by Eden Butler
“If I’m lying, I’m flying…”
“And you don’t have wings, darlin’.”
“Nope. I don’t.”
This time Louie’s laugh was loud, catching Sarah’s attention as she stuffed a wad of ones into her front pocket. “I’m out, guys,” she said, shaking her head at Louie’s stupid giggle. “See you tomorrow.”
“Need me to walk you to the bus stop?” Louie winked again at Sarah, this time earning a smile from her. She couldn’t be more than twenty, older than me, but not by much. She had long, blonde hair and eyes that were deep like coffee in bad need of creamer.
“Nah, my boyfriend is picking me up on the corner.” She said this with a tilt of her head, like she wanted Louie’s question answered. “And he’s a big fella.”
“The big one’s fall the hardest.”
“And they have the worst tempers.” She brushed his shoulder when she past him. “You keep out of trouble, old man.”
The dig didn’t bother Louie, had him chuckling a little longer as he watched Sarah leave out the door. “Ah, well, can’t fault me for trying.”
“That was you trying?” I said, pouring the cook another cup of coffee.
“Well…”
“How have you been married for thirty years if that’s your idea of trying?”
“My big, long…”
“That’s enough.” I waved my hand, stopping him before the old pervert could finish that sentence and nodded at our manager Carl when he hurried through the door.
“Guys, that new cook I hired took sick.” Carl was dumpy, not nearly clever enough to do the books right and was the kind of bald that looked more sickly than sad. He combed five small white locks across his spotted scalp and always patted them down, seeming not ready to admit defeat. “Lou, you think you can pull another shift?”
“Man,” Louie started, sitting back against the barstool to glare up at our boss, “I’ve been here since five a.m.”
“I’ll pay you double,” Carl said, brushing his fingernails over that barely-there hair.
“You will not, you big liar. Tillie would kill you.”
I returned to the kitchen, setting the dirty plates on the counter next to the sink while Carl continued to make promises to Louie that all of us knew he’d never keep. The diner was slow for a Tuesday night and other than Carl, Louie and the dishwasher, who I suspected didn’t speak English but always muttered “Okay, you betcha” every time someone asked him a question, the place was empty. The dishwasher was out on a smoke break—I heard the low yammering of Spanish as he spoke to someone on his cell and saw a thick plume of gray smoke as he paced—so I picked up the dirty plates and began to wash them.
This was all a distraction. Earlier, the dinner rush had been brutal, always was when Carl ran the Tuesday Two-Dollar Smothered Pork Chops special and so I had spent most of the afternoon and night too busy to wonder about Ransom and that unexpected kiss he’d planted on me a few days before.
But now, the place was dead with only Carl’s whine and Louie’s smug laughter to fill up the quiet. The sink water was warm and soothing but the monotony of scrubbing the debris from the white porcelain didn’t keep my mind unfocused like I wanted. Since that night at the studio, I’d had a hell of a time keeping myself distracted enough that I wouldn’t obsessively recall the way Ransom fiercely he held onto my body. How much I wanted him to do that again.
Monday at Keira and Kona’s I’d spent most of the day holding my breath, worried that Ransom would stop by for some reason or another, then disappointed when he didn’t. Now with the quiet and the lack of anything to do, those memories came back heavy and constant.
Not paying attention, I splashed water onto my apron, stepping back when it hit my shoes. “Modi.” That’s what I got for letting my mind wander. I knew better than to put any real thought into what had happened. No matter how many looks he’d given me, how close we’d come to kissing, to touching and despite that grope fest at the studio, I knew that Ransom wasn’t ready for what I wanted.
I’d heard the stories, those pathetic whispers the students made around the studio about Ransom. The news coverage about him as an angry kid was one thing. That had been a long time ago, but what had happened with his girlfriend out on the lake, that was something that wouldn’t be easily forgotten. He was still haunted, the rumors went. He hasn’t been the same since that summer. And worst of all, He’s broken.
