Adam motioned for me, so I climbed on behind him. Reaching around, he looped my arms around his narrow waist and left his hand atop where my hands met. “Don’t let go,” he said.
I won’t.
The bike rumbled and vibrated beneath us when he started it up and put it in motion. It was like being part of the wind. The way we navigated through the street seemingly without cause. Things looked different from the back of this bike. I felt free.
I didn’t get to experience it very long, though, because he pulled into a Friday’s just a mile down the street from the club. The parking lot was fairly empty because we’d arrived at a time past lunch but before dinner.
Once he slid the bike into an empty parking spot and supported it with its kickstand, shutting off the engine, I started to climb off. Adam grabbed my legs and stilled me, silently telling me not to move. I obeyed, wondering what he was doing as he spun around so he was straddling the bike, facing me.
The space between us was wide because our knees were bumping together, but that didn’t last very long. Adam slid his palms in the hollow behind each knee and gave me a little tug. I slid forward, and he draped my legs over his thighs.
Our centers were intimately close. The only thing that kept me from rocking against him wantonly was the fact we were out in public.
Beneath my chin, Adam unbuckled the helmet and then tugged it off my head. I reached up to fix my undoubtedly helmet hair, but he caught my hand and pulled it against his lips. “Leave it,” he murmured. “It’s sexy.”
The entrance to the restaurant opened, and a couple young guys came out. They were laughing, but when they saw us, they stopped. I knew from the flare in their eyes they noted the provocative way Adam and I were sitting.
I tensed a little, waiting for Adam to push me away or put some space between us.
He didn’t.
The guys stepped off the curb, both of them openly looking at us, and walked to a nearby car. Adam glanced at them coolly, but they didn’t seem to notice.
The blond-haired “surfer” type climbed in the passenger side, closest to us. Even after he got in the car, he turned to stare out his window. He gave me a little smile and jerked his chin at me through the glass.
Adam grasped me by the jaw and gently turned my face. His lips claimed mine in a thorough kiss. I forgot we were out in the open. I forgot we were being watched. Kissing him like this, practically in his lap where everyone could see, was such a high.
When he lifted his head, I licked my lips, loving the way he tasted. He grunted, satisfied, then looked at the car, which was now pulling away.
“What was that for?” I asked.
“Just letting everyone know you’re already taken.”
Surprise rippled through me. Not only was he unapologetically blatant about being here with me, but he basically just staked his claim.
How very caveman-ish.
Who knew cavemen were so sexy?
“I’m taken?” I asked, lifting an eyebrow.
He gave me a heart-stopping lopsided smile. “I’m working on it.”
He was doing a damn good job.
Wait. He was working on it? Did that mean he wanted me?
Adam slid out from beneath me and tied the helmet to the back of the bike. When he was done, he pocketed the keys in his distressed jeans and allowed his eyes to roam over me for one lingering minute. When he was done, he made a half growl in the back of his throat and wrapped his hands around my waist.
“So tell me,” he rumbled as he lifted me effortlessly off the bike. “How was your first time?”
His voice was sinful. Like some aged, insanely expensive bourbon that only rich people could afford. There was this lush flavor to his tone, like his words didn’t come from his throat, but from the deepest parts of him. And when he lowered his usual tone, the effect was what I imagined finely aged bourbon would have. It was intoxicating.
“What?” I asked, breathless.
He laughed quietly as he slid my body down the front of his. It was a very effective way of showing me exactly how much he enjoyed our kiss.
“Your first time on a bike.” He clarified, and it reminded me we were having a conversation.
“It was the best first time any girl could ever have.”
“Words every guy wants to hear.” He grinned.
“I’ve only ever said them to you.”
I looked up at him from beneath my lashes, wondering if he understood that I was talking about more than just the bike ride. I knew he was only being playful and so was I, but I meant it. No one had ever given me a better first. It made me wish he’d been my first for more than a motorcycle ride.
“That’s not your last first with me, sweetheart,” he murmured and brushed a loose strand of hair away from my face.
I hoped not. I truly did. It scared me how much I wanted more firsts with Adam. I hadn’t wanted anything or anyone so much since I met Craig all those years ago.
A little jolt of panic zinged around inside me with the thought. But then I felt my hand tucked inside Adam’s, safe as he led me through the crowd toward the table the hostess escorted us to. And yeah, maybe I noticed the hostess note the way he caressed my lower back, gently motioning for me to slide into the booth before he moved to sit across from me.
Adam wasn’t Craig.
I couldn’t even define what was between us, but even still, he made me feel like I was the only woman in the room.
To any other girl, a guy acting like they were proud to have you on their arm was probably nothing new.
But for me…
For me it was everything.
16
Adam
It was physically painful to sit across the table from her and resist the urge to touch her. I felt like I was back in high school all over again, just discovering the world of women.
And shit, I wanted to discover Roxie. I wanted to know every last detail about her, right down to the little sounds she made when I entered her.
Thoughts like that would only make it harder to sit here. I grabbed up my southern sweet iced tea and took a drink, telling myself to calm the fuck down. My hormones might be on overdrive, but sex wasn’t the only thing I wanted from her.
