by Tara Oakes
“Sorry,” she whispers. “It doesn’t matter anymore, anyway. You’re free to work as much as you want, Chris. It’s none of my business anymore.”
I chew slowly, studying her as she avoids my stare. “You know I didn’t want to be away as much as I was, don’t you? I didn’t exactly have much of a choice. But, I always tried to make the most of the time we had together, Jess. We had some really good times, didn’t we?”
She takes a few fries and nibbles at the long ends, pondering my question.
“Remember the time we got caught in that rainstorm while driving to the lake for the weekend? I’d never seen it rain that hard. Made us pull over and wait it out.”
The corners of her lips turn up, no doubt recalling the way we passed the time until the driving conditions were better. We’d found an underpass from some highway, and parked under it. The front bucket seats were comfy but you wouldn’t necessarily think they were big enough for what we did in them.
She had crawled over the gearshift and straddled me, wasting no time in impaling herself on my cock, pulled through the fly of my jeans. I wasted no time in making her scream out louder than the outside thunder.
The sudden flush of her cheeks, of the skin of her neck, tells me she fully remembers the afternoon I’m talking about.
A loud sucking sound is made as she licks a drop of ketchup off her thumb. I arch my eyebrows, and widen my eyes at her accusingly. I decide to call her out. “You don’t want to sit on the ground, but you’ll lick your fingers?”
She rolls her eyes and throws a fry at me. I playfully duck. “Shut up, Pretty Boy.”
I grab the fry that’s landed on my shoulder and eat it, biting loudly on end. “I can’t help it if you’re an animal. You would think that all those etiquette classes you took as a kid would have helped a bit.”
I’m busting her chops, just the way I used to.
“Since we’re reminiscing, do you remember the time I snuck you into the mansion after daddy had gone to sleep, and we went skinny dipping in the garden fountains?”
I lick some of my burger’s marinade from my lips. I remember the night she’s talking about. I could never forget it. I remember sneaking into one of the main floor bathrooms to take a leak, assured by Princess that everyone in the mansion was sound asleep.
I’m sure she thought they were. But, they weren’t.
I heard some noise coming from a door down the hall from the bathroom and went to check it out, thinking the place might be being robbed. The door was open about a half-inch, and when I pressed up against it, peeking through the crack, I saw Jess’s dad, the esteemed Senator himself, leaning back in a leather chair while a young caramel-skinned woman-whom I’m pretty sure was one of his maids-was sucking him off.
It was yet another reason to add to the pile why I hated the man. He was such a hypocrite. Look, I’m not saying I’m an angel. Fuck, Lord knows when I pass and stand outside the pearly gates, St. Peter is gonna spend half an eternity reading off the shit I’ve done.
But I have principles. I would never take advantage of a woman, let alone a girl less than half my age. I wouldn’t do most of the things Senator Leary has done. Most of all, I would never make Princess ashamed to be herself, to think that she wasn’t good enough, to think that she was a disappointment.
In my eyes, that’s his greatest sin.
Jess doesn’t know about what I saw that night in his office. She doesn’t know about all the shit her Dad’s really done. I can’t tell her, though. It would break her heart.
God knows why she idolizes the man, but she does. It would kill her to know who he really is.
“Yeah, I remember that night, too.” I confess to her. “See? I told you we had a lot of good times together.”
We’re both silent for a moment, finishing our meal. Her small sips finally empty Jess’s glass, so I hold up the bottle in silent question to her. She nods and holds the flute out. The bottle clanks against the rim of her glass as I refill the liquid.
I know her tolerance; I doubt it’s changed much. Two glasses, and she’ll be relaxed, less tightly wound. That’s the point where she drops the whole “uppity” façade and all her true colors are revealed. That’s the point when she doesn’t give a shit how she looks, how she’s perceived or judged.
“So, what good times have you had lately? Don’t tell me you’re just working all the time and not finding a way to unwind.” I’m not too nervous to hear the answer. I know for sure that Cooper hasn’t given her many memorable moments. Not compared to the ones I have.
She leans over and mirrors my own position laid out on my side, propped up on my arm. “Not much. I take yoga classes. I hang out with friends.”
I sip my champagne. “How is Lil’s? Bobby? He always made me laugh.”
Bobby is Jess’s very best friend in the world, a funny-as-hell flamboyant guy who just loved to playfully ask me embarrassing questions and put me on the spot. It took me a little while to get used to his type of humor, but he never had any bad intentions behind it.
“I haven’t seen them much, lately.” She quietly answers.
Her answer takes me off guard —she and her old college buddies were usually inseparable. I open my mouth to ask her why, but she cuts me off.
“Daddy didn’t think it would be a good idea for me to be associated with anyone connected to an outlaw group during the campaign.” She swallows. “And Bobby doesn’t agree with most of my dad’s positions on things. The last time he was over the house, he and dad got into a very heated debate on gay rights. Dad said he wasn’t going to have someone questioning him in his own home. Bobby said that I was basically condoning his views by helping dad get re-elected, and he wasn’t sure he could have a friend that didn’t support him being able to marry the person he loved.”
