Going All In

by Alannah Lynne

  “Yes.”

  “And you didn’t tell me?” His voice was a little lower, like he’d matured ten years since the last time he spoke, but no less incredulous.

  “Not my place to tell, and it’s not important.”

  Wade shook his head and fought off the urge to beat his steering wheel. “Not important? Are you serious? She’s just like Miranda, yet you forced me to work with her. And be nice.”

  “Again, I’ll reiterate, I told you to be nice. I didn’t tell you to date her. And despite your attempts to sound unconcerned and unaffected, I see through your facade, dickhead. If you went the extra step to start seeing her, you already know she’s nothing like Miranda.”

  Wade really, really hated it when Kevin was right.

  “So tomorrow… which marina?”

  “This is an abuse of power.”

  Kevin laughed.

  “Seriously, who’s being an ass now?”

  Once again, his argument was only met with laughter, so he tried a different approach. “The weather is supposed to be bad, which is why I’m still trying to talk Tyler out of going.” Even though it was a waste of breath. Once Tyler had his mind made up, there wasn’t any stopping him.

  “If it gets so bad you need to cancel, I expect you to notify Callie ahead of time.”

  “You suck. You know that? Really, really suck.”

  “Sam never complains.”

  Wade wanted to slap his hands over his ears, but instead, he slapped his forehead, then rubbed back and forth a couple of times. “Why is this so important to you?”

  “It’s important to my wife.” Kevin’s voice held that soft, I’m such a sap tone it always carried whenever he spoke of Sam, and Wade had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. Although, in truth, he was glad Kevin found Sam, and he could imagine himself getting the same gooey-eyes and syrupy-sweet tone when talking about Callie.

  If things hadn’t gone down the shitter.

  “Why does Sam care?”

  “Don’t know, but she’s become a regular old Cupidette lately.” There was a pause before Kevin finished. “Give Callie a chance to explain. I don’t care what happens after that, and if you decide you can’t live with the truth, so be it. But do yourself a favor and let her explain why she didn’t tell you about the trust fund and why she doesn’t use it.”

  She doesn’t use it?

  Kevin’s final words bounced around in Wade’s head long after Kevin disconnected the call. Why didn’t she use it? And if she didn’t… Shit. If she only lived off her Mazze Builders’ salary, then it would stand to reason she might have to save up for a pair of boots.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  Hope flickered to life in his chest. Maybe she hadn’t intentionally deceived him. Maybe this was all a big misunderstanding. He still wasn’t ready to talk because he feared this newfound hope would make it impossible to be objective, so he took the chicken-shit way out and sent her a text.

  Byron’s Marina 5:45 a.m.

  He’d leave it up to her to figure out where the marina was. If she made the effort to find them, that would tell him a lot. And if she got out of bed in the middle of the night to go out in the ocean, something she’d told them the other night she’d never do, it would be the equivalent of hogtying him with his ears wide open.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Wade spent so much time at the Sunset Strip, finding his way through the crowded room in total darkness wouldn’t be a problem. But getting to Mercy’s dressing room or an exit was different than locating a specific table with a certain group of guys. After several moments of absorbing the thumping bass and giving his eyes time to adjust to the club’s dim lighting, he spotted the guys in the VIP section of the club, front and center for the action.

  “’Bout time you got here,” Tyler yelled over the hip-grinding, down-and-dirty music pumping through the club’s top-of-the-line sound system. He saluted Wade with a double shot glass, tossed it back, then licked his lips and held up his hand to catch their server’s attention.

  Sheila, a longtime Sunset server and friend to Wade, wove through the red and black club chairs on the main floor. As she approached their table, Tyler circled his finger around the group, indicating another round for everyone. She tossed him a thumbs-up and caught Wade’s eye. Her smile was bright and she seemed glad to see him as she notched her chin and raised her eyebrows. Over the past year, they’d gotten damn good at playing charades, so he understood the unasked question and nodded yes, he did want his usual beer.

