Beautiful Failure

by Mariah Cole

  He suddenly grips my hips and holds me still. “Look at me.”

  I don’t.

  He gently presses his fingers against my cheek and turns my head to face him. Staring into my eyes, he runs his hands against my sides, sending shivers up and down my spine.

  “Do you let any of your other customers touch you like this?”

  I allow a murmur to escape from my mouth as he presses a kiss on my shoulder.

  “I’ll take that as a no...” He smiles.

  “You can take it however you want.” I feel him pulling me even closer. “I’ll say whatever it takes for you to pay me.”

  “Are you going to ask me the question today?”

  “What?”

  “The question...” He lowers his voice and brings his mouth close to mine. “Are you going to ask me how badly I want to fuck you?”

  I suck in a breath and move my head back. “Give me a few seconds to get in full pretend mode. I need to act like you’re attractive and pretend like I care about your fantasies...” I let out an exasperated sigh. “Okay. What’s the question you want me to ask you again?”

  “Hmmm...” He lifts me out of his lap and stands up. Slipping his arms around my waist, he spins me around so my back is against his front, so I can feel his dick straining against his pants. Then he whispers into my ear, “You’re just pretending to want me right now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure?” He tightens his hold of me.

  “Very sure.”

  “Well,” he whispers again as his hands move between my thighs, as he brushes a finger against my soaked panties, “you’re a very good actress.”

  I break out of his grasp and spin around with my hand outstretched. “Thirty dollars.”

  Grinning, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a hundred dollar bill, gently placing it into my hand. He bends down and plants a light kiss on my forehead before exiting the room, leaving me more confused than ever.

  I count my take for the night—eight hundred and twenty dollars, and place a hundred in the hat for the bartenders on my way out.

  For some reason, I expect Carter to be around—waiting for me, but he isn’t.

  Sighing, I yawn and steer my car onto the backstreets—trying not to think about him but I can’t help it.

  Usually, I can read a man within seconds, but with him I’m constantly drawing a blank. He’s persistent, non-consistent, and intriguing all at the same time. I’ve told myself time and time again that the unreadable types are the most dangerous—the ones I’m supposed to stay away from, but if Carter ever touches me like he did tonight, I’m going to let him have me. However he wants.

  I’m halfway home when I notice the flashing blue and white lights of a police car. I look at my dashboard—I’m not speeding, and I think all my tags are up to date.

  I think.

  Shit...

  I pull over and turn off my car. Before I can be told to get what I already know I need, I reach into my glove compartment and grab my insurance and registration.

  “Ma’am?” The officer taps on my window.

  “Yes, officer?”

  “Are you aware that your right tail-light is out?”

  I shake my head, knowing that it isn’t. “I just had it fixed yesterday.”

  “It’s out.”

  “Okay...” I hand him my paperwork. “I’ll get it re-checked tomorrow.”

  He takes my paperwork, looks at it under his flashlight, and quickly hands it back. “I saw you at The Phoenix tonight.” He hesitates, smiling. “You’re very... talented.”

  I swallow. “Thank you...”

  “You’re not from anywhere around here are you?” He slips his hands into his pockets and leans back on his heels. “I think I would’ve remembered seeing someone like you before.”

  Silence.

  Part of me wishes that we were closer to the light ahead—where there’s a small diner and a gas station, where someone could see this. The way he’s looking at me is how Leah’s worst sponsors looked at her whenever they picked her up, and it’s making me sick.

  “Am I getting a ticket, Officer?” I manage.

  “Depends.”

  Shaking my head slowly, I try to make sure my voice is as neutral as possible. “Could you please write me the ticket? With all due respect, I need to get home.”

  “Where is home?”

  I don’t answer.

  “What’s that?” He places his hands on the edge of my window and leans in close. “Where is home?”

  “Two counties over...”

  “Hmm. Well, seems to me that if you were in such a rush to get there, you would ask how you could do it sooner. Two counties is a hell of a way to drive and I’d hate to hold you up.”

  “What do you want?” My voice is a whisper.

  “You seem to be a smart girl...” He looks into my eyes. “There’s a motel three miles down and to the left...You figure it out.”

  I look in my rearview mirror, wondering if the camera on the inside of his car is taping any of this, but his car isn’t a patrol car. It’s one of the plain white undercover cars I’ve seen in the parking lot from time to time. They’re the cars that are supposed to hold off the customers from exiting the parking lot right after us; the cars that are supposed to protect us.

  “I’ll follow you there,” he says, not waiting for me to respond.

  “No thank you.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m going home, Officer.” I try to sound polite even though I’m pissed. “Surely you don’t want people to know that you’re propositioning a minor for sex.”

  “You’re not a fucking minor.” He hisses. “Drive to the motel or I’ll arrest you.”

  “For what?”

  He steps away from my window and walks to the back of my car.

  I consider immediately driving off, but I hear the shattering of glass and look back. He’s using his baton to shatter my brake-lights, beating the hell out of them.

  Shocked, I yell out my window. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  “Still on the fence about my offer, sweetheart?” he says the words calmly as he puts away his baton and steps closer to me. “I know someone in town who can have your lights fixed by the time we’re done tomorrow morning. Don’t be stupid.”

