Mason's Resolution

by Kristine Allen

  My eyes plead with him as he looked at me out of the corner of his eyes before he tipped his head back and looked at the ceiling in frustration. Tossing my bag that held my costumes on the old microfiber couch we had grown up with, I stepped closer to him and held his shoulders to make him look at me.

  “I didn’t throw away my dreams, Matt… I’ll still finish nursing school. It’s just going to be taking me a little longer to get my BSN, and by different route, but I would do it over again as many times as I needed to in order to keep us together.”

  Since our parents died, I’d struggled to keep what was left of our family together. Both Mom and Dad were only children, and our grandparents had passed away at various intervals as we grew up. The only family we had left were some very distant cousins near Chicago. Tooth and nail, I had fought to gain custody of Matt so he didn’t go into the foster care system. The state didn’t want to grant custody to me at first because I was only nineteen myself, almost twenty. They didn’t think I was prepared to take on the responsibility of becoming a mother figure to a fifteen-year-old.

  At the time, I was working at a hardware store in Ames and had finished the first year of nursing school at Iowa State. Now I was almost done with nursing school. Literally, I had less than a single semester left. Well, for my associates anyway. My plans had originally been to go to Iowa State University to get my Bachelor’s in Nursing. Matt was right that I gave up my scholarship, but I didn’t regret it. A scholarship didn’t keep me and my brother together.

  So, I had moved home, enrolled in the community college, and was lucky enough to get into the program relatively soon thanks to my grades, the classes I had already taken, and my scores on the nursing entrance exam. Initially, I was working at the hardware store here that was affiliated with the one back in Ames, but the pay sucked.

  Unfortunately, after our parents died, we had to sell our childhood home because I just couldn’t afford the house payment and taxes. Mom and Dad had a little more debt than we realized, so almost all of the life insurance they had went to bury them and to pay off their bills. We had enough left over to get a reliable car and pay the deposits on this one-bedroom apartment. Because he was a growing young man, I felt he needed his own space to get away to do homework and just be alone, so I gave up the single bedroom for Matt. I slept on the couch in the living room, and we just made it work. We shared the closet, since it was the only big thing in the whole apartment, spanning the entire length of the bedroom.

  After custody was finally granted, I quit my job at the hardware store and took the job at the Shamrock so I could support the two of us and afford to go to the community college. It also gave me weeknights to be around to help Matt with school work, study my own stuff, and have dinner at a decent time. It worked, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t exhausting. Sometimes I slipped back into my anger stage of grief and found myself being angry at our parents for leaving us and taking away my dreams. Blame was easy to throw around when I was angry.

  Those were the times I really had to work hard to remember they would’ve never purposefully left us alone. We’d been a close family, and it never occurred to any of us that we wouldn’t be there for each other forever. Sometimes shit just happened and life sucked.

  Not to mention, it had been scary as hell being the main parental figure for my brother, knowing I hadn’t made all the best decisions growing up. Yeah, here I was, far from perfect and yet responsible for guiding my brother toward success. Between the grief of losing both of our parents in one fell swoop and the sudden changes we were forced to deal with, it was rough at first. It took some time, but we worked through it and learned as we went along. Never did I try to be his “mom” though, and we both relied on each other to pull things together.

  Now, a little over three years later, my little brother was nearly a grown man, I just turned twenty-three, and I was praying to finish nursing school without anyone finding out I worked as a stripper.

  Ugh!

  That was the biggest reason we had moved over to Spirt Lake after we sold the house, fear of running into the people we knew from our small town every day and having them ask what I was up to now. Thankfully, I had been able to land this job through a girl I used to work with at the hardware store. Her cousin was one of the other dancers, and they helped me get hired on a mostly cash basis with my position being listed as “waitress” so I wouldn’t have the awesome extraordinary job title of “stripper” show up on a background investigation or to hit the CPS radar since they still liked to nose in our business every so often. It all made me feel like I continuously walked a tightrope.