Right now, I really wanted to know why the hell she looked so tired and where her mind would wander every so often. It was starting to worry me. I wanted to demand she tell me everything, but demanding anything from her would be a mistake.
Roxie didn’t like pushy. She didn’t like pressure; that much was obvious. I knew it was likely because that douche bag of an ex did a number on her.
If she didn’t tell me, I was going to have to call Harlow. The circles under her eyes were unacceptable.
“You ready for tonight?” I asked, putting my tea back on the table.
She was swirling her straw around the soda she ordered. “I hope so,” she replied.
“I’ll be there tonight. I can introduce you around make sure everyone knows you’re the boss.”
She smiled. “How’s the new club coming?”
“Good. Almost done. As soon as I have you trained, I’m going to start spending a lot of time over there.”
Was that disappointment that flashed behind her eyes? I snatched her hand up off the table and rubbed my thumb across the back of her fingers. “Don’t worry, Rox. I’ll still have time for you.”
She glanced up from the soda. “You mean in case I have any questions about work?”
I shook my head slowly. “I think you know what I mean.”
The sound of a ringing phone interrupted whatever her response would have been. It was close and a little low, so I figured it had to be hers and it was in her bag.
She stiffened but otherwise made no move to answer.
I was glad because I wanted her all to myself.
The waitress came and delivered my sizzling tray of steak fajitas with all the fixins and a burger and fries for Roxie.
I liked a girl who ate. Most women order
ed salad because they were always on a damn diet. I tried to tell ‘em real men liked curves, but all the stick-thin models being broadcast all over TV made them think different.
It was a damn shame.
I watched in amusement as Roxie poured a huge amount of ketchup beside her fries, dunked one in, and took a bite. She made a little sigh of appreciation that had my loins tightening.
“You gonna have some fries with that ketchup?” I teased.
She popped the rest of the fry in her mouth. “You cannot eat fries without ketchup. Lots of it.”
“If that’s the way you like it, baby.”
A change came over her, not really a visible one, but something shifted in the air. I looked up from the massive fajita I was assembling and saw her swallow thickly. “What is it?” I asked, automatically scanning the area around us for someone who appeared threatening.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Huh?” I asked, surprised I was the one who caused the change.
“Baby,” she said, clearing her throat. “I don’t like it.”
She didn’t like being called baby? What the fuck did that asshole do to her?
I tilted my head to the side. “How about sweetheart?”
She smiled, her shoulders relaxing. “I like that one.”
“Sweetheart it is.”
She went back to drowning her fries in ketchup, and I devoured my first fajita. Her phone started ringing again.
“Maybe you should get that,” I said around a bite of steak.
She pulled her bag into her lap. It was so damn big it looked like a suitcase.
“What the hell do you need that giant sack for?” I asked.
She gave me a look that would wilt the weak. Good thing I wasn’t weak. “It’s not a sack, and it’s for essentials.”
“Essentials?” I echoed, wondering what the fuck she thought of as essential.
The phone continued to ring as she searched around the endless bag of “essentials,” looking for it. The tone cut off and she paused in searching.
Then it started ringing again.
“Maybe it’s an emergency,” I said.
Roxie pulled out a handful of crap and laid it on the table and continued to search out her phone. When she found it, she said, “Ah-ha!” like it was some sort of major victory.
I thought it was cute as hell.
Her face paled slightly when she looked at the screen. Then she hit a button, silenced the ring, and dropped it back into the sack. “I don’t recognize the number,” she said.
She was lying.
A bad feeling wormed its way into my gut.
“Roxie,” I intoned.
She pretended she was busy scooping up the items on the table to put back. As she did, a torn piece of paper fluttered toward my plate.
It was a note that read, Call me.
Two words never incited so much jealousy.
I snatched it up before she could. I had no idea who it was from, but instantly, I didn’t like them. “You have an admirer?”
“No,” she said, reaching for the paper.
That bad feeling reared up again, and I knew. “Is he bothering you again?”
“Adam…”
“Is he the reason you don’t want me to call you baby?” I pressed.
“Does it matter?” she whispered.
“I think it does,” I replied.
The scrap of paper fell between us on our table. It might as well have been the Grand Canyon. Just like that, she pulled away. So far away she was nearly unreachable.
“You know you’re safe with me, right?” I said, leaning across the table.
Roxie snatched up the paper and crumpled it into a ball before dropping it back in her sack.
“And I don’t mean that in a totally romantic comedy type of way.”
That earned me a smile.
“You are safe with me that way too,” I added. “I’m not gonna hurt you.” I knew she was listening even though she kept her eyes away from mine. So I continued. “I’m talking about the kind of safety where you can tell me anything. The kind of safety where nothing you say will ever change the way I see you.”
“How do you see me, Adam?” she asked. Damn if that vulnerable piece of her wasn’t visible in her eyes.
“I see you as completely lovable, every last part of you.”
“I have scars you can’t see.” I noted the small catch in her voice.
