”

  “Can I maybe get a drink first?”

  Petal laughed and heaved the door open. Drew followed, wondering why the hell he continued to do this.

  You’re trying to forget about Violet, he reminded himself. And your ex-wife, too, while you’re at it.

  Petal hopped onto a barstool and patted the one beside her as a stoic-looking bartender ambled over, wearing a black shirt.

  “I’d like a screwdriver, but only if the orange juice is organic,” Petal informed him.

  “Cherry Coke,” Drew said.

  Petal frowned at him. “No alcohol?”

  “Not often.”

  “Recovering alcohol
ic?”

  “Nope. Just someone who believes in keeping his wits about him at all times.”

  “Control freak?”

  “No.”

  Petal smiled and grabbed his crotch under the bar. “Nice,” she declared.

  Drew slid back on his stool and reached down to relocate her hand to his knee. “How about we talk a little first. So you’re a tattoo artist?”

  Petal shrugged. “Sometimes. And a nude model. And I do some weaving, too.”

  “That’s very… interesting.”

  Petal grinned again and slid her hand back up his thigh.

  As the bartender set their drinks in front of them, Drew took a big sip and considered the situation. He had a beautiful girl who was practically inviting him to fornicate with her on the bar, with no strings attached. A month ago, he would have jumped at the chance.

  Well, maybe not the sex on the bar, but the rest of it would have been appealing. Lord knew there had been plenty of women like Petal, women with no interest in long-term commitment or running his life or obsessing over her career path or his.

  What the hell is my problem?

  “What the hell is your problem?” Petal asked beside him.

  He looked up at her, startled. “What?”

  “I asked you three times what kind of music you like.”

  “Oh. All kinds. Eighties butt rock mostly, but I listen to just about everything.”

  “You want to dance?”

  “I prefer to leave that to the professionals.”

  “Party pooper.”

  “Pretty much,” Drew agreed, taking another sip of his drink.

  She looked at him. “You have nice eyes.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Did anyone ever tell you look like that one movie star? What’s his name… wait, don’t tell me.”

  “John Cusack?” Drew said and took another sip of his drink.

  Petal frowned. “No. Brad Pitt. Or maybe Tom Cruise.”

  Drew stared at her. “No. I’ve never heard that one before.”

  Petal shrugged and quietly sipped her screwdriver. When the bartender returned to ask if they wanted a refill, Petal pulled out her wallet and began counting bills.

  “I’m getting this round,” she insisted as she peeled money out of an array of tiny pockets covering the wallet. “I believe in paying my way. There’s no reason a man should always be in charge financially, right? Hold on a second, I know I’ve got a twenty in here somewhere.”

  She tucked a couple bills between her teeth as she bent down to grab her purse, pawing through another series of pockets. Drew sipped the last of his drink as he watched her.

  “You know, you really shouldn’t put cash in your mouth,” he said. “One of those bills might have been in someone’s butt crack.”

  She stared at him. Slowly, she removed the cash from between her teeth. “I beg your pardon?”

  Drew shrugged. “I’m just saying. You think of these things when you’re in the business I’m in.”

  She frowned. “Are you always this charming?”

  “I try.”

  Petal finally found the cash she was looking for and handed it over to the bartender. The bartender retreated and returned with their drinks a moment later. Drew thanked him and held up the glass in a mock toast to Petal.

  “Thanks for this,” he said.

  “No problem,” she said, surveying the bar, probably looking for someone more fun than he was. The way he was feeling at the moment, that wouldn’t be tough.

  She had a good point about the charm thing, he mused. He was hardly in top form tonight. It was all Violet’s fault. She’d gotten under his skin, pissed him off, ruined his whole evening, really.

  Maybe he should just blame everything on Violet. The fact that Jamie was quitting, that his landlord was taking a peculiar interest in the market value of his building, the fact that he was suddenly too distracted to take home a perfectly willing, perfectly lovely young woman.

  It was all Violet’s fault. Of course.

  Stop thinking about Violet, he told himself.

  “Ohmygod, I love this song!” Petal shrieked, grabbing his arm and making him slosh his drink down his sleeve. “Dance with me. Please? Just this once.”

  Drew frowned down at his spilled soda. “I don’t dance.”

  “But you own a stripper dance club.”

  “It’s a bar. It just happens to feature male entertainers two nights a week.”

  “Come on, just once? I’ll teach you.”

  He looked up at the speakers and frowned some more. “Is something wrong with that speaker over there?”

  “Just one dance… it’s my favorite song.”

  “I’ve never heard it,” Drew said, mopping the spilled soda with a napkin. “Who is this, anyway?”