  My eyes flicked to my watch, which had belonged to our mother, before returning to Matt. Hell if he wasn’t starting to look more and more like our dad every day. It was both heartbreaking and heartwarming to look at him. He had dark brown, nearly black hair and sky-blue eyes, which were identical to mine. Of course, that was where the similarities ended, because where I was lean and willowy like our mom, he was getting broad and muscular like our dad. Man, he was going to break hearts in college. Already, he looked more like a man than a boy as he dropped onto the couch with a scowl.

  Preparing to leave for work, I leaned over to kiss him on the cheek and ruffle his hair. Geez, it felt weird to feel stubble on my little brother’s cheeks at the end of the day. My hand then rested on his cheek for a minute before I pulled him in for a quick hug.

  “Love you, little brother. No wild parties while I’m gone.” My words were a standing joke, because that was something I had no worries of whatsoever. We had both been so afraid of CPS getting involved again, and then being separated after we worked so hard to stay together, that we never threw parties or did anything to have attention drawn to us. Thankfully, Matt was a responsible young man who had always been mature for his age. His face lit up as he wiggled his eyebrows at me and grinned; then the mutinous expression returned before he answered me.

  “Just please be careful, sis. Even though I’m almost old enough to be on my own, I don’t want to lose you. Physically or mentally… you’re all I have.” The last was spoken so quietly I wasn’t sure that I was meant to hear it. He got back up and followed me to the door. My arms wrapped around him in a brief, but tight, hug. Gathering up my bag again, I scooped my keys off the hook by the door. Before I could catch further lecturing by my younger brother, I quickly descended the stairs outside our apartment and climbed in our dark blue Honda Accord and backed out. I cast one last wave to my brother before he went inside, and I put the car in drive and headed to work.

  “YOU’RE UP IN FIVE, Sparkle!” I double checked the bobby pins holding my wig to the wig cap, ensuring they were secure and took a last look in the cracked mirror at my station. Crazy what a blonde wig and an elaborate rhinestone-encrusted eye mask did to totally disguise my appearance. Looking back from the mirror sat a stranger’s image. No matter how many nights I saw this blonde woman staring back at me through the glass, I couldn’t reconcile her image with my own. Maybe that was a good thing. Shaking my head to dispel the image from my head as I stood, the sound of the crowd cheering signaled the end of Candy’s routine and told me it was time to shake my money-maker, so to speak.

  My eyes closed, and I took a deep breath, inhaling the persona of “Sparkle” and strutting out on to the darkened stage to take my opening place. The lights on stage were out until the opening strains of my favorite routine song began. As Jason Derulo’s “Talk Dirty to Me” began to play, the spotlight lit me up. The heat from the spotlight warded off the chill I was experiencing, being so ridiculously, scantily clad, and the familiar smells of smoke, spilled alcohol, body odor, sweat, and cheap perfume assailed my nostrils.

  My costume for this routine started out with a short, silver, fringed skirt, which barely covered my ass, a cropped, sparkling silver top that tied between my very full breasts, a silver and black lace bra, and a lacy black thong with rhinestones decorating the front.

  The club followed a comb
ination of dress codes that were required by law and imposed by the owners, the Demented Sons MC. Our nipples remained covered by various pasties of our choice, and we wore the skimpiest thongs we could get by with because it generated better tips. After nearly three years of this, I had grown comfortable with being nearly nude on stage. Whether that was good or bad, I wasn’t sure, but I had perfected stepping into Sparkle’s persona, which was brimming with attitude and confidence. In a way, it was like becoming a completely different person; one with endless spunk, sexual confidence, and total control of her world.

  As usual, the crowd hooted and hollered from around the stage that jutted out into the bar. They weren’t allowed to touch us inappropriately, as I told Matt, but if you wanted better tips, they always wanted to tuck them in the band of your thong during and at the end of our routines. Some nights I had to really grit my teeth at the “accidental” wandering, grazing fingers.

  Tonight was one of those nights.