“We all do, sweetheart,” I said, laying my hand palm up on the table between us. I wiggled my fingers, inviting her.
She wavered.
“Your scars are beautiful, Rox, just like the rest of you. Your scars mean you were stronger than whatever—whoever—tried to hurt you.”
She slid her hand into mine.
Victory.
I gave it a gentle squeeze before pulling back. “Eat your ketchup,” I ordered and snagged a strip of steak off my plate and dunked it in her red stuff before shoving it in my mouth.
I winced. “That’s basically a crime against good meat,” I said as I chewed.
She laughed and started to eat.
“So how did you end up a business man?” she asked.
I rolled with the topic change because I knew trying to talk about the note and her ex wouldn’t go so well. Besides, it was a conversation we needed to have in private.
“You mean how the hell did I end up owning a strip club?” I rephrased the question.
“Yeah.” Roxie grinned.
“It sort of just happened.” I shrugged, thinking about where my life was supposed to go.
She tilted her head and waited for me to continue. I worked on making up the rest of my fajitas as I talked.
“I used to play football.”
“Like in high school?” she asked.
I nodded. “I started in sixth grade. Played all through high school. It was my entire life.”
I still remembered the rush I got every time I ran out onto the field, the crowd was roaring from the stands.
“Were you any good?”
“Was I any good?” I scoffed. “I was the fucking bomb.”
“Were you now?” she asked, amused.
“I wanted to go pro, be in the NFL.”
“I had no idea,” she said, picking up her soda to sip at it.
I shrugged. “I don’t talk about it much.”
“So what happened?”
“I got a full ride to LSU. Got tapped by them before I even graduated high school. The plan was to go to college, make a name for myself on the field, and get drafted before I even completed my degree.”
“You went to LSU?” she asked.
“For almost two years,” I said, abandoning my plate and thinking back to the moment that changed my life forever. Most people can’t pinpoint the exact time nothing would ever be the same again. But I could. “I got injured, tore my ACL, had to have some surgeries. My dream of the NFL went down the drain the second I heard that tendon snap.”
“Adam,” Roxie said, her voice full of empathy.
“I lost my scholarship. My first wife… It was a dark period in my life,” I said, not wanting to relive those first few weeks when I realized I wouldn’t be playing football again.
“You were married in college?” she asked.
I nodded. “Married my high school sweetheart. I was the quarterback; she was the head cheerleader. She came to LSU with me and we got married. Turns out she didn’t really love me. She only loved the future NFL pro. When she realized that wasn’t going to be in my future, she decided she wasn’t going to be either.”
“What a bitch,” Roxie said.
I grinned. “So I left college, took a bunch of business classes, and moved here. I bought the Mad Hatter not too long after, and here I am.”
“It must have been a lot of work to make the club as successful as it is today,” Roxie said, giving me a smile.
I shoved the rest of the last fajita into my mouth and regarded her as I chewed. After I swallowe
d, I said, “I don’t shy away from hard work. If I want something, I won’t stop until it’s mine.”
And I want you.
By the fine blush that spread across her cheeks, I knew she caught my double meaning.
At least she couldn’t say I didn’t warn her.
17
Roxie
He wouldn’t stop calling.
He was getting more persistent. I knew by the way Adam looked at me he was suspicious.
Why wouldn’t Craig just go away? He made me feel claustrophobic, like I couldn’t breathe, like I could barely move.
All I wanted was for him to let me go so I could fully move on. It seemed like every time I took two steps forward, he’d pull me back one. I felt like a hamster on a wheel, running and running but never getting anywhere.
I was tired.
It was hard to sit across from Adam and fully enjoy spending time with him, because my inner thoughts kept thinking about my past and how it was bleeding into my present and threatening my future.
After we finished lunch, we parted ways, Adam going home to change out of his jeans and T-shirt and me coming home to change as well. Harlow still wasn’t home when I got here. She must have been getting ready for work at Cam’s today.
Being in this empty apartment was slightly unnerving. All I could think about was last night and how Craig followed me.
Don’t let him take away your home. I willed myself.
I would not let Craig make me scared to be here.
I had a little time before I needed to be back at the club, so I plugged in a large-barrel curling iron to let it heat while I got dressed. For my first night as acting manager of the Mad Hatter, I put on a fitted black skirt that was short enough to look sexy, but not short enough to be unprofessional. Maybe this skirt wouldn’t have been appropriate if I worked at a bank, but I didn’t. I worked at a strip club, and even as manager, I wanted to look good.
Over the skirt, I added a fitted white tank top and a black lace T-shirt. I put on my black heels and then went in the bathroom to apply some makeup and attack my hair. Getting my dark, straight strands to hold a curl was challenging, sometimes impossible. Harlow taught me a trick though to help, and I pulled out a can of setting spray. As I sectioned off lengths of hair, I spritzed it with the spray and then wound my hair around the heated barrel. After holding it in place for long seconds, I slid it out to reveal and perfect spiral. I sprayed it with even more spray and then let it cool as I went to work repeating the process over and over until all my strands were curled.
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