Playing for Keeps (Feeling the Heat Book 6)

by Alison Packard

  A good and decent man who’d been through hell. First, he’d endured an injury that cost him the last half of his rookie season. And then, the worst blow of all. Losing his wife and unborn child. What could be worse than that? Yet, despite his devastating loss, he’d found a way to rebuild his life and his career. That took courage and said more about his character than anything else ever could.

  And now here she was. Tempted to forsake the vow she’d made to herself to never let anyone other than Danny close to her again. Not only was Rick penetrating her defenses, but she and Jade had become as close as they’d been as kids. Then there were Jade’s parents. The O’Briens had taken both her and Danny under their wing; treating them like they were a part of their family. She hadn’t had that since her father was alive. She’d missed it. So much more than she’d realized. And with each passing day, her grand plan to leave California forever didn’t seem as crucial as it once had.

  The sudden silence in the room snapped her out of her reverie. She shifted on the bench to find Ronnie and Cynda watching her with unvarnished amusement.

  She frowned. “What?”

  “Did you get laid last night?” Cynda asked, arching a brow at her.

  “What? No. Why would you ask me that?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s the sappy smile on your face,” Ronnie said with a grin. “Or maybe it’s the way you’ve been staring off into space with that dreamy look in your eyes.”

  Cynda put a hand on her hip, barely restraining her smirk. “Or maybe it’s the fact that when we walked by you and that fine specimen of a man while you were sucking face, you didn’t even come up for air. A freaking bomb could have gone off and you wouldn’t have noticed. If you haven’t gotten laid yet, trust me, it’s going to happen soon.”

  Hot blood rushed to Amy’s cheeks. “It was just a kiss,” she said as if her obliviousness to her surroundings during her and Rick’s kiss was no big deal.

  Cynda and Ronnie exchanged a glance and then dissolved into laughter. “Right.” Cynda snorted. “And I’m Rihanna.”

  “You have much better bone structure.”

  Cynda wagged a finger in Amy’s direction. “Oh no, don’t try to change the subject with flattery. Are you hooking up with the guy, or what?”

  Amy stood and closed her locker, spinning the dial to engage the lock. “We’ve gone out on a couple of dates.”

  “Damn, girl. I’d have been hitting that fine ass after the first date.”

  “I second that. He’s a panty-melter for sure,” Ronnie said with a cheeky grin, then bumped fists with Cynda. Despite her petite stature, Ronnie was a red-headed spitfire who could be as outrageous as Cynda.

  Amy smiled and shook her head. “Are you two comedians finished?”

  “Oh, hell no.” Cynda grinned. “You haven’t even begun to live this down.”

  A loud knock on the door interrupted their laughter. “You decent in there?” Brock called out in a deep voice, then knocked again.

  “Define decent,” Ronnie retorted in a loud voice as she closed her locker.

  “Very funny. Can I come in?”

  Amy moved to the door and pulled it open. “Come on in,” she said, motioning him inside with a sweep of her hand.

  Brock gave her a firm nod and stepped inside leaving a trail of expensive cologne behind him. He didn’t make a habit of meeting with them before every shift so Amy could only surmise someone of greater importance than usual had made reservations for the evening. She stayed put near the doorway as he launched into the reason for his visit.

  “Kirby Ferrara has booked a table in VIP tonight. Her party will be here at ten and I’ve arranged for them to be seated in Cynda’s section to avoid any residual unpleasantness from the last time they were here,” he said, his gaze bouncing between Amy and Cynda.

  “Thanks for the heads up,” Amy said, after exchanging a glance with a visibly annoyed Cynda. “I don’t want any trouble with Ms. Ferrara or her friends. If you want me to work downstairs tonight, I’m fine with it.”

  Brock waved a dismissive hand. “That’s not necessary. I’m sure Ms. Ferrara has forgotten the whole episode. She apologized for her part in what happened that night when she stopped by a few weeks ago to drop off her dry cleaning bill.”