  It wasn’t that they scared me; it just pissed me off that these assholes all assumed because I took off my clothes for them, I wanted their grimy hands all over me. But at least it was a lot safer since the guys from the MC had bumped up security after a few incidents with one of the girls getting beat up pretty bad and then one of the old ladies being kidnapped by a rival club because they thought she was one of the dancers. It was some scary shit and something I would never tell my brother, but they were doing their best to keep us safe, which was more than I could say for some of the other strip clubs.

  Toward the end of my routine, I was hanging upside down from the pole in just my thong and the glittery pasties when my eyes met with the narrowed gaze of one of the MC members. He was sitting back against the wall, and I just happened to see him through the crowd as people jostled each other near the stage. For that split second, I felt my chest and face flush more than it already was from the exertion of my performance. My heart raced, and it seemed wetness flooded between my legs. Embarrassed, I flipped backward off the pole with my heels dropping in a single staccato beat before strutting, dipping, and shaking my ass off stage as I gathered the last of my tips.

  Fuck. It wasn’t like I had never seen a hot guy before—hell, damn near every guy in the MC was hot as hell. Nor was this guy new to me. He had been here a lot lately, pulling extra security, and I knew his name was Hacker. It seemed like the poor bastard was stuck with the weekend shift a lot lately.

  Damn, he was a sexy specimen of a man, and he made all my girly bits stand up and take notice, but I had steered clear of men in general, just like I steered clear of doing private dances because I needed to maintain some of my dignity, and because I never wanted to get too close to anyone and risk blowing my disguise. There was just too much at stake in my life right now.

  Cinnamon was heading out after me, and as I passed her she spoke quickly to me. “Hey, girl, you have a customer in the Red Room requesting a dance.” Shocked, I looked up from tying the top back over my boobs.

  “What? No. I don’t do private dances. Everyone knows this.” My nerves were on edge, and I was getting pissy with Cinnamon when it wasn’t her fault. The hurt look on her face told me I shouldn’t have tried to kill the messenger. She was the one who got me my job here and the only dancer who knew my true story. I really liked her, and she had sat listening to me many a night when I started to feel overwhelmed by the responsibilities in my life.

  “From what I hear, when Shirley told him that, he told her he was paying extra in order to get you to go in there and it would be in your best interest to go. Do what you want, but if it’s who I think it is, you may want to take this one.” Before I could argue further with her, she bussed my cheek and rushed toward the curtain and out on stage.

  My blood was boiling. Dammit, I made good enough money dancing without having to be groped by some drunk-ass, rich businessman. That type of degradation was too much for me to deal with, so I set off toward the Red Room to tell the guy thanks, but no thanks. Even though I was working this job, I had my limits.

  The rooms were actually clean and nice with a small stage around a pole, a leather love seat, facing the door, and a music system in the corner where you could choose the song you wanted to perform to. The particular room I was heading to was lit up with hundreds of twinkling red party lights suspended from the ceiling. Each room had a different color—hence the Red Room, Blue Room, Green Room, and Purple Room.

  Pushing the door open, I barged in still dressed in just my thong and top, with the rest of my costume clutched in my hand, and stopped dead in my tracks. Reclined on the seat sat Hacker, and my planned tirade froze on my tongue.

  Shit, he was hot.

  My brain may have actually frozen too, because the diatribe I had planned was just swirling aimlessly in my head.

  “Close and lock the door.” His deep voice poured over me like warm honey. It curled around me, thick and warm until I felt like I was momentarily floating.

  Doing something I never did, and unsure why I did it then, I followed his instructions, shooting him a curious look over my shoulder. With the door closed, the sounds out in the club were reduced to a barely audible hum. After the door was shut and locked, I turned around and pressed my back to the cold door. My heart pounded, and my hands shook slightly. Thoughts jumbled around in my head, refusing to form complete sentences, and I was still at a complete and total loss for words.

  “Ummm, so I don’t usually do private dances, and I’m pretty sure, uhhh, all of you know this.” My eyebrow arched up in question, and I tugged my bottom lip with my teeth.

