Shifting Gears: The Complete Series (Sports Bad Boy Romance)

by Alycia Taylor

This really isn’t my thing.

  A funny thing happens, though. Without a single word, me and the other guys at the table pull out our wallets at about the same time, take out enough money to cover our drinks, and we all stand and walk to the door.

  Once we’re all out on the sidewalk, we all turn to glare at Mick.

  “How was I supposed to know?” he asks.

  A couple of guys call it a night right then and there, but I’m not ready to face my empty apartment. I haven’t had nearly enough to drink.

  So, when Raoul—his real name’s actually Quincy, but I guess he thought Raoul was the better racing name—says the words, “Strip bar?” I’m pretty quick to agree.

  I’ve never really seen the appeal to strip clubs, personally. Paying women to pretend like they’re sexually interested tends to make me feel a little pathetic, but it’s a place with liquor that’s neither a bondage club or my apartment, so I’m willing to deal with the more mild awkwardness.

  At least, that’s what I’m thinking while we’re on our way there.

  Once we’re inside, though, I want to leave. I get that I’m not here to ogle somewhat naked women, but I don’t think Kate would appreciate my coming here after we had a bad date. How could she not get the wrong impression?

  Still, I’m not going home until I’m staggering, so I guess we’ll just have to make this quick.

  The other guys find a table near the stage while I’m up at the bar, ordering drinks supposedly for the table. In reality, each of the six shots I tell the bartender to have brought to the table is for me.

  If I can get through all that, I’m willing to bet I’ll be ready to go home and call it a night.

  I get to the table and sit with my back to the stage. It’s still pretty uncomfortable, but I think I’ll live.

  Raoul’s saying something I can’t begin to hear over the Def Leppard song these women must be so incredibly sick of by now, and I’m glancing at the bar, hoping that at any moment, a nice waitress will bring over the poison so I can get the hell out of here.

  Mike, the only guy at the table going by his real name tonight, nudges me, saying, “Hey, I heard about your last race. Think you’re going to be able to win the whole thing?”

  “I don’t know,” I answer. “Word is that Jax is racing something pretty insane out there, and I don’t think there’s a prize for second place, so we’ll have to see how it goes.”

  Mike nods and falls into another conversation as the waitress finally comes over with a tray full of vodka shots.

  “Here you go, guys,” she says, setting the tray on the table.

  I give her a tip and grab a shot.

  “Thanks for the drinks, man. That’s really-” Mike says as he reaches for one of the shot glasses. I swat his hand away.

  “Get your own,” I tell him.

  After five minutes and all but one of the shots—my stomach can’t handle any more right now—I think I’m finally ready to relax. Unfortunately, I’m in a place where that’s not actually possible.

  The problem is that it’s so loud next to the stage conversation’s not much of an option. That wouldn’t be such a problem if I was here for the peep show, but right now, I’m just an increasingly intoxicated guy sitting at a table with people he may as well not know, being pounded by music nobody’s listened to outside a strip club in two decades.

  I’m about ready to tell Mike he can grab that shot he’s been eyeing when the music changes and Mick is gesturing wildly, trying to get me to turn around.

  When I turn around to look at the stage, my heart relocates to my throat.

  The woman on stage with the light skin and long, black hair, I know her. Actually, we used to date.

  She and I were never quite a fit for each other, but even after we broke up, I’ve still found myself thinking about her from time to time. Desiree—her real name. I couldn’t tell you what her stage name would be—isn’t just an ex, though. She’s my what-if girl.

  For the first time of the night, I watch a dancer’s full set. I get a little irritated when Mick gets up, walks over to the stage, and drops about twenty bucks in singles to get Desi’s attention.

  I know what he’s doing. If Desi and I can hit it off, Mick thinks maybe I’ll break up with Kate. This late in the game, I doubt he’d want to go after Kate himself, but it would make things less awkward if I was dating someone else.

  Mick’s plan works enough that he gets Desi’s attention and that attention turns to me just as quickly, but I’m not interested. Things may have hit a rough patch with Kate, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to cheat on her. That’s not how I roll.

  When the song ends, though, Desi hops off the stage and pulls up a seat next to me. Mick doesn’t waste a lot of time moving to sit on her other side, so before we even start, I ask her, “Any chance you’d like to catch up a bit in a quieter part of the club?”

  “There’s the champagne room in the back,” she says, lifting her eyebrows in comically rapid succession.

  “I think that might get a bit weird,” I tell her. “How about the bar?”

  It’s still loud there, but at least we can get away from Mick.

  Yeah, I want to chat and catch up the same as I would with anyone who meant a lot to me that I haven’t seen in a few years, but Desi and I have always been able to talk as friends, even after our relationship ended.

  Of course, the fact that I have to justify talking to Desi could be seen as an indication that of a guilty conscience, but that’s really not what this is. I’m almost positive I don’t have feelings for Desi that way anymore. It’d just be nice to be able to have a conversation with someone who I can actually talk to right now.

  Or maybe it’s guilt. Who knows?

  Desi and I walk up to the bar and we pull up a stool.