I’d felt that. I’d remembered what I knew, the impact of her loss, and how it had changed Ransom from the sixteen year old who’d run around Leann’s smitten by first love, and then, to the silent, sulking seventeen-year old who wouldn’t speak to anyone but Leann or Tristian. Now he was friendlier, had gotten back some of the humor he’d had at sixteen, but it wasn’t the same. Loss had aged him, so had guilt. That’s why I hadn’t made an effort to run after him, before or now. No matter how beautiful he was or how heavy that torch was that I carried for him, I suspected he was still hurting and didn’t need me chasing after him because of one very intense, but still unexpected kiss.
Sopping up the hem of my wet shirt, I rubbed a hand towel over the gray material, patting it dry as the dishwasher returned from his break and glared at me when he spotted the small puddle I made on the floor. “I’ll get it,” I told him, reaching for the mop, when Carl poked his head through the service window between the dining area and kitchen.
“Aly, customer. Section one.”
“I got it. Just a sec.” I ignored the dishwasher when he mumbled under his breath and jerked the mop out of my hand.
My shirt was still wet, the apron hopeless and it was the business of tying on a clean one that distracted me from the customer sitting in the corner booth at the back of the diner. A double knot, a yank on my pad and pen and I stopped at the booth, my smile crumbling as my gaze ran over the florid face of the man sitting there.
“Poupou,” I muttered, but Ironside heard and the little oath had him grinning around his damn toothpick.
“And hello to you, Ms. King.” He slouched against the table, fingers twisting that small stick over his bottom teeth as he looked me over. “Gotta say, the corset suited you better than jeans and a Firefly t-shirt.”
“What can I get you, sir?” I asked, knowing Carl, the nosey bastard, was watching me from the cash register.
Ironside followed my quick glance at my manager, then looked over his shoulder at Carl. “Hey, man, I need to have a convo with your waitress here.” He nodded Carl over with a wave of his wallet, pulling out a small roll like he was some big shit and not a common thug. “Take this. Should cover the coffee I drink and the time I take.”
Carl was a lazy, greedy little jackass, but he wasn’t cruel and it was my gaze he caught, not Ironside’s, before I nodded, thinking that a chat wouldn’t kill me and that tip would cover any lost customers I couldn’t wait on. “It’s fine,” I told my manager and he gripped the two bills off the table before he walked away.
“Have a seat.” I didn’t argue with the man. It had been a long shift, despite the lack of customers then, and my feet were throbbing. So I sat across from Ironside with only a fleeting curiosity about what he wanted and relieved that my aches would get a break even if it meant I had a chat with a douchebag.
“So?” I said when I got tired of the man’s obvious gazing at my chest. “What can I do for you?”
He didn’t answer until he’d finished his blatant examination of my tits and neck before he sat back, holding that toothpick between his fingers. “There’s been a request for another performance.”
Dammit. I knew that private show would come back to bite me in the ass. “A request? From who?”
“Sweetheart, you’re not stupid.” He said the endearment with a little drag of each syllable, making it sound like a curse. “Who the hell do you think?”
I didn’t know what I expected. Maybe that Ransom wouldn’t want anyone but me after that kiss? Maybe that the weeks we’d spent together meant a little more t
o him than he led on. Hell, I wasn’t that naive, but I still couldn’t keep myself from wondering about this request and how close it came to our last practice together. “When?”
“This weekend.”
“No, I mean when did he make that request?”
“Does it matter?” Ironside waved me off, like my question was so insignificant it didn’t warrant a discussion. “It’s double what I paid you last time.”
Double? Modi. That would give me a break from the diner and put me that much closer to tuition for the next semester. But double? I couldn’t help wondering if the up in pay came because Ironside was desperate to make Ransom happy or if Ransom was that anxious to be entertained. “And why is that?”
“Because he wants you. He asked for you specifically. I give my friends what they want and when supply is low,” another glance over my chest like Ironside wished he could clone me and I had to lace my fingers together to keep from slapping him, “well, they owe more.”
“Since when are you and Ransom friends?” It was ridiculous that Ironside even had any friends. Ransom was nowhere near that bottom of a dweller and I suspected Ironside knew that.
