Taming Lo: A You and I Novel

by Melissa Toppen

  “Well can I get your number? I would love to hang out again sometime soon.” He says, standing to buckle his jeans.

  “That's not how this works.” I say, shaking him off when he makes an attempt to pull me into his arms. “This was fun.” I tack on, when his face falls slightly. “But I don't date.” I say, leaning over to retrieve his shirt from the floor. Dropping it in his hands, I make my way towards the front door.

  Peeling the door open, he looks from me to the open door, clearly shocked that I expect him to leave so quickly after we finished. The truth is, I am completely unsatisfied and a bit annoyed at this point.

  Don't get me wrong, Mike has a lot to offer a woman and for the most part, knows how to use it. But all I could think the whole time he was moving above me was I wish he was Dax. Shaking my head, I try to push aside my mental meltdown and get rid of my current company, who quickly slips on his shoes and stumbles towards me.

  “I take it you know the way back to the bar?” I ask, handing him his jacket as soon as he reaches me.

  “I think I can manage.” He gives me a forced smile and then steps past me into the hallway.

  “Have a good night.” I try to be as friendly and perky as I can muster.

  “Yeah, yeah. You too.” He says, meeting my eyes with a small smile before turning and disappearing down the hall without another word.

  Closing the door, I drop back against the cool wood and let out a deep exhale, pushing my knotted wavy hair away from my face. What the fuck is wrong with me? Sex is my answer. My solution when anything is bothering me. But the run in with Dax earlier has left me with a sick feeling of guilt and as such, prevented me from being able to use sex the way I normally do.

  Why do I feel guilty?

  I think that is the thing that is eating at me the most. Me and Dax are nothing. Hell, he has made it perfectly clear that he wants nothing to do with me. So why did I suddenly feel like I was betraying him when his eyes landed on mine in the split second before the door closed between us?

  There was something in his gaze. Something that told me Dax Riley is a hell of a lot more complicated than I had originally suspected. This realization only makes me that much more curious about him and what he hides behind that cocky smile and do-not-care attitude.

  Pushing away from the door, I quickly cross the space of my living room and grab my jeans from the floor. Dipping into the back pocket, I pull out my cell phone and immediately bring up Dax's contact information.

  I am seconds away from pushing the call button when I chicken out. What the hell would I even say? Locking my phone, I drop it onto the coffee table in front of me. As much as I want to cross the invisible line he seems to have drawn between us and force him to tell me what the fuck his problem is with me, I also refuse to chase a man, no matter what the reason.

  I feel restless, irritated. I need to take a shower, get into bed and try to get some sleep but honestly, even with this late hour, I am so wired I can't even imagine laying down right now.

  I can't get my mind off of Dax.

  Where was he off to so late at night?

  Why did he look at me the way he did?

  Why do I fucking care about any of this?

  What the fuck is wrong with me?

  I wish I had the answer to even one of these questions. I wish I could figure out why I cannot shake this infuriating man. I wish I knew why my stomach knots and my heart ends up in my throat every time I see him or even think about seeing him for that matter. I wish I could go back and never sleep with him in the first place. Then none of this would even be an issue.

  ****

  “Did you have fun last night?” My skin immediately prickles as Dax's voice washes over me from behind. Spinning around from the vanity mirror, I find him leaning casually against the frame of my dressing room door, his arms crossed in front of his broad chest, his suit jacket straining against the curve of his muscle.

  “So you're talking to me now?” I quip, sliding my feet into my heels one at a time, trying to act completely unphased by his unexpected appearance.

  “I never stopped talking to you.” A cocky grin pulls up the corners of his mouth.

  “Well clearly we have different views on that.” I sigh, looking back up at him. “And to answer your question, yes, I did have fun last night. Not that it's any of your business. What about you?” I tack on, having the feeling that he was doing the same thing as I was last night; fucking a stranger.

  “Oh I did. Thank you for asking.” He laughs lightly, clearly trying to get me riled up. I hate to tell him, it's not going to work. I promised myself last night that come hell or high water, I am going to cleanse this man from my system.

  “Did you need something Dax?” I sigh out, trying to make my annoyance over this little performance clearly known.

  “I need you to pick up Friday and Saturday night this weekend.” He says, his demeanor changing the moment the topic turns to work.

  “This is my only weekend off this month. Why would I pick it up?” I push myself into a stand, preparing to hit the stage for my first dance of the night.

  “Because we need someone and I figured if anyone had extra time on her hands, it was you.” He keeps his voice even, despite the fact that I know he's taking a jab at me.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” I can't help but be offended by the comment because I am one hundred percent certain he's referring to last night.

  “I am simply making an observation.”

  “An observation about what? Me being a slut?” I bite, pushing my chair towards the vanity, the wooden legs scratching loudly against the floor as I do. “You think you can just throw shifts at me that I don't want because I have nothing better to do than fuck random men?”