  “Want anything to drink?” I ask.

  “I wouldn’t mind some water,” she says loudly enough for the bartender to hear. He nods and grabs a glass for her. “Are you having anything?”

  “I’m already pretty sloshed,” I tell her. “I think I should probably stick with water for now, too.”

  “It’s great to see you,” she says. “How have you been? Are you still doing the racing thing?”

  “Yeah,” I tell her. “I’m actually running in the final round of a tournament right now.” Am I bragging? “How long have you been working here?”

  “A few months,” she says. “I know you’re probably not going to believe this, but it’s helping me pay for college.”

  “You finally got registered, huh?”

  “Yep,” she says. “In about $500,000, I’m going to be a lawyer. It’s a good thing, too, because I’m going to have to be a lawyer to pay off that kind of debt.”

  The bartender keeps glancing up at me as he works at tidying up his area. In a place like this, it’s impossible to tell whether he’s got a thing for her or if he’s just making sure I don’t violate the no-touching rule.

  “I always knew you’d find a way to do it,” I tell her.

  Back when I was a few years younger and living on Mick’s couch, Desi was our upstairs neighbor. She was so quiet, neither Mick nor I even knew the apartment upstairs was occupied until I was coming out of ours one morning and accidentally ran into Desi, knocking the untied bag of garbage out of her hand.

  After that, at least once a day, either Desi was at our place or I was up at hers. Our attraction to each other was never particularly a romantic one, more a mutual interest each other’s minds.

  Desi always seemed to have everything figured out, and that was a huge thing for someone like me to be around. I was an emancipated minor whose life goals rarely extended past a week, but she had her whole life planned.

  Of course, I don’t remember “be a stripper for a while” on the list.

  “So, why stripping?” I ask. “I don’t care or anything, I’m just curious. If I remember right, going against your seventy-five year plan was forbidden.”

  “I couldn’t wor
k with my dad,” she says. “I’ve found that I can either get along with someone in a work context or I can get along with them in a family context. If it’s both, I’m going to end up hating something, and I didn’t want to end up hating my dad.”

  By the time we were both nineteen, Desi and I got our own place. For a while there, it looked like I was going to become part of her life’s plan. Once we realized that we only worked when we could retire to different homes at the end of the night, though, things unraveled pretty fast.

  I’d met her parents a few times over the years, but they were always more focused on their jobs than they were about anything else.

  “I can’t tell you how good it is to see you,” Desi says. “Are you dating anyone right now?”

  “Yeah,” I answer. “I’ve been with Kate for a few months now.”

  “Kate,” she says, “short for Katherine or were her parents just lazy?”

  “Oh right,” I scoff, “like your parents naming you Desiree didn’t guarantee that you’d end up in a place like this at some point.”

  Desi elbows me between the ribs, but she’s smiling.

  “I’m glad to hear you’ve found someone,” she says. “Is it serious?”

  “Yeah,” I tell her. “No. I really don’t know. Up until recently, I would have said ‘absolutely,’ but I don’t know, things have been a little weird over the last week or so.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” she says. “I just got out of a relationship, myself.”

  “Sounds like we could both use another drink,” I tell her. “Barkeep, two more waters if you would.” Just for the dramatic effect, I wait a couple of beats and add, “No ice.”

  “Better slow down, you crazy animal,” she says.

  “Never,” I respond, and we both smile.

  A few years ago, I was in love with Desi, or at least I thought I was. The truth is that the two of us were never meant to be a couple. As friends, we fit together perfectly, but the things a person finds charming or easily ignored in a friend tend to become a much bigger deal when you’re starting to talk about spending your life with someone.

  I don’t think there was one specific incident that did it. One day, we just kind of looked at each other, realized that the relationship wasn’t making either of us happy, and I started looking for apartments.

  We’d always said if we ever broke up, we’d stay friends, only we never really got around to following through with that.

  “You look like something’s on your mind,” Desi says. “Wanna talk about it?”

  My brain is saying, “Not really,” but my voice is saying, “I don’t even know where to start.”

  “Well,” she says, “why not start at the beginning, and if I start to get bored, I’ll call Robby the Bouncer over here to rough you up and remove you from my glorious presence.”

  She has a flair for the dramatic.

  When I met Desi that first day—after helping her pick up the spilled bag of garbage, of course—I honestly thought she was a little weird. Those things you think, but don’t say because you know people will look at you funny? Those were almost exclusively the kinds of things that Desi wanted to talk about.

  I’d been so used to watching everything I said—my parents were on my mind a lot more back then—that hearing someone who wasn’t afraid to express herself was flat out inspiring. Mick had tried to get me to come out of my shell, but as soon as I met Desi, I didn’t need encouragement.

  Her willingness to tell me whatever happened to be on her mind at a given moment naturally got me doing the same thing.

  That was just the first day.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I tell Desi, “Sorry, would you excuse me for just a second?”

  “Sure thing,” she says and strikes up some small talk with the bartender.

  It’s a text message from Kate. She writes, “Hey, give me a call when you can. I’ve got something I want to talk to you about.”