  Either Brock was naïve or didn’t have a clue about women. If Kirby had regretted her actions she never would have insisted on repayment for her dry cleaning. And why was she returning to Stylus when there were several other nightclubs in the city that would cater to her every whim? No. Amy wasn’t buying it. Kirby Ferrara was coming back for a reason. But what that reason was remained to be seen.

  “You’re probably right,” she said.

  “All the same, it’s best if you avoid her table.”

  “That won’t be a problem.”

  “Great. Thanks,” he said, then swept past her and left the room.

  After he closed the door behind him, Cynda slammed her locker door shut. “I’m not in the mood to put up with that…that rich bitch tonight. If she even looks at me funny she’ll be sorry.”

  “We’ve seen you handle worse,” Amy said quickly. “But if you need to vent, we’ll be there.”

  “Amy’s right,” Ronnie chimed in. “We’ve got your back.”

  Cynda’s fierce scowl morphed into a wry smile. “Thanks, but it’s her back you should be worried about.”

  Five hours later, Amy was sure that if she wore one of those expensive watches that counted her steps she would have clocked in at over twenty thousand steps since she’d started her shift. Due to the popularity of the guest DJ, the VIP lounge had been filled with people writhing to the music near the railing that overlooked the first floor, couples uninhibitedly making out at their tables, and inebriated men and women taking selfies in the conversation pit.

  Talk about a madhouse. She couldn’t wait for the night to end. And thankfully, she wouldn’t have to wait much longer. In an hour she’d be on her way home to her warm, comfortable bed.

  The first floor was still a madhouse, but the crowd in the VIP lounge had thinned out and now Amy only had to worry about two tables in her section and a small party in the conversation pit who, by the looks of it, were going to stay until the last strobe light had been turned off and the DJ vacated the building.

  Dropping off a tray of empties at the bar, she gave Buddy a wan smile. “How are you holding up?”

  “I’m getting too old for this.” He braced his palms on the bar and shook his head. “Some of these people are here every weekend. You’d think they’d get sick of the place.”

  “Don’t let Brock hear you say that.” Amy grinned and slid her tray onto the bar. “I need a bathroom break. My tables are set for the moment.”

  As she headed for the hallway, she glanced toward Cynda’s section. Kirby Ferrara had strutted into the lounge an hour late with her posse trailing behind her like the mindless minions they were. She’d sat at the table in her alcove like a queen holding court, and every so often she’d deign to let an eager club goer sit at her table for ten or fifteen minutes. It was reminiscent of high school with Kirby starring as the mean girl who presided over the popular table in the lunchroom.

  Cynda had managed to rein in her disgust and there had been no incidents since Kirby arrived. Amy had avoided that section of the lounge and if her luck held she would be able to get through the end of her shift without coming within ten feet of the rich socialite.

  After walking into the restroom, Amy nodded at two women reapplying lipstick in front of the mirror and then entered one of the stalls. She listened with amusement as they discussed their dates for the evening in not-too-flattering terms. As she finished up in the stall, she heard them leave and then the only sound was the thumping of the bass from the first floor.

  Seconds later, she stood at the sink washing her hands when the door opened and Kirby sauntered in. The lack of surprise on her angular face was Amy’s first clue their meeting in the restroom wasn’t a coinciden
ce.

  “Hello, Amy,” Kirby said, moving to stand next to her. “Spilled drinks on anyone tonight?”

  “Not yet. But the night is still young.” Amy met Kirby’s gaze in the mirror and gave her a forced smile as she pulled a paper towel from the dispenser on the counter. “Are you enjoying your evening?” she added, even though being pleasant to someone as hateful as Kirby made her want to vomit.

  “Very much.” Kirby checked her reflection in the mirror, then opened her small purse and pulled out a tube of lip gloss. “Brock is so eager for the kind of press I get just by showing up that he bent over backward to accommodate me.”

  “The press does seem to follow you around like a pack of hungry dogs. I guess they smell…” Amy wrinkled her nose. “…a story.”

