by Jodi Redford
He pulled her in for one final hot kiss before letting her go and walking out the door. Her knees shaking, she collapsed onto the couch cushion. She needed to stay strong. Because God knows if Trig kissed her like that again, she’d be done for.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Gloominess hanging over him like a horsehair blanket, Trig powered through another round of brutal stomach crunches. The intense burn in his belly was a welcome relief to the empty ache resting in his heart.
Yeah, karma was one hell of a bitch. When it decided to take a chunk out of his ass, it really went in for the kill. Was love worth this kind of misery?
No matter how many times he mentally cycled through every bittersweet moment he’d shared with Marissa over the last week, he came to the same conclusion. Love was absolutely worth it. Even the gut wrenching parts, like the very real possibility that she was slipping away from him.
No. He refused to let that happen. One way or another, he’d convince her that they’d make this work.
And how do you intend to do that when you have no damn clue how relationships even function? What if he completely sucked at the whole happily-ever-after thing? For Christ’s sake, he never dated a woman past one night.
Except in Marissa’s case. They’d lasted an entire week. Talk about a fucking record for him.
“Campbell, you done moping over there? Cause you’re on in five minutes.”
Pushing up from the mat, he swiped the towel over his torso and approached his dressing table. He yanked on his tear-away pants and Frank handed over the candy cane. Trig stared at it glumly, his thoughts once again trekking to Marissa. No surprise there. She was a constant presence in his brain.
“What the fuck is going on with you tonight?”
He shifted his focus to Frank. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit. You look like your grandma just got run over by a reindeer or something.” Frank sighed. “See what I mean? That was a perfectly good joke and you didn’t even crack a smile.”
Trig forced a half-hearted laugh, making Frank grimace. His manager tossed the Santa hat at him and stalked to the door. After getting the rest of his costume situated, Trig followed him backstage and took his mark behind the curtain. The DJ launched into his usual spiel and the rowdy excitement from the women up front threatened to bring down the house. The thrill he typically experienced prior to hitting the stage remained noticeably absent. He couldn’t stop thinking of Marissa, and how much he wished she was out in the audience. Or better yet, that he was about to perform a private dance in the cozy comfort of their living room.
No, wait, her living room. Though this last week it’d started to feel like they were cohabitating together. And he’d liked it. A lot. He could easily picture spending every night snuggled up on the couch together. He’d rub her feet while she told him about her day. Then maybe they’d make out for a while, until they were both hungry and aching for each other. More than likely they wouldn’t make it to the bed, and he’d sink into her hot, heavenly heat right there on the sofa.
He was so entrenched in the fantasy that he nearly missed his cue as the curtain lifted.
Gyrating to the center of the stage, he went through the motions of his routine without being fully engaged, much less enjoying himself. Still, he was a professional and knew how to put on a convincing act. The woman who shared the Santa seat with him proved enthusiastic, but she was no Marissa. The damn set couldn’t finish fast enough for him.
He made his way to the dressing room and Frank passed over his tip bag with a scowl. Trig anted up a sheepish look. “Yes, I know I sucked donkey balls tonight.”
“Get your shit together, Campbell. Otherwise I’m giving the rookie the rest of your set time tonight.” With that warning issued, Frank slammed out of the room.
A low whistle came from Curtis. “Man, you’ve really crawled up his ass tonight.” He took a swig from his water bottle and eyed Trig. “What gives?”
“I’m not on my game tonight.”
“Yeah. Figured as much. Why?”
“Got a lot on my mind.”
Curtis’s expression turned shrewd. “Pussy, right?” He chuffed in response to Trig’s squint. “You think you’re the only sap to fall under the spell of the magic kitty? Hell. Happens to the best of us.”
“It’s more than that. I love her.”
Curtis’s eyebrows formed perfect arches. “No shit. Had no idea you were seeing anyone. She’s not a regular, is she?”
“You know me better than that. She’s not into the strip club scene. Although she sure as hell knows how to suck off a candy cane.” He shivered at the memory.