  “I am asking as your boss Lauren. I need you to cover a shift. As your boss, I couldn't care less where you go during your time off or who you spend it with for that matter. All I care about is making sure I have enough dancers to cover the club. So, I will ask again. Are you able to pick up this weekend or do I need to find someone else more willing to help out?” He asks, his professional tone causing a rage to flare through my veins.

  He's doing this on purpose.

  “You can find someone else. I have plans.” I say, dropping my silk robe onto the back of the chair, not missing the way his eyes skirt across my body which is barely covered by a tight white corset and matching panties, white garters and heels completing the look.

  He sucks in a sharp inhale and I can't tell if it's because of what he sees or because he's aggravated by my refusal to pick up shifts. Either way, I don't care. This man is so all over the place, it's hard to tell which way is up and which way is down when in his company.

  One day we are ripping each others clothes off. The next, we are agreeing to be friends. Then the next thing I know, he's avoiding me at every turn, barely speaks a word to me in over a week, and now is clearly taking personal jabs at me, which in my opinion are completely unprovoked.

  “Do you really have plans or are you just saying no because I asked you to do it?” I ignore his question at first, crossing the room towards the door. He takes a step back into the hallway to let me pass by him.

  “What do you think?” I drop my voice low as I squeeze past him.

  “Mature Lo.” He shakes his head and then spins, walking away without another word. I can't help but do a small victory dance in my head. Serves him right. What the fuck is his problem anyways? If I didn't know any better, I would venture to say that he's jealous about Mike and what he saw last night. But then again, that kind of emotion would require him to care. And honestly, I am pretty certain that caring is the last thing a man like Dax Riley does.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dax

  I'm an ass. The ass of all asses.

  What was I thinking throwing insults at Lo like that? Of course I hated seeing her with that other man. But that gave me no right to take my shit out on her. So, at the risk of letting this situation
spiral out of control, I've decided to call a truce. I told her, not that long ago, that I wanted to be her friend. I've decided to make good on that statement.

  I rest a six pack of beer on top of the pizza that I just picked up from the little pizza diner down the street. I somehow manage to balance them in one hand long enough to knock on Lo's door. It's just after seven on Sunday evening. I know she's not working and her car is outside, so I can only assume she's home. Or at least, I hope she is.

  It takes less than ten seconds before the door flies open and Lo's blue eyes hit mine, a look of surprise crossing her features. She looks like she's been lounging in sweats all day. Her face is void of makeup. Her blonde waves are tied up haphazardly with various pieces falling down everywhere. She's dressed in plaid pink pajama bottoms and a white tank and honestly, looks more beautiful than I have ever seen her before.

  “What.... What are you doing here?” She asks, clearly surprised by my unannounced arrival, her eyes immediately looking down at her attire.

  “I'm here to call a truce.” I smile, holding up the pizza box in one hand and the six pack of beer in the other. “I owe you an apology.”

  “For what?” She cocks her head to the side and narrows her eyes at me. I knew she wouldn't make this easy on me.

  “For the way I treated you last week. I had no right.....”

  “To call me a slut?” She cuts me off, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

  “I didn't call you a slut.” I remind her, not able to control the smile that pulls at my lips. She is so infuriating and yet, so damn cute at the same time.

  “You might as well have.” She bites, not giving even an inch.

  “I was completely out of line for making any such statement. And I meant what I said a while back, about us being friends. So, what do you say?” I ask, shaking the pizza and beer in front of her, smiling wider when I see her fighting her own smile.

  “You can't just fix things with Pizza and Beer ya know?” She questions, eying the items in my hands.

  “Perhaps not, but I think it's a pretty good start.” I wave the pizza box in front of her face, laughing out when she catches the scent and inhales.

  “Fine.” She pushes the door further open and takes a step back to let me in. “But don't think for one second that pumping me full of grease and beer is going to get you anywhere.” She quips, closing the door the moment I am inside.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lo

  When he showed up at my door just over two hours ago, all cute in his faded jeans and v-neck tee, I swear I nearly had a heart attack. Not only because he was here, standing in my doorway, but also because I was wearing the same clothes I went to bed in last night and had yet to touch my hair with a brush since yesterday morning.

  To say his unexpected appearance surprised me is the understatement of the year. But the fact that I was happy to see him, well that was even more surprising. But there it was, just the same. I was happy. I am happy.

  Originally I wanted to hold onto the anger I felt towards him after the last time we spoke. Hating him just seems so much easier than liking him. But as soon as he hit me with that boyish grin of his, my anger all but dissolved right there on the spot.

  Now, Dax is laid back on the opposite end of the couch from me, his legs stretched out across the cushions as he faces toward me. I didn't think it was possible to share such easy conversation with a man like Dax, but once we started talking, we just didn't stop.

  We managed to eat our way through the entire medium pizza he brought over from Mongos and even killed the six pack plus four more beers that I had in the fridge. And during that time, I learned a great deal about him that I did not know before tonight.

  I learned that he's thirty-one years old and originally from Connecticut. His parents are divorced and still live there, though he's not extremely close to either one. He has no siblings and no other family that he really speaks to on a regular basis. He attended college with Bentley and graduated with a degree in Business. He also loves motorcycles, which is not surprising at all. I can totally envision him speeding down the road, the wind whipping around him, the freedom it probably brings him.