“Since I made you dance for him.” He leaned forward and I instantly sat back, not liking the leer on his face, or the way he smiled with that stupid toothpick moving in the corner of his mouth. “I see you in here sometimes, working your ass off, slapping away motherfuckers who want inside that tight little body. You got spirit and you’re a tough chick.”
The idea of him watching me, that he knew about the drunk assholes and the unwanted attention they gave me, made me feel sick. Not about the drunks, but that Ironside had his eyes on me. “You trying to make a point or just kiss my ass a little?”
“Oh, baby I kiss nobody’s ass. Yours,” he looked at my breasts again, then underneath the table like he needed to verify the level of hotness my body gave off. “Hell, I’d make an exception if I didn’t know Ransom wanted you.”
“I don’t know if I am flattered or completely disgusted.”
That insult got ignored as Ironside stood and grabbed the coffee pot and a mug from the behind the counter. Carl watched him, so did the pissed off dishwasher, but I looked away from his movement, not willing to let that jackass think I was interested in why he walked around every place he frequented like it belonged to him.
“Thing is,” he said, his voice clear as he walked back to the booth, “you busting that sweet little ass of yours ain’t really necessary.” Ironside sipped on his coffee with his eyes trained on my face. “I got girls.” The seat dipped when he sat down and Ironside removed the toothpick to take another sip. “Not just at the club and they make a hell of a lot of bank for an hour or two of their time. I get a cut and they don’t work again until they want to. It’s an easy life. You’d fit in and hell, we both know you’d pull in some cash, looking the way you do, moving that body the way you do.” Another glance at my body, then Ironside’s gaze scrutinized my face. “Creole?”
But I didn’t answer. It was none of his damn business who my people were. Fact was, only bits of my family’s heritage slipped out in a few words I spoke every now and then. Mostly, when I cursed. My mother had been Cajun, but because she married a Creole, Haitian, not French, she’d been abandoned by her people.
My father, well, he wasn’t as interested in teaching me our culture, not like grann had been but then she died when I was young and I’d been left to figure out the language on my own and that only came with my father’s Kreyol cursing, usually at me.
Ironside’s gaze kept wandering over my body, down my chest and back again, making me feel like a fatted calf at the parish fair. I’d been on my own since I was seventeen. I worked hard to keep in shape, lifting weights out at the Y, dancing, running and, to be honest, I was generally so damn busy calories didn’t have a chance to get comfortable in my body. I knew what I looked like. I knew that physically, my body tended to garner attention, so did my nearly-green eyes. But my inability to seem friendly and open, typically made men not approach unless they were stinking drunk.
Ironside, though, that offer, shot down any ideas I had about being invisible. He didn’t care about me being broke. He didn’t, I suspected, really care about how hard I worked. He only knew that a famous NFL linebacker’s kid liked watching me dance. Ironside thought that me knowing Ransom, me being in his life, meant he could blackmail me into getting him whatever he wanted.
But a prostitute? He couldn’t be serious.
“Eskize mwen! Are you asking me if I want to be your whore? Lay on my back every once in a while to earn money?” I hated that flippant little shrug of his and how his stupid smile covered a badly contained laugh. “Are you out of your fucking mind?” The laughter ceased and Ironside quickly lost the shit-eating grin.
“Don’t get offended.” He sighed and I suspected I wasn’t the first woman to get pissed at him for an offer like this. “It’s as close to a compliment as I give.”
“Yeah? Well you suck at it.”
Over another hand wave, I spotted Carl walked toward the coffee machine, eyes searching, as though he wanted to make sure Ironside wasn’t becoming a threat, bless him. A quick nod and my manager walked back into the kitchen. Across the booth Ironside alternated between sipping his coffee and fingering that toothpick. He really was disgusting. Not just the worn, four season old suits he wore or the tacky gold in his mouth. He carried himself like a pimp—someone used to a constant hustle but not quite clever enough to pull off anything significant. How could Misty let this asshole sully her club? Summerland’s was beautiful, elegant and comforting and Ironside was probably using whatever he had hanging over Misty to run girls through her place.
“Does Misty know you ask her dancers to work for you?”