  I’ll call her in a little while. I’m still a bit irritated from the way things went earlier, and I don’t want to end up taking that irritation out on Kate.

  “Everything all right?” Desi asks.

  “Yeah,” I tell her. “That’s Kate. Apparently, there’s some news.”

  “Do you need to take it?”

  I shake my head. “I’ll call her back in a while when I’m feeling less likely to pick an argument with her.”

  All this time I’ve been sitting here, I hadn’t really paid attention to the fact that Desi’s still in her work clothes. By that, of course, I mean the black sarong and bra top she put back on after her set was over.

  Even with as uncomfortable as I should be for any number of reasons right now, though, I can’t help noticing how much easier it is to talk to Desi right now than it is to talk to Kate.

  I don’t know if it was Mick’s punishment or something else entirely, but just sitting here with Desi makes me realize that if Kate and I are going to work things out, we’re both going to have to start being more upfront with each other.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket again, only this time, I don’t bother taking it out and looking to see who’s calling me.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Slow Turnabout

  Kate

  It’s only been a few days since I told my dad I was going to start looking for a place. I really was settling in for the arduous process that was no doubt to follow, and after my dad begged me to reconsider that night, it was looking like that’s exactly what was going to happen.

  I didn’t expect him to drop an envelope on my lap the next morning with $5,000 from his savings tucked inside.

  “I have to tell you this is a loan, it’s not a gift,” he said as he was walking out of the room. “We can figure out repayment later. For now, just start looking for something in a decent neighborhood.”

  Now, I’m standing in the living room of my admittedly small, though wonderfully tidy new apartment.

  Things move a lot faster when you have money.

  After Eli ignored my calls and my messages the other night, I figured that was the beginning of the end for our relationship, but I can’t help wishing he was here right now to help me celebrate.

  I doubt it’ll change anything, but I go to the far corner of the living room and take a picture of the place with my phone. I send the picture to Eli with the caption, “This is the surprise I wanted to tell you about.”

  The apartment’s full of boxes, but at least that means I’ll have something to do over the next few days before I start thinking too seriously about getting a job. Dad co-signed the lease with me—under the strict condition that Mom never finds out about that detail—but I don’t want to just end up asking him for money at the end of the month or whenever this $5,000 runs out.

  My phone rings and it startles me to the point that I trip over a box as I’m going to answer it. I pick myself up, frustrated, and answer the phone, saying, “Yeah?”

  “Hey, Kate,” Eli says. “I just got your picture. Did you get an apartment?”

  “I did,” I tell him. “It’s been a couple of days since I heard from you. I was starting to think you’d lost interest.”

  “Not at all,” he says, his voice bright. “I’m sorry I’ve been out of contact. I’ve just been trying to get some things figured out. I don’t know what you’ve got planned for tonight, but if you want, I’d love to take you out to celebrate your new place.”

  He was trying to get some things figured out. I’m still pretty new to the whole “being in a serious relationship” thing, but if the sitcoms are right, that means he was trying to decide whether he still wanted to date me or not. I get that I was a little weird the last time he tried to take me to dinner and a drag race, but I’m not excited about the fact that he apparently came so close to calling it quits.

  At the same time, I can’t really blame him. Since he ignored me when I was trying to share some of the biggest news of my admittedly sheltered life, I’ve been trying t
o decide whether he and I were really going to work.

  I’d rather not be offended by him right now, though, so I’m going to just go ahead and forget that part for a minute.

  “To be honest, I’m a little surprised that you want to go out,” I tell him.

  He sighs. “I know,” he says. “I should have called you back. I guess I just didn’t want to participate in the ending of our relationship, if that’s where things were going, but I’ve managed to get some things cleared up, and I want to tell you that I’m in if you’re in. I like you a lot, Kate, and I don’t want us to end things just because we both had a bad night.”

  “Sounds like you’ve been getting some pretty good advice,” I tell him. “How much does Mick charge an hour?”

  Eli laughs. “I take his advice when it comes to what mod is going to be the best bet for my car, but when it comes to relationships, he’s not exactly the kind of guy I want to learn anything from.”

  “Ah,” I answer.

  “Yeah,” he says. “I ran into an old friend a couple of days ago and she’s been helping me work through some things.”

  She?

  “Anyone I’d know?” I ask, though I’m not sure who that could be other than Eli’s boss. Our social spheres hardly overlap.

  “No,” he says. “I actually haven’t even seen her for about three years, but it was good to catch up. Anyway, are you up for a night on the town?”

  I swear I’m not the jealous type, but with the timing and everything, I can’t help but follow up, asking, “Anything I should be worried about?”

  “No,” he says. “She’s single, but I’m not interested in her. I’m interested in you.”

  It’s a good answer, assuming it’s the whole truth. I’ve never had any indication that Eli might be the type to cheat on me, but personal advice he got from a single female he hasn’t seen in a few years, during a time when neither of us were going out of our way to talk to each other? That makes me nervous.

  “That’s good to know,” I tell him. “It’s not an ex-girlfriend or anything, is it?”

  He pauses.

  Oh great. This is exactly what I need right now.