  He flopped down in the empty chair next to Tyler and scrubbed his hands over his face. He really wanted something stronger than beer. Hell, even Tyler’s moonshine sounded good right now. But getting hammered tonight and spending tomorrow hung-over wouldn’t solve his problems.

  The music pumping through the speakers was loud, but not nearly loud enough to drown out the words that kept echoing in his head. She doesn’t use it. Proving there was no end to his idiocy, he found himself clinging to those words like a frigging life raft and hoping against all hope they actually meant something. Like she hadn’t so much straight up lied to him as deceived him by omission.

  Right… because there was totally a difference between the two.

  “Hey, stranger,” Shelia said, interrupting his thoughts by dropping his beer into his field of vision and planting a kiss on his cheek. “Where the hell have you been?”

  He smiled and shrugged helplessly. “Work’s been kicking my ass.” The excuse was lame, and based on the way she rolled her eyes hard enough to tug her head sideways, she didn’t buy the story any more than Mercy had. But being honest and saying he needed a change of pace and scenery seemed insulting, so he stuck with the lame train, riding it all the way to the end of the tracks.

  “Next time,” Tyler said as she set out the rest of the drinks, “save yourself a trip and bring us two rounds.”

  Based on the last time he talked to Tyler, Wade figured the boys had already been at the Strip about forty-five minutes. Considering Tyler was about to polish off his second shot in five minutes, he’d be down for the count in another thirty minutes. Not good when he planned on diving tomorrow.

  Wade flashed his hand as he brought it to his neck, catching Sheila’s attention, then shook his head no. To Tyler, he said, “That’s not a good idea.”

  “Nope,” Tyler said, tossing back the new shot. “But I don’t care.”

  “Well, guess what, asshole…” He punched Tyler in the arm to make sure he had his full attention. “I do care. And if you’re diving tomorrow, this’ll be the last round you have.”

  Tyler’s jaw popped and his eyes narrowed, as if giving Wade a warning they were about to throw down in the upscale gentleman’s club if Wade didn’t back off. He held his stare and flashed a few strong warning signs of his own. Diving would be iffy enough without adding complications. Drinking within twelve hours of a dive was a no-go for most divers, but Wade was especially cautious about those types of thing. If Tyler wanted his help, he’d play by Wade’s rules.

  After another tense moment, Tyler muttered, “Fine.”

  “I’m serious, Ty. You’re a fucking choirboy from here on out. You got it?”

  “Yeah, Mom, I got it.” He turned his chair, putting his back to Wade like a sulking teenager, and focused on the stage.

  Wade exhaled sharply, trying to release the irritation building up in him like a time bomb, and glanced at Alex.

  Alex held up his glass of water and mouthed, “Thanks,” leading Wade to believe he’d already had a similar, unsuccessful discussion with Tyler.

  A strobe light flashed and a disco ball threw colored orbs around the room as a siren blared, letting patrons know something spectacular was about to happen. The club’s main lights dimmed even more and a spotlight hit the center stage where Ginger—a stacked redhead whose body moved in ways that weren’t natural—hung upside down from a pole.

  Ginger’s signature song, “Pour Some Sugar on Me,” filled the air and added e
xtra zing to an already electrified atmosphere. After Ginger finished, three more bodacious ladies took the stage, and then came Mercy’s turn. Her long blond hair was covered by a thick black wig and an Egyptian headdress. Gold bangles shimmered at her wrists and ankles, and a sparkly white skirt and top barely covered the goods. As she started performing her famous Cleopatra dance, all eyes at the table turned to him.

  He froze with his beer halfway to his lips and glanced around at his friends. “What?”

  “Are we allowed to watch her?” Matt asked. The lack of smile and his ultra-serious expression added to the grave tone. No shit, he wasn’t kidding. They were seriously asking Wade’s permission to watch Mercy strip down to her birthday suit.

  “What the fuck? Of course. We were never serious. And even if we had been… you think I come in here busting the heads of any guy who looks?”