  “Coldplay. The lead singer is married to Gwyneth Paltrow.”

  “Who?”

  Petal sighed in exasperation. “The song is called ‘Violet Hill,’ and if you don’t get out there and dance with me right now—”

  Drew felt all the blood drain from his face. “What did you say?”

  “I said if you don’t dance with me right now—”

  “No, the song. The name of the song.”

  “‘Violet Hill.’”

  Drew stared at her. Slowly he thunked his glass down on the bar.

  “Any chance I could get some bourbon in this?”

  Chapter 12

  Violet was sitting on the sofa watching a nature special on TV when the doorbell rang. She glanced at her watch, frowning. It was almost midnight. Who the hell rang a doorbell at midnight?

  Probably not a burglar, but she wasn’t taking any chances. She looked around the room for something to serve as a weapon. Spotting an umbrella in the corner, she picked it up and carried it like a sword to the front door.

  “Who is it?” she called, gripping her umbrella in one hand as she flipped on the porch light with the other.

  “Drew Watson,” replied a voice that sounded familiar enough, but strangely sluggish. “Drew. Watson, I mean. In case you know a lot of other Drews. I’m the one you were straddling in the front seat of a Toyota a couple nights ago. I’m not sure if that narrows it down, but you don’t have to call me by my first and last name. Just Drew is fine…”

  Violet swung the door open and stared at him. He was leaning lopsided against the deck rail, his eyes half-closed, a funny smile on his face.

  “Drew?”

  “Hey, Violet. It’s raining.”

  “It’s Portland. It’s always raining.”

  “Inside?”

  “What?”

  He nodded at her umbrella. “If you can make it rain indoors, I take back every skeptical thing I ever said about your magical powers.”

  She studied him cautiously, noticing he looked even more disheveled than normal. His hair was damp and spiky, and his shirt was buttoned crookedly. One shoe was untied, and he was rubbing a hand over the thick beard stubble on his left cheek.

  He’d never looked hotter.

  Violet swallowed hard, trying to tamp down the lust she felt bubbling in her belly. “Have you been drinking?”

  He grinned. “Perhaps.”

  The word came out sounding more like prahapsh, so Violet had her answer right there. “You didn’t drive here, did you?”

  “Course not. My date dropped me off.”

  “You had a date?” Violet said slowly. “And you asked her to drop you off here?”

  “She lives two blocks that way,” he said, pointing. He frowned and pointed the other direction. “That way. She left my car over there and I walked her home. Then I came back here to say hello to you.” He grinned drunkenly. “Hello.”

  Violet shook her head, trying not to feel flattered. A drunk guy turning up on her doorstep after a date with another woman was hardly a turn-on. Why the hell was her heart slamming against her ribs like some sort of defective power tool?

  Drew cleared his throat. “May I come in?�
��

  “That sounds like an epically bad idea, under the circumstances.”

  “Right. So can I come in?”

  Violet bit her lip, considering. She really didn’t want him to drive. And she was pretty sure she could keep from touching him or crawling into his lap or—

  “I’m going to start kissing you every time you do that,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Biting your lip. It’s the least I can do to keep you from damaging the most perfect mouth on the face of the planet. Not that I’ve carefully inspected all mouths to reach this conclusion, but I wouldn’t mind spending a bit more time becoming more acquainted with—”

  “No kissing,” Violet said, stepping back from the door. “But you can come in for a minute. Only because I want you to sober up and tell me what you’re doing on my doorstep at midnight, smelling like bourbon and cherry Coke.”

  “Fair enough,” he said, and brushed past her on his way inside. He paused to kick off his shoes in the entryway, and Violet considered that he probably wasn’t completely hammered if he was clearheaded enough to remember to remove his shoes.

  She watched as he wove a crooked path en route to the living room. He flopped onto the sofa and turned to smile at her. Violet felt her heart clench as he patted the seat beside him.

  “You planning to stand there all night, holding the door open?”

  She shook her head, still stunned to see him here in Moonbeam’s house. Again. She shut the door and padded toward the kitchen, where she pulled a glass out of the cupboard and filled it with water.

  “Good memories on this sofa,” Drew called as Violet retrieved two aspirins from the cabinet over the sink. “Need another calf massage?”

  Violet trudged toward the living room, where she handed him the water and aspirin before sitting down beside him. He took both without comment, draining the water in two big gulps. Then he set the glass down and looked at her.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Why are you here, Drew? Your date—”

  “Wasn’t really a date. Not a serious one, anyway. I didn’t sleep with her, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “I wasn’t asking,” Violet replied, ignoring the flutter of relief in her chest.

  “Are you sleeping with the doctor?”

  “Are we really having this conversation?”