  I grip my hands around the steering wheel, telling myself to keep my mouth shut and speed away to deal with the consequences later, but I know I’m screwed either way.

  Fuck it...

  “I’m not driving to the hotel, Officer,” I say through clenched teeth, “and I would never fuck a disgusting dick-less asshole like you.”

  He narrows his eyes at me, nodding, and then he smiles. Lifting the radio from his belt clip, he speaks, “Officer requesting backup for a suspect resisting arrest a few feet north of highway marker thirty one. Suspect is hostile and believed to be...armed.”

  “On my way.” “Copy.” “Sending two your way.” The voices fire back in seconds.

  “Get out of the car,” he says flatly.

  I sigh and unbuckle my seatbelt. Avoiding his gaze, I unlock my door and step out.

  Before I can shut it back, he grabs me by my waist and pushes me against the car—knocking the wind out of me.

  “This could’ve been so easy...” He wedges a knee between my legs. “You strip for money but you’re too good to fuck for some?”

  He forcefully yanks my hands behind my back and secures the handcuffs around my wrists.

  I try to ignore the fact that he squeezes my ass as he leads me towards the backseat of his car, as he tells me how much I’m going to regret not accepting his offer.

  I shut my eyes as he locks me inside, as other sirens begin to wail in the distance.

  I already know that this is the end of me having a license. The judge is going to suspend it first thing tomorrow morning and I’ll need to be bailed out of jail. Again.

  It’s not my fault this time, but I honestly wish it w
as...

  Chapter 9

  I thank Sarah a million times on the way from the county jail to my grandparents’ house. My wrists are still aching from how tight the cuffs were clamped last night, and I know the ugly red imprint will be there for a few days.

  “I’ll pay you back tomorrow. I swear.” I look out the window.

  “Don’t worry about it. You can ride to work with me on the alternate weekends, but I still have to work at Starbucks during the week. Routine, you know?” She sighs. “I don’t want to mess it up.”

  I nod, knowing that the real reason she’s still working there is because it keeps her mind off her mother’s death, but I don’t mention it.

  “Is your license really suspended?” She quickly changes the subject.

  “Sixty days.”

  “And your car?”

  “Property of the state for now, and I’ll have to pay to get it back.”

  “How much?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  She pulls her car into the driveway. “Are you going to take a few days off? You know, to think about things and chill out for a while? Since it’s morning, you could call Michael and leave a message. Tell him you need time to figure out a new way to get there every day.”

  “Already did. I’m going to catch the bus.”

  “What? It takes three buses.”

  “What other choice do I have? Walk there? I owe even more money now. I can’t afford to take a day off.”

  She sighs and shakes her head. “If you hurry up and get dressed, I can drive you to the bus depot. That way you’ll only have to catch two today.”

  I blink. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why have you been being so fucking nice to me? What’s your ulterior motive?” I’ve had my suspicions for a while now, but she needs to let me know. I can’t take this anymore. “Whatever the fuck it is, just tell me. Right now.”

  “Could you stop it, Emerald? Why do you think I would bail you out of jail and offer you a ride to the bus stop? Because I want to get something out of you later? Because I have an ulterior motive and secretly want to destroy you somehow?”

  “Don’t you? Aren’t you waiting for the perfect opportunity?”

  “Jesus...” She rolls her eyes. “I’m trying to be your friend. Haven’t you ever had one of those before?”

  “Not really.”

  “Hurry up and get dressed, Emerald.” She yawns. “Someone called me at seven o’clock this morning and asked me to bail her crazy ass out of jail so I’m kind of tired. Oh, and bring me one of Virginia’s biscuits from the other night. You said there were some left yesterday.”

  I say thanks one more time and rush inside, tiptoeing up the steps so Virginia and Henry won’t wake up. I take a three minute shower and slip into a pair of fresh jeans and a checkered black and white shirt—stuffing a new set of shimmering pink lingerie into my purse.

  I grab my iPod and my e-reader, and once I notice how gray the skies are, I grab a jacket and an umbrella and rush outside to find Sarah sleeping behind the wheel.

  “Here.” I tap her shoulder and hand her a cheese biscuit. “Do you want me to drive to the depot so you can rest a little bit?”

  “Of course not. I would never let a future felon drive my car.” She laughs and pulls off.

  The rest of my day passes by in slow motion—two long bus rides, a short walk in a slight drizzle, and finally, freedom.

  I’m several hours early for work, but I don’t care. I make myself as useful as possible—cleaning the stage and the main rooms, organizing the prop closet, and practicing on the pole.

  By the time it’s my turn to dance to my one song that evening, I’m not nervous at all. I can do the routine in my sleep, and I breeze right through it.

  Every spin is effortless, every twirl is graceful, and every dollar is worth it.

  The second I’m done—after I count my money and get dressed, I tell Michael I have to leave early. The last bus is in twenty minutes and I can’t afford to miss it.

  “I’ll drive you to the diner.” The security guard says as I put up my umbrella outside. “It’s across the street from your stop.”