  Kirby smoothed the gloss on her lips, then slipped the tube into her purse. “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Well, you did end up on several Instagram and Facebook feeds after our little encounter.” She laughed; a braying sound that grated on Amy’s nerves like the annoying buzzer on her alarm clock. “Which by the way, I engineered.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  Unamused by Amy’s sarcasm, Kirby’s gaze turned icy. “I could ruin you, you know. I wield a lot of power in this city.”

  “I don’t doubt that. But why would you want to ruin me? Oh, wait. I know why. You’re not used to mere peons like me calling you out on your bad behavior, are you?”

  Kirby’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And I suppose you’re the poster child for virtuous behavior? Tell me, Ms. Vaughn. What would I find out about you if I went digging?”

  Unease crept up Amy’s spine. How did Kirby know her last name? “Nothing,” she said flatly and tossed the paper towel in the trash receptacle. “And as lovely as it’s been chatting with you, I have to get back to work.”

  “Don’t let me stop you.” Kirby rechecked her reflection in the mirror, brushed back her hair, and then smoothed out imaginary wrinkles in her tight dress with her palms. “But is serving drinks in a posh VIP lounge really work? Now, stripping to earn a living. That’s work. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Amy clenched her fists but kept her expression neutral. She’d already put a toe on the line she’d promised Brock she wouldn’t cross. Kirby had goaded her into losing her temper once. It wouldn’t happen again tonight. “For those who do it, I’m sure it’s hard work. But then, I’ve found that in any profession where you deal with the public it’s best to keep a smile on your face. No matter how rude and nasty your customers are.” She met Kirby’s gaze in the mirror, and then flashed her most insincere smile as she stepped around her and opened the door. “I hope you and your friends have a fabulous evening,” she called out in a sickeningly sweet tone as she left the restroom.

  In the hallway, Kirby’s friend, the blonde who’d tripped Amy several weeks ago, was standing guard by the door. Amy slanted an annoyed glance at her but kept her mouth shut. Not because she didn’t have a few choice words for the sycophant, but because she wouldn’t give Kirby or her friend the satisfaction of knowing they’d pissed her off.

  As she headed back to the lounge, Amy’s unease returned. Had Kirby’s remark about digging into her past been a threat? Or a jab to rile her up? As much as she hoped it was the latter, that stripper remark hadn’t been random. It was a calculated move, and that could mean only one thing.

  Kirby Ferrara might very well have the power to ruin her life.

  12

  Smothering a yawn, Amy shuffled like a zombie from a low-budget horror movie into the living room where Danny paced furiously in front of the brightly lit Christmas tree. “You do know I didn’t get home until two-thirty last night, right?” she asked, tightening the belt of her flannel robe around her waist and dragging her fingers through her tangled hair.

  Danny halted abruptly and let out an exaggerated sigh. “It’s Christmas. I always wake you up early on Christmas. It’s...it’s...” Brow furrowed, he looked up at her. “You know...that word for when you always do something.”

  “Tradition.”

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “That,” he said, then pointed at the tree with a huge grin on his face. “Look, Mom. Santa was here. He left some presents under the tree and the cookies and milk are all gone. He must have been super hungry.”

  Lucia O’Brien’s chocolate chip oatmeal cookies had been a welcome sight when Amy had rolled in after her shift at Stylus, but Danny didn’t need to know she’d been the one to wolf down the snack he and Lucia had left out, not Santa. “Santa was tired.” She rubbed the grit from her eyes. “I’m sure the cookies and milk gave him a much-needed energy boost.”

  “I think his belly is so big because everyone leaves him cookies.”

  “Then maybe we should put carrots out next year. They’re a lot healthier.”

  Danny scrunched his face in distaste. Clearly he thought she was insane for even suggesting a nutritious option. “No way! If we leave carrots, he’ll never come back.” He whirled around to face the tree, the belt of his robe swirling with him. “Can we open presents now? Please,” he said, drawing the word out in a high whine.

  “As soon as I make coffee.” She gave him an affectionate pat on the head and moved to the kitchen.

  “After we open presents are we gonna have French toast?” he asked, trailing behind her and slipping onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar.

  “You bet,” she said as she opened the canister sitting on the counter. The heavenly aroma of French roast invaded her nostrils; she almost whimpered out loud.