  “And I don’t normally pay for one.” His smirk should have pissed me off, but it just made my thong wetter. Holy shit. And those damn sexy eyes shifted from blue to greenish blue as he sat studying me in the red glow of the room. His tattooed arms were crossed over his chest, and I couldn’t help but appreciate the definition in them. Damn, I loved a guy with great arms… and… wait for it… he had a neatly trimmed beard.

  Be still my heart.

  “So, I guess, uhhhmm, I guess I could dance if you really wanted me to, and since you guys pretty much, umm, sign my checks. Just don’t expect this every night I work,” stuttering, I felt the need to set some boundaries after all. “Okay? Do you, umm, have any requests?” Jesus, I sounded like a freaking idiot.

  Why couldn’t I form intelligent sentences in front of him? Where had “Sparkle” gone? This was ridiculous! Dammit! And why was I entertaining this?

  “Yeah, I do. Put on “Emotionless” by Red Sun Rising.” I did what he said, and as the music started to fill the small room, I grabbed the pole, cool in my hands, and stepped up on the small stage. Closing my eyes in an attempt to channel Sparkle once again, I swayed and slid along the pole. As I wrapped a leg around the pole, I imagined wrapping my legs around his hips as I sank down…. Holy shit! Stop it, Kassi!

  Taking a deep breath, I inhaled the spirit behind the music, the faint smell of his leather cut, and a hint of whatever cologne he was wearing. His scent caused shivers of awareness through my body, head to toe.

  “Open your eyes. Look at me.” My eyes opened, and I realized he had leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he watched me move on the pole. Silently, he held out a hand to me, and without thought, I reached out, taking his hand in mine. As soon as his fingers wrapped around mine, I felt a jolt of electrical awareness.

  He gently tugged me down off the stage until I stood between his spread legs. My breath caught and my lips parted as my tongue nervously traced over my bottom lip. I never saw his other hand coming until it was too late. My voice was a breathless whisper as I realized he was removing the rhinestone-encrusted filigree mask.

  “No!”

  NEVER HAD I WANTED anything to do with any of the dancers at the Shamrock. Sticking my dick in somewhere I knew half the male population had already been just didn’t hold a lot of interest for me. Never had. Besides, that hadn’t worked out too well for Hollywood and that nasty bitch Cherry. S
till didn’t know what he was thinking there, but at least he and Becca were happy and things had worked out between the two of them. Just because I didn’t want a relationship didn’t mean I begrudged my brothers who did.

  The guys gave me shit all the time because I never had women hanging on me or crawling out of my bed in the morning. Just because I could count on my two hands the number of women I’d been with since I left college over eight years ago, it wasn’t a crime. It was my fucking life. Now, I’m not saying I was a choirboy, because of course I’d experienced a few one-night stands and quick fucks in the back of the clubhouse, but none of them held my interest long, and none of them stayed in my bed. I didn’t sleep with any of them. I fucked them. That was it.

  No breakfast the next morning. No misleading soft words. Just sex. Nothing more, nothing less.

  Thanks to the trouble we were having with the Nomad Demon Runners, we had all been pulling extra duty at the Emerald Shamrock, which further cut back on any free time I might have had. Of course, I knew Sparkle only danced on Friday, Saturday, and Sundays. After the first time I saw her dance, I had volunteered for the weekend shifts, using the excuse that the other brothers had families to spend their weekends with and I never really had plans.

  Truth? I couldn’t get enough of the sexy blonde that wasn’t a blonde at all. Her wig was good, but I could tell it wasn’t her hair. Her skin was too warm and olive tinted to be a blonde. Despite the false image and the fact she hid behind a mask, there was no way to fight the draw I felt toward her every time she brought that sexy ass out on the stage. She was my own personal siren, and I had a bad feeling she would lure me to my destruction.

  She had a body to die for—long, muscular legs; curvy hips; big, perfectly shaped breasts; full red lips that caused to a man to think crazy, dirty things; and those bright blue eyes that a man could drown himself in.