  “No, that’s okay. I’ll—”

  “Now,” he says firmly and points to his car. “It’s my job.”

  He doesn’t speak to me on the short drive over, and he waits until I’ve walked inside the building before driving away.

  The second his car is no longer in sight, I run to the corner—waiting on the light to change so I can cross the street to get to the stop.

  Five minutes...

  I take my place at the stop and wait. And wait. And wait...

  An hour passes by and the bus never comes. I call the twenty four hour helpline to ask if it’s been severely delayed, and they tell me that the return schedule was changed last month; the final bus ran two hours ago.

  Exasperated, I drop my umbrella into the mud and let the rain drench my clothes.

  This weekend can’t get any fucking worse!

  I consider walking back to the club and asking Michael if I can sleep in his office for the night, but I remember that it’s a Sunday—a “Super Sunday”.

  There are three bachelor parties scheduled for later, and as much as I love my job, I just want to be left alone today. I don’t want to be tempted to help out.

  Soaked, I head across the street to the diner and slide into a booth. I figure I’ll call Robyn after she gets off tonight and beg to ride back to Blythe with her.

  I politely tell the waitress I want two slices of cherry pie and take out my outdated e-reader, wishing I could jump inside of it and live with some of the characters right now.

  By the time I finish scrolling through the final chapters of my favorite book, I realize it’s only eleven o’ clock. I still have several more hours to wait for Robyn to get off.

  I click on another book and order another slice of pie.

  Thank god this place is open twenty four hours...

  The second I get to the best part of the book, a deep voice interrupts me. “Mind if I join you?”

  “Is the rest of the diner empty?” I don’t look up. I hear the man let out a low laugh and slowly lift my head, finding myself face to face with Carter. Again.

  He slides into the booth and picks up a menu, smiling at me. “What are you doing here?”

  “Wondering if you’ve put a tracking device on me. There are plenty of empty booths.”

  “I can see that.”

  “Well...” I dart my eyes from him to the vacant booth across from me, but he simply sits there. “Long day for you? Is this where you normally stop to eat after going to The Phoenix since you’re addicted to half naked women?”

  He rolls his eyes. “Are you on break?”

  I’m about to answer him but my cell phone starts to ring. Robyn.

  “Hello?” I answer.

  “Hey, I just got your text. What’s up?”

  “Can I ride home with you whenever you get off?”

  “Sure. Where are you?”

  “The diner around the corner.”

  “You don’t mind waiting until three in the morning? You know we have groups here tonight.”

  “Not at all. I’ll wait.” I breathe a sigh of relief and thank her before hanging up.

  “How long have you been sitting here?” Carter looks concerned.

  “Not long.” I lie. “I was actually enjoying the peace and quiet before you came so...”

  “What happened to your wrists?” He reaches over the table and brushes his thumb against the red imprint. “Handcuffs?”

  “What can I say, my boyfriend likes to be rough with me.”

  He notices the small white bus-transfer paper that’s sitting underneath my plate and pulls it out, reading it to himself.

  Sighing, he shakes his head. “Let me take you home.”

  “No thanks. My coworker is going to take me home later. Thanks for your offer though.”

  �
��It wasn’t a request.”

  I roll my eyes and look down at my e-reader. Sexy or not, I don’t know him well enough to accept a ride.

  “Emerald...” His voice is low and he’s standing right next to me.

  “Carter...”

  “Get up so I can take you home.”

  I scroll to another page of my book, tuning him out. He’ll get the point soon.

  The next thing I know, he’s picking me up and tossing me over his shoulder, carrying me out of the diner. By the time I completely process what the hell he’s doing, he’s placing me into his car—a classic red Mustang, and shutting the door.

  “Are you comfortable?” He smiles as he slides into the driver seat.

  I groan and pull the door handle, but it won’t budge.

  “Seriously?” I glare at him. “Are you aware that this is kidnapping?”

  “Not when the captive is willing.” He steers the car out of the parking lot and onto the road.

  I sigh and turn my attention to my e-reader, immersing myself in a better world again.

  Half an hour later, the car stops at a red light and I look up. We’re entering the next county over and still have a long way to go before we’re back in Blythe.

  “What book are you reading?” Carter’s blue eyes meet mine.

  “Light in August.”

  “William Faulkner,” he says, nodding. “You don’t strike me as the Southern gothic literature type.”

  “I’m an all literature type.”

  He moves his hand over my lap and picks up my e-reader, placing it in his door’s side compartment. “How many books do you normally read in a week?”

  “Five or more, depends on how I feel.”

  “Hmmm.” He eases the car onto the gravel road ahead of us as the light turns green. “Are you an English major?”

  I want to mention the ‘no personal questions from strangers’ rule, but since he’s not playing any music and has prevented me from reading, I allow myself to answer. “I flunked out of college.”

  I wait for him to ask “Why” so I can say “None of your goddamn business,” but he doesn’t.

  “Did you know that William Faulkner was a drunk?” he asks.

  “The best writers usually are. Do you drink?”

  “Occasionally. Do you?”