“Misty and I have a business arrangement.” There was a small twitch moving along his top lip as he spoke about her. “She stays out of mine and I let her keep hers.”
Loser or not, Ironside could carry out a threat. I knew that. It was in his demeanor. I didn’t like him, was convinced he was a complete waste of space, but I didn’t want to piss him off either. “I’m gonna say no to the whole being a prostitute thing.” I figured if I cut him off, ignored him, he’d disappear. Ironside didn’t strike as the sort to keep after someone, especially a woman, once he heard ‘no.’ Pad back in my apron I started to leave the booth, telling myself I’d had enough of this man for the night, but Ironside grabbed my wrist and held it onto the tabletop before I could walk away.
“And the dance for Ransom?”
I’d almost forgotten. Ransom. Dammit, Ironside was playing a card with the highest number. Being a whore, no. Not for anyone on the planet, but dancing for Ransom again without any inhibitions, without feeling any guilt for what I did or what my body wanted from him? That was a temptation I wasn’t sure I could avoid.
Ironside didn’t fight me when I pulled my hand away and I took a second to stare out of the window, trying not to let the memory of his taste and touch dictate my decision. He was hurting, I knew that. I also knew that Ransom wouldn’t let anyone help him. Not his parents, not his teammates and certainly not the girl he’d accidently kissed when the music and the dance had become too overwhelming.
But if Aly couldn’t reach him, maybe that dancer could.
Ironside didn’t care about Ransom. He gave not even the tiniest shit whether or not he’d recovered from the loss of his first love. I’d known men like Ironside my whole life, hell one of them was my father. He’d never do anything for anyone without expecting something in return.
“What do you get out of it?” I kept my body out of his reach, stepping back when Irosnide slid against the window with his feet on the seat.
“Kona Hale’s son owing me.”
The laugh was sudden and, I could tell, not something Ironside liked hearing from me. “I think you’re overestimating yourself and how entertaining I am. Ransom isn’t the kind of guy who needs favors, neither is his dad. He would
n’t want to owe you a damn thing.”
“You know what he wants now?” Once again that toothpick appeared, Ironside nibbling on the tip as if he liked the tension between us, waiting to see if I’d back down from him. “You know all about him you think? Maybe you do. But does he know about you? He know that you were the girl in the mask getting him off?”
I could only stare down at him, silent, wondering if there was some sort of plot working behind Ironside’s dark eyes. “You threatening me? You think I care if he knows it was me?”
“Oh, I think you care a little.” He pointed that small stick at me, emphasizing his point. “Otherwise, this conversation wouldn’t still be happening.”
“This isn’t the drama you expect it to be, Timber. He and I, we aren’t that close.” Me zanmi, I wanted us to be. “And it wouldn’t be some ungodly betrayal if he found out it was me.”
I knew that was a lie, just not a big one. I’d been around Ransom and his family for a while and yeah, sure he probably would be annoyed if he knew it was me behind the mask. But of the two of us, it was me who’d get hurt the most. If I didn’t tell him the truth and he walked away, refused to speak to me again, I would lose a lot more than he would.
Still, Ironside didn’t need to know that.
“Bullshit,” he said, sounding smug. “You know it, I know it and if Ransom found you out, it’d make things pretty awkward, especially with you watching his kid brother.” He paused for impact, getting the reaction he wanted when I dropped my arms and stepped back. The smile on his face was pleased. “Or maybe if that cousin of his knew you were rubbing up on him she’d think twice about letting you live in that loft.”
That time I fell back into the seat, worried now about how well he knew my business, utterly at a loss for anything sensible to say. I felt like an idiot for underestimating Ironside and his reach.
“Yeah. Thought so.” He got up and left the booth, taking one last sip of his coffee before he replaced the old toothpick with a fresh one from the counter, leaving me speechless and stunned. “Be at Summerland’s before seven. I’ve got my girls coming in early to doll you up and make you look presentable.” When he leaned on the table, his cheap jacket rubbing against my knuckles, I finally looked back at him and didn’t put up much of a fight when Ironside grabbed my chin. “You better make damn sure Ransom gets what he pays for, bèl madanm.”