  Tyler and Alex exchanged a look, while Garrett massaged the back of his neck. “No,” Alex said in the same diplomatic tone he’d always used when mediating between Wade and Tyler. “But we’re not other guys and it’s just weird to… you know… watch what’s yours.”

  “She’s not mine. Watch away. And tip well. She hooked us up with the table, and she’s saving for her next tuition payment. She can use the extra cash.”

  If he was right in his calculations, and she’d passed all her classes like she said, she should only have three more semesters left. Once she graduated, she could give up this life once and for all, finally feel good enough about herself to find a nice guy, and quit messing with losers she met at the club.

  Guys like him.

  Ten minutes after finishing her performance, she exited the hallway leading to the dressing rooms and made her way to their table. She’d replaced her Cleopatra wig with another black one, this one long enough to cover her ass. She’d gained a lot of attention recently as one of the most sought-after girls in the business, and she rarely let anyone in or around the club catch a glimpse of her without a wig and makeup. The disguises only provided a small amount of protection, but any layer of anonymity was better than none.

  She smiled and waved to the guys as she sat sideways across Wade’s lap and wrapped her arms around his neck and nuzzled his cheek. “It’s been a long time, sugar. It’s good to see you.”

  He and Mercy had been friends for almost a year, and most of that time they’d been sleeping together. She was the only woman, since Miranda, he’d spent the entire night with and the woman he saw the most of. And not just because she was a stripper. Every inch of her body was imprinted on his mind, and the familiarity of having her tucked in close should’ve been a trigger for his body to wake up and play. But after his shower time with Callie, his body and mind had learned what he shared with Mercy couldn’t compare to the intimacy of being with Callie. And even though their relationship had hit the rocks and he intellectually knew the odds of them working it out were slim, his body, nor his heart, cared.

  They weren’t in a settling mood and both failed to respond to Mercy’s close proximity.

  “You did good with the table, M. Thanks.”

  Mercy was a stage name, but her real name was Mercedes. Wade refused to call her by her stripper name when they were alone, but she vehemently protested to him using her real name. She insisted using her given name would add a layer of emotion neither was prepared for, so after much debate, they settled on M.

  She laughed and flipped her long, fake black hair off her shoulder. “You call and I answer. You know that. Besides, the girls like it when your buddies are in town. They’re fun without being lewd, and they tip well.”

  “I’m glad to hear they’re good for something.” He offered her a sip of his beer before taking a drink himself. “How you been?”

  Shadows crossed her eyes and she glanced away. “I’m good.” When she returned her gaze to his, her mask was securely back in place. Running a silky hand down the center of his chest, she said, “I’d be doing better if I saw more of you.”

  There was no mistaking the invitation in her voice or the wicked gleam in her eye that promised a night of raw-and-raunchy, sweaty sex. Normally, it would’ve been an invitation he couldn’t refuse. But not tonight. Even though he wasn’t clear on his current relationship status, he wouldn’t spend the night with M, then meet up with Callie in the morning. He’d done some shitty things in his life, but he drew the line with this.

  Taking her hand in his, he kissed her fingers and smiled. “I’m sort of not available at the moment.”

  Something besides disappointment flashed behind the mask… something that looked like envy. Not envy for the woman in his life, but for him finding something more solid than a revolving door of lovers. A lifestyle she shared. A lifestyle she might finally be willing to leave behind.

  “I’ve been waiting for this day,” she said while giving him a bittersweet smile. “You’re too good of a catch to stay on the market for long.”

  “I’m not so sure about that, but I appreciate your kindness in saying so.”

  With a heavy sigh, she dropped her arm from his shoulder and prepared to stand. “I should get dressed for my next performance.”

  As she readied to push to her feet, he grabbed her hand and held her in place on his lap. “Just because I’m not free for a booty call doesn’t mean I’m not here for you. You hear me? You need anything, you call.”

  “You’re a sweet man, Wade Neumann.” She cupped his face in her hands and pressed a light kiss to his lips. “Your girl’s lucky to have you.”