  “Cause it’s our tradition.” He tapped his fingers on the countertop to some unknown beat in his head. “Oh, I forgot to tell you something important.” She looked over her shoulder at him and his lopsided grin melted her heart. “Merry Christmas, Mom.”

  And if that didn’t make getting up at the crack of dawn worth it, she didn’t know what did. “Merry Christmas, Danny.”

  It took close to an hour for Amy to feel like she was fully functioning but Danny didn’t seem to notice. The coffee had helped her fake it and so had Danny’s enthusiasm. As was their tradition, the first thing they did was open the small gifts in their stockings. She’d filled Danny’s with the black licorice pinwheels he loved, as well as some Brain Quest cards, colored highlighters, a mini Lego kit, and a pair of Marvel socks. And, of course, no stocking was complete without an orange and a quarter in the toe for good luck. Her dad had taught her that.

  She’d stuffed her stocking with several tubes of her favorite lip balm, hand cream, double-dipped malted milk balls, along with some inexpensive items from the drugstore. She hoped they would keep their tradition alive even after Danny discovered Santa wasn’t the one who filled the stockings. It was her favorite part of Christmas morning.

  For years she’d been on a tight budget, and as a result, their Christmases had never been lavish. This year was no different, but she had been able to find an electronic tablet online at a decent price, and when Danny opened it she thought he might explode with excitement. His enthusiasm as he turned it on and they went through the set-up process together, sitting side by side on the couch, made the extra money she’d spent worth it.

  “Mom, Santa didn’t leave you any presents,” he said after he’d left the device on the end table to charge the battery.

  “That’s because I was so busy I forgot to write him a letter this year.” Actually, she’d been too busy to buy a gift for herself, wrap it and put it under the tree without Danny’s knowledge.

  Her explanation eased the frown bunched between his eyebrows. “It’s okay, Mom. You’ve got one from me.” He shot up from the couch and raced to the tree, almost tripping over his feet in his haste. “Aunt Jade helped me pick it out.” Crouching near the base of the tree, he rearranged the gifts she’d bought for Jade and her family, and then pulled out a small box wrapped in green foil and topped with a red bow. “I’ve been saving my allowance
since we moved here and I had just enough.” Danny returned to sit next to her and presented the gift to her with great flourish.

  “I can’t wait to see what it is,” she said, unable to contain her excitement as she made quick work of ripping off the bow and the wrapping paper. After tossing the crumpled paper on the coffee table, she lifted the top of the box and gasped. “Oh, Danny, it’s beautiful,” she said, gazing at the silver necklace nestled inside the box. The pendant, a mini dog-tag, had Danny’s name engraved on it and was accented in the lower right-hand corner with his birthstone—a lime green peridot. Danny’s allowance was a pittance, which meant Jade had no doubt paid the difference without his knowledge.

  “As long as you have that you’ll never forget me,” he said in a solemn voice.

  She looked up at him, sudden moisture stinging her eyes. “Oh, Danny, there’s no way I could ever forget you.” Pulling him into her arms, she hugged him tightly against her chest, burying her face in his hair and breathing in the scent of the baby shampoo she’d bought for him since he was a toddler. “I love you so much,” she whispered.

  Danny endured her hug for several seconds before squirming in her arms. “Mom... can’t...breathe,” he said, his voice muffled.

  Grudgingly she let him go and kissed his rosy cheek before dabbing away the wetness at the corners of her eyes. “Thank you, honey. I love your gift,” she said, then motioned toward the tree with a nod. “There’s one more present over there for you. Check all the way in the back.”

  After Rick had joined them for the movie last Sunday, Danny had invited him to go to the Christmas tree lot with them. Together, the three of them had picked out a tree, and then Rick had offered to load it in the back of his SUV and deliver it to the apartment. Unbeknownst to her son, before Rick left he’d asked her if it was okay for him to give Danny a gift. Touched by his thoughtful gesture, she’d agreed and had stashed the wrapped box in her bedroom without Danny noticing. She’d put it under the tree early this morning before she’d fallen into bed, exhausted.