I breathe deep. Never in a million years did I think Jess would ever abandon her friends. I guess she was right. I guess some things have changed.
“I guess you were right about what you said earlier this morning. I guess you have changed.” I speak my thoughts.
She looks up to eye me warily. “What’s that supposed to mean, exactly?”
Oh, shit. Shouldn’t have said that.
“Nothing,” I’m quick to try and deescalate the situation. “It’s just that you were tight with those two. Sucks that it turned out that way.”
She nods, mindlessly playing with her glass. I think it’s best to change the topic.
“Hey, you know what time it is?” I ask as I reach up to grab the remote control.
She shrugs her shoulders, still depressed thinking about her former friends, not interested in random television as a distraction.
“That late night talk show you like is on. The one with the lady with the crazy eyes.” I work the control buttons to put that exact cable show on the medium flat screen TV attached to the wall.
“Oh?” She perks up, setting her gaze on the screen.
I quickly gather the empty plates and debris, making a small pile on the table before grabbing the pile of pillows from the bed, tossing them over for her to catch.
She sets them up against the foot of the bed and leans back, propping herself up to see. I notice she’s set up a spot for me so I cautiously crawl over.
“No funny business,” she smirks.
I laugh. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Actually, I most definitely will be dreaming of it.
Not seeming to be able to get comfortable, I finally give-in, and wrap my arm around her shoulders to get cozy. She playfully jabs me in the ribs, but wriggles closer anyway.
The dramatic theme song begins to play as the intro to the show begins, and it isn’t long before we both begin to yawn.
“Good night, Princess,” I whisper in her ear, as she’s nestled into my side.
CHAPTER FIVE
JESS
“Ugh ….” The hard floor is unforgiving on my body. My ass hurts, my neck hurts, my shoulders hurt.
Stretching
my legs and arms, I find that one doesn’t move on command; it’s stuck under Chris’s neck.
My eyes fly open, realizing we’re tangled-up in each other under the blanket that was our picnic table last night. I panic, and use my one free hand to lift up the covers to see what state we’re in.
I breathe a sigh of relief as I find we’re dressed and in the same condition we were last night.
“We didn’t fuck, Princess,” Chris’s voice is sleepy and hoarse.
I feel embarrassed, like a kid caught with her hand in a cookie jar.
“Of course we didn’t,” I’m ashamed for suspecting we’d done the nasty, although I can’t help but notice the morning wood tenting his pants, and find that it solicits an immediate response from my own crotch. I feel a flood of moisture as I literally cream my shorts.
“But, you were practically humping my leg while you were dreaming.”
He’s full of shit. I quickly pull my arm out from under him and hear a hollow thud as his head drops down to the carpet underneath.
“Ouch!” He overreacts.
I crawl into a kneeling position while I gain my bearings to stand. “Hump that.”
~*~
“How was your night?” Harry asks optimistically as we approach the front desk with our bags in Chris’s hands. “Was the bed comfortable?”
Chris and I share a conspiratory glance while breaking into wide grins, knowing we didn’t even make it up onto the mattress, having fallen asleep on the floor.
The swinging door leading back to the kitchen opens and closes with a swoosh. “Oh good! I didn’t miss you two leaving!”
Ann rushes out from the kitchen area with two large brown paper bags outstretched for us.
“I made you some sandwiches for the road,” she holds up one of the bags, “and I managed to whip up a chocolate-banana pie that you like so much,” she holds up the other bag.
“Ann, you didn’t have to go to any trouble,” I take the bag and lean forward to kiss the older woman on the cheek. “You know how much I love your pie.”
It’s true. Apparently it’s some old family recipe of Ann’s great-grandmother. With no children of their own to pass it along to, she once gave me the recipe. Let’s just say I’m no Betty Crocker.
I made the pie once and Chris did his very best to smile and eat it, choking down every single bite. I finally took a bite of my own creation and immediately tossed the remaining pie into the trash.
The innkeeper’s wife smiles broadly, “It was no trouble, really. I’m just so happy you two stopped by.”
We leave the two proprietors waving goodbye as we take our packages and luggage out to the rental car in the lot.
“I’m so glad we got to see them again!” I’m practically giddy as I secure the pie carefully in the back seat. “We should come back again, soon.”
I straighten at my Freudian slip, but, I catch myself. “Uh, I mean, um-”
Chris slides his sunglasses on and takes his suit jacket off, to hang on the little hook above the rear passenger window.
“We’ve got an hour’s drive. Let’s not waste any more time.” His voice is surprisingly harsh.
I nod, surprised, taking the front seat. I don’t know why I just said what I did, but the first image that came to mind when I started to backtrack on my little slip, was that we wouldn’t ever come back. Not together, anyway. The thought of him sharing the honeymoon suite, or any other room for that matter, with anyone else is making my blood boil.
This is our place, our history.
He closes the door, starting the ignition.
“Chris….”