  “Mercedes,” he said, low enough to not be overheard by anyone, not even his friends, but harsh enough that, combined with the use of her real name, he got her attention. “The spare bedroom is still yours, anytime.”

  “What would your girl say about you shacking up with a stripper?”

  He laughed, remembering Callie’s expression and reaction earlier in the day when she realized what kind of stage Mercy performed on. “She’d be scandalized. But she’d get over it.”

  “No one wants their man living with a stripper, honey. That’s asking a bit much.”

  “If you’re living with me, you’ll be going to school full time and not stripping. Right?” He gave her a little shake when she only stared at him as if he’d spoken in tongues. “The offer is always on the table, regardless of what’s going on in my life.”

  After a moment, she said, “I’ve got your number. I’ll give you a call.”

  After another good-bye kiss, she waved to the guys, thanked them for their generous donations to the girls working tonight, and told them to get ready for the next round. As soon as she disappeared from sight, the guys started in.

  Yes, he silently agreed to being an idiot, but not for the reasons they thought.

  Yes, he did know how smokin’ hot Mercy was—and that was an understatement, thank you very much—but again, he kept the thoughts to himself.

  No, he wasn’t pussy-whipped… especially since he and Callie hadn’t technically had sex…

  The more they harassed, the more difficult it became to keep his thoughts to himself and the more pissed off he got. He wasn’t angry with them, necessarily, but at life in general. He was still furious with Callie for deceiving him, whatever the method or reasoning. He was angry with Kevin for forcing him to take Callie diving—although, truth be told, had he flat-out refused, Kevin wouldn’t have pushed the issue.

  And that pissed him off too because Kevin was smart enough to know that as well. Which meant he also realized Wade felt something for Callie—something serious—or he wouldn’t be giving her any chance at reconciliation.

  The biggest issue Wade had at the moment, however, didn’t have anything to do with Callie or Kevin. The whole situation, and his reaction, made him realize he was still so tied up in knots over his past, he couldn’t break free enough to move on with his life. And until he pried those chains off, he’d never have a future with Callie or anyone else.

  Fuck. Rather than sit here and let the guys provoke
an explosion, he needed to get the hell out, go home, sit by the fire, and get his shit together. He tossed a couple bills on the table, stood, and said, “Guys, I’ve got some shit to take care of. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  *

  On the way home from the Strip, Wade ran a mental loop of his day, from beginning to end and back again, trying to make enough sense of the holy-shits to figure out what each of them truly meant. Finding out Callie had a thirty million-dollar trust fund was simply out of his realm of comprehension. No matter how many times or different ways he worked the numbers, he couldn’t grasp the true effect of that particular what-the-fuck. He didn’t even know of any businesses, not personally anyway, that were worth thirty million, and to find out Callie was sitting on that much… Nope, his brain cramped up and shut down every time he touched the subject.

  Figuring out Gavin was Callie’s Prince Charming stung at first because it seemed further proof of how far out of his league Callie really was. But the more he thought about that particular damn, the less it seemed to matter. Gavin made a fortune at his previous job, which Wade now understood was working for Callie’s father, but at heart, he and Wade weren’t that different.

  While working on the fishing pier/restaurant renovation, Wade stayed after work a couple evenings and sat on the pier with Gavin, tossing hooks, drinking beers, and talking about life. Gavin grew up on a farm, like Wade. They both missed the simple, country life but also agreed having a little slice of the beach was a nice substitute. Granted, Gavin’s slice was three times the size of Wade’s, but Wade loved his Pawley’s Island bungalow. Sitting on the patio, watching the sun rise and stars set as the waves rolled onshore brought him tremendous pleasure, and there wasn’t much he would trade it for.

  Last on his list of craptastic awesomeness to chew over was Callie’s reaction to Sunny’s pregnancy. Her response led him to believe she wasn’t as over Gavin as she thought, but the more he thought about it, the more he wondered if he wasn’t projecting some of his own hang-ups onto Callie.