“You are one kinky bastard, my friend.” Curtis’s gaze turned thoughtful. “Wait a minute. You’re not talking about that hot brunette, are you?”
Trig gaped at him. “How the fuck did you figure that out?”
“You’re shittin’ me, right? The heat you two were generating on the stage last week nearly set off the smoke alarms. Seriously, the rookie and I were placing bets on whether or not ole Frank would have to bust out the fire hose to break you up.” Curtis’s chuckle petered off when Trig didn’t join in with his own ribald laugh. “Aw hell, you really are in love with her.”
“Not much good it does me. She kicked me to the curb.”
“Why?”
Trig provided the abridged version of events that’d led up to his current lovelorn plight. Curtis frowned. “You told her you loved her, and she’s still not having it?”
“Well, I didn’t exactly tell her yet.”
Frank stared at him like he might possibly be mentally impaired. “Don’t ya think that woulda been the smart thing to do?”
“What difference would it have made? I told her I wanted her more than any other woman, and that didn’t change her mind.”
“How can a dude who dates women for a living know so little about them?” Curtis shook his head. “They need to hear the L word. And that’s love, by the way. Just so you know which one I’m referring to and don’t mess it up, ya dumbass.”
“Cut me some slack. I’ve never been in love before, so I’m learning as I go.”
“And doing a shit job of it,” Curtis replied with a grunt.
“Okay, wise one. So I tell her I love her.” Trig nodded, the heaviness already lifting from his heart. “I think I can manage it this time without fucking things up.”
“Too late for that. You’re already fucked.” Curtis crossed his arms over his barrel-sized chest. “You can’t tell a woman you love her after she’s kicked you to the curb. She’ll never believe you.”
The all-encompassing hope that’d bloomed inside Trig withered on the vine.
“Unless you come to the table loaded for bear.”
Just like that, Curtis’s amendment acted as a life preserver in the depressing obstacle-ridden sea of Trig’s love ineptitude. Trig rubbed his chin, his mind whirling with a possible action plan. “Long stem red roses and edible underwear.”
“This is the love of your life, man. Save that shit for your honeymoon.”
“Yeah, I see what you’re saying. I’m going to have to bring out the big guns.”
Curtis’s expression remained skeptical. “Maybe you better get a second opinion on your plan before you actually spring it on her.”
Trig spilled out the barebones idea he was working with. Judging from the impressed set of Curtis’s features, he was on the right track. The burly dancer slapped his hand on Trig’s shoulder. “Shit. I’d be tempted to let you into my pants if you did something like that for me.”
“Remind me to do nothing remotely like this for you. Ever.”
Curtis adopted a wounded look. “I coulda been your everything, Campbell.”
Trig shuddered, and Curtis guffawed as he snagged his water bottle and swaggered to the other side of the room.
Excitement filling his chest, Trig finished changing out of his costume and swapped it for his jersey track pants. This would work. It was something that�
�d been on his mind ever since Marissa opened up to him about the things she’d missed out on during her youth. He’d tinkered with the idea of finding a way to make it up to her, and this was the perfect opportunity. Not only would it give him a chance to redeem himself and tell her how he truly felt about her, he’d get to do something special for her.
He was so wrapped up in his mental planning that he paid no mind to Frank and James when they entered the dressing room. It wasn’t until Frank squirted Trig with the spray bottle that he snapped from his musings. Scrubbing his arm across his eyes, he glared at his manager. “What?”
“Someone’s asking about booking a private dance from you.”
“Damn it, did you tell them I’m not available until after the holidays?”
“What do I look like, your mother?” Frank tossed up his arms. “She’s up by the bar. You go tell her.”
Great. Growling under his breath, Trig grabbed his hoodie and yanked it on before stalking out into the hallway. He took the corridor to the side entrance that led into the main part of the club. Bypassing the noisy congestion of the packed tables, he bee-lined for the bar. It was empty other than Carl, who was apparently tending bar tonight. Trig gave him a nod. “Somebody wanted to talk to me?”