He looks over my shoulder as we back out of the parking space, avoiding my curious eyes. Maybe I should say something, should tell him that I don’t want either of us to ever bring anyone else here, to desecrate the memory of what once was a special place for us.
“Let’s just leave it alone, Princess.”
~*~
“Wow,” I’m looking at the building, frozen in my place. “I haven’t been back here since….”
“Since you had nothing but a piece of floss between your ass cheeks and were practically fucking a pole in front of dozens of men?” He tries his best not to laugh —he’s being a sarcastic asshole.
I roll my eyes. “I was gonna say… since I hijacked your investigation and went undercover, without you knowing, to catch your perp for you while you were sitting and drinking a beer.”
I win.
“Touché,” He knows better than to argue that one, although I did leave out a few minor details.
Staring at the building’s façade, I remember the first time I laid eyes upon it, with Lil’s by my side. We had driven straight through from Chisolm to Tourville after discovering that Vicky, the true murderer of Shade-the President of the Slayers MC in Lil’s home town-might be working here as a stripper after she skipped town.
There was some serious beef between the Slayers and The Kingsmen after Shade had kidnapped Lil’s to put some pressure on her Ol’ man, Jay, and his father, Vince, the leaders of the Kingsmen MC.
When Shade turned up dead, shot in the abandoned house that Lil’s was rescued from, it wasn’t a stretch to think that Jay had done it. At least the cops and the D.A. did. They arrested him for it and he actually confessed to the murder, trying to protect Lil’s, thinking she was the one who actually killed Shade as some kind of self-defense while she was being held captive.
We were all thrown for a loop, when it turned out neither of them killed the man they each had reason to. Instead, his stripper sidepiece had done it, and then split town.
Chris had been undercover in the Slayers for a while and had a feeling that Lil’s hadn’t done it, so he agreed to help us catch the real culprit. We set out on a road trip and ended up here after receiving a tip.
Upon arriving in town, the three of us had made a plan to check out the strip club and look for Vicky during the wee hours, only to find that Chris had ditched us and gone in early, eager to solve the case himself and avoid putting us in any danger.
He blended in with the gaggle of men drooling in front of the stage, I’m sure the jerk just loved his assignment.
Once Lil’s and I had caught wind that we’d been duped, we came up with a little contingency plan of our own. Silly boy. Doesn’t he know anything boys can do girl’s can do better?
I went in undercover as a stripper and got to see what went on behind the scenes. It was a windfall. We may have gone there looking for a murderer, which we found and Chris arrested, but we also happened to walk-in on a huge prostitution ring, full of drugs, extortion, you name it.
Chris really hit the lottery with that one. He got full credit with the Bureau for a huge bust, that sent Nicky The Fish to jail.
Unfortunately, it also made Nicky our enemy, my enemy, and that’s why we’re in this predicament.
That’s how the security cameras in the strip club had gotten pictures of me dancing on a pole, that’s why my dad’s being blackmailed, and that’s why I need to get to the bottom of all this before it ruins everything.
“Ready?” Chris asks, breaking into my thoughts.
I take a deep breath, in and out. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
He nods and we begin to walk to the entrance. The sun is setting and men from all directions are lining up to get into the place.
“So, what are the odds of you throwing on a string bikini and giving me a show for old times sake?” He whispers.
I elbow him in the ribs, hard enough to cause him to wince. “I’d say bout as good as you hitting the lottery without buying a ticket.”
“So that’s a maybe?” He asks feigning optimism.
“Thirty dollar cover-charge, sir.” A large man dressed in a black suit guarding the door greets us as the line’s progressed.
Chris takes out his wallet and begins to sort through the bills. I’ve noticed that he hasn’t shown his badge even though it would probably get us free entry. Don’t want to tip of
f the management. They might think it’s a raid, shut the place down, and then we’ll never get our answers.
Chris hands over a crisp set of bills. One twenty and one ten. The doorman shakes his head.
“Thirty, each.”
Both Chris and my eyes shoot up. “Wow. Guess things have changed a bit.”
The doorman smiles, “We’re an upscale Gentleman’s club now, sir.”
Upscale my ass! Nearly naked women are still dancing on the same stage. How exactly is that upscale?
“Here,” I hand over my credit card to the bouncer.
Chris whips his head to the side. “Excuse me? Don’t even think it.”
Chris has never let me pay for so much as a bottle of water while we were together. We may not be together together anymore, but I know his machismo won’t change because of it.
I push the card forward, giving the doorman no choice but to accept it.
“Business expense,” I whisper to Chris. “It’s on daddy.”
The card is swiped and I’m given a small paper receipt to sign. Chris hasn’t torn the receipt up and demanded the curious doorman give me a refund, so I’m guessing the idea of having Senator Leary pay for his daughter and her ex-boyfriend visiting a strip joint is too appealing for Chris to pass up.
“Right this way, sir.” The bouncer opens the front door and I follow Chris into the dark.
The sun may be setting outside, but the change in lighting takes a moment to adjust to. I stumble a bit trying to keep pace without