  And while I have learned a lot, there is still so much more that I want to know. Getting him to talk about personal details of his life is almost like pulling teeth. He clams up and almost always changes the subject after giving me a short vague answer. But that doesn't stop me from trying to learn everything I can about him.

  “Tell me about your tattoos.” I lean my head to the side and pull my legs up onto the couch cushions, mirroring the way he's sitting. His legs are so long that when I do, our feet touch. He doesn't seem to mind the contact though and considers my question before answering.

  “A lot of them are just little things that I have had done over the years. Some artwork that a couple of my tattoo artist friends have drawn up and stuff. There's really no significance to a good deal of them.” He says, looking down at his forearms.

  “But some of them do have significance, yes?” I question, smiling when his hazel eyes meet mine, my stomach doing a nervous flip. I try to ignore the feelings that seem to swarm me in his presence and push forward. “Tell me what they are.” I tack on.

  “Perhaps another time.” He smiles, turning himself forward so that his feet are once again on the floor. “I really should get going.” He says, running a hand through his messy hair.

  “Why won't you tell me about them?” I ask, pushing myself off of the couch and crossing the short space between us. Flopping down directly next to him, I take his left arm in my hand and gently run my fingers along his ink covered skin.

  “There's not much to tell.” He turns his face inward, his eyes meeting mine for a fraction of a second before I look back down at his arm, not able to take the heat of his gaze.

  Everything about this man makes my insides burn and causes my skin to prickle. I have never had the desire to be close to another person the way I want to be close to him, and not even in a sexual way. I just like being near him. The thought is terrifying, and yet strangely enough, gives me a sense of peace at the same time.

  “Let's see here.” I pull his arm into my lap and continue to run my fingers along his flesh, tracing the outline of each tattoo as I distinguish each one from the dozens of others. “A cross.” I observe, tracing the outline.

  I keep going, my fingers traveling higher up his arm, past some symbols and other various pieces of artwork that cover a good portion of his forearm and lower bicep. His skin prickles under my touch when I push his sleeve up, revealing a large phoenix, it's wings covering the entire span of his massive bicep.

  Standing, I step in between his legs and drop to my knees, taking his right arm in my hands. He doesn't draw away from my touch like I expect him to but instead, leans forward and meets my gaze before following my eyes downward.

  “A dragon.” I say, skirting my fingertip along the flames coming from it's mouth. “What's this?” I ask, reaching a patch of words that appear to be written in a different language.

  “It's just a quote.” He shrugs.

  “I figured that much.” I laugh, looking up to find his eyes focused on my fingers against his skin. “But what does it mean?”

  “Beauty is not beauty beyond beauty.” He says, his eyes finally meeting mine. “It's just a fancy way of saying that true beauty lies beyond what you can see.” He says, holding my gaze for a long moment before I flip my eyes back down to his arm.

  Once I have examined every inch of his inked skin, I trail both of my hands down his forearms and then grab his wrists, flipping them upward. I come to a stop over the initials CTR on his left wrist, tracing across it with the pad of my thumb.

  “What does this stand for?” I ask, waiting a few seconds before looking up to find him staring down at the tattoo.

  “Nothing really.” He shrugs. “A reminder.” He finally meets my gaze. There is something in his eyes that instantly sends my heart galloping insi
de of my chest.

  “A reminder of what?” I ask weakly, holding my breath when he leans forward slightly, our noses almost touching.

  “Of who I was. Of who I will never be again.” He breathes, hovering just inches from my face for a long moment.

  I can't stop my tongue from darting out across my bottom lip. I want him to kiss me so badly, it is taking everything I have not to just close the distance between us and press my lips to his. I wonder what he would do if I broke one of his rules?

  The thought of doing just that is so tempting that I almost do it. But then I remember my rules and how badly I need him to respect them and as such, I hold tight. Wanting something so badly and yet accepting that I can't have it at the same time is a torture that I have yet to endure until this very moment.

  He hovers there for what feels like an eternity, his eyes burning deeply into mine, before abruptly turning away. “Why don't you kiss?” I don't mean to ask the question. It slips from my lips without me ever intending to speak the words.

  “I do kiss.” His cocky demeanor falls into place and the intimacy of the moment is gone. I know this is his way of pushing me back, of not letting me get too close. I understand it and recognize it because it is exactly what I do.

  “You know what I mean.” I say, pushing at his chest playfully.

  “Why? Do you want me to kiss you?” He asks, leaning towards me as he secures his hand behind my head and holds me firm so that I can't move. His eyes dance across my lips and then meet my eyes again.

  “Do you want me to kiss you Lo?” He asks again. I can tell by the playfulness in his eyes and the smirk on his face that he is just doing this to mess with me. Pushing his arm away, he immediately drops his grip on me.

  “Don't flatter yourself.” I push at his chest. “You really won't tell me though?” I try one last time to find out why he has such a ridiculous rule for himself.