“That would be me, handsome.”
Trig stiffened, both at the voice behind him and the blatant groping of his ass. He pivoted, careful to protect his package by angling himself so he was partially blocked by the neighboring bar stool. “What are you doing here, Farrah?”
“I came to see you dance.” She snaked her nails along his hoodie’s zipper. “You really know how to get a woman’s panties wet, don’t you? With the way those hips move, I bet you’re incredible in the sack.”
“My girlfriend certainly seems to think so,” he replied flatly.
Judging from the hard glint in her eyes, Farrah didn’t like that answer at all. Tough shit. Whatever game she was playing here, he wasn’t interested.
“You honestly expect me to believe you have a girlfriend?” Her laugh brittle, she flicked her wrist toward the crowd behind them. “Or let me guess, every one of them is yours for the night if they stuff enough hundreds in your G string.”
“You can leave now.”
“No, I don’t think so.” She brazenly stroked his pecs through the fabric of his sweat top. “I intend to book you for a private show. I don’t want to wait two more days for our date.”
“That’s out of the question. And you’ll have to find another escort for Christmas Eve. I’m no longer available.”
She dropped her hand and narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you dare think of fucking with me. Do you have any idea who I am? How easily I could get you fired?” She snapped her fingers in his face.
Carl cleared his throat. “Is there a problem here?”
Farrah squared her shoulders and flipped her hair. “Yes. This employee is harassing me. I demand to speak to the owner of this dump.”
“That would be me, sweetheart.” Carl sat down the glass he’d been drying and gave Farrah a thin smile. “Now you were saying?”
Farrah looked momentarily nonplussed by Carl’s announcement. Trig had to admit he was rather enjoying the moment. Her haughtiness slipping back in place, she waved her fingers in Trig’s direction. “You heard how rude he was being toward me. Aren’t you going to do anything about it?”
“Yeah, reckon I am.” Carl crossed to the house phone and spoke in a low tone in the receiver.
Farrah’s smirk remained un-budging all the way up to the moment Lewis, the bouncer, arrived. His hulking frame towering over her, Lewis stared down at her intimidatingly. “Ma’am, I’m going to have to escort you out the door.”
Her eyes nearly bugging out of their sockets, Farrah panned her gaze between the three of them. “Are you fucking kidding me?” she shrieked, her complexion going six shades of red. “Do you know who I am?”
“You keep asking that, and frankly, I still don’t give a shit.” Carl jutted his chin at Lewis, signaling the bouncer to shackle Farrah’s arm in his meaty fist.
Farrah went ballistic, but Carl calmly dragged her toward the exit like she weighed no more than a sack of potatoes.
“I will get you fired for this,” Farrah screeched.
Trig got the last crack in. “Go right ahead, babe. Looks like you’re all set for an escort anyway.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
There was no better way to convince yourself you were a lonely loser than by spending Christmas Eve all alone.
Her heart just as heavy as it’d been the night she broke things off with Trig, Marissa stared at the lights twinkling on the tree. It was her favorite time of the year, and she couldn’t find the slightest spark of joy inside her. Tonight she’d mope and wallow in her misery. Tomorrow she was spending the day with her mom and she didn’t want to worry her, so she needed to get all of this out of her system now.
Pushing up from the couch, she crossed to the tree and stroked the snow angel ornament that Trig had given her. Tears waterlogged her vision.
She missed him so much. Her bed—the whole house—felt empty without him. But her heart felt the emptiest of all.
Her chest vising, she walked to the coffee table and snatched her cell phone before she could stop herself. She pulled up his last series of text messages and scanned them over and over until his words were etched into her brain. It’d become a ritual she performed at least a dozen or so times a day. Just a little OCD. Still, it made her feel close to him, pathetic as it was.
Maybe she should call him. Just to see how he was doing and to hear his voice. Midway through punching in his number she lost her nerve and canceled out the entry.
Her brain kept telling her that she did the right thing. So why was her heart having such a tough time catching up with the program? He hadn’t even contacted her the last few days, despite his pronouncement that it wasn’t over between them. Really? He had a funny way of showing it.
Gah. Stop it. It was good that he wasn’t making any attempt to woo her back into his arms. She’d proven that she had zero willpower when it came to him, so he was doing her a huge favor by staying away.
Even if it hurt like hell.
But it’s what you wanted. Don’t be one of those stupid, contrary women who require a secret decoder ring to determine what is that they really want.
No, she wouldn’t settle for anything less than a real commitment and the reciprocation of her love from any man. Including Trig.
She opened the small drawer in the coffee table and tossed her cell phone inside. A second later she fetched it back out again. She’d never remember it was in there. Better to battle the desire to call Trig than ransack her house searching for her damn phone.
A rap sounded on her door and she jumped. Her heart leaping into her throat, she stared at the entryway. Who would be on her doorstep on Christmas Eve?
Maybe it was Trig. Her pulse tap-danced at that possibility until she recalled that he was working tonight. Right now he was probably schmoozing and charming the gorgeous Farrah. That image churning the queasiness in her stomach, she shuffled to the door and peeked through the peep hole.
It was Jane.
Happiness mixing with her disappointment, she opened the door and ushered her friend inside. Jane wrapped her in a tight hug, bumping her in the butt with the big box she held.
“Um, is that a huge package or are you just happy to see me?”
Jane gave her a finger gun before handing the box over. Marissa frowned. “I thought we weren’t exchanging gifts this year.”
“That isn’t from me. But technically I did give you the red dress, so you still owe me a present. I’m accepting donations for a boob job.”
“Subtle.” Marissa pivoted toward the tree.
“What are you doing? Open it now.”
“But it’s not Christmas.”
Jane offered her an impatient look. “Pretty sure you won’t get thrown in jail for opening gifts on freakin’ Chri
stmas Eve.”
“I’d rather wait.”
“For what? Life to pass you by? Just look at the damn card, for fuck’s sake.”
“Your gift giving could really use some brushing up.” Grumbling under her breath, Marissa flipped back the front flap of the red embossed card.
For Rissa.
From Kinky Claus.
Her heart began beating in triple time. Fingers shaking, she fumbled with the box, nearly dropping it. Finally she managed to get the paper opened on one end. She carefully flipped the package, intending to work on the opposite side.
Jane jabbed her nails into the paper and unceremoniously ripped it in half. “You were taking too long.”
Sighing, Marissa tossed the mangled mess aside and opened the box’s lid. A glittery, frothy confection of a dress rested inside the tissue paper. She pulled it out and spied the matching ice blue low-heeled pumps and elbow-length satin gloves. Blinking, she turned her focus to Jane. “I don’t understand. What is this for?”
“Put it on and you’ll find out.”
“Now?”
“Yeah, and make it snappy. Your carriage is about to turn into a pumpkin, Slutterella.”
Mystified by the whole situation, Marissa carried the box into the bedroom and quickly exchanged her ratty flannel PJs for the dress, gloves, and shoes. She detoured to the bathroom to run a brush through her hair before returning to the living room. Jane snagged her by the arm and hauled her to the door. They stepped out onto the porch and Marissa goggled at the stretch limo parked at the curb.
“Your carriage.”
She shifted her attention to Jane. “What in the world is going on?”
Jane made a grand sweeping gesture with her arm. “Get in and you’ll find out.”
“Are you going to keep spouting vague mysterious answers in that bad gypsy accent?”
“Ask me again and you’ll find out.”
Growling, Marissa hiked up the hem of her dress and dashed for the limo. She climbed inside, fully expecting Jane to duck in next to her. Instead her best friend shut the door and waved at her through the tinted glass. The vehicle rolled forward, leaving Jane behind, and Marissa straightened in her seat and peered toward the driver. “Um, any chance you can tell me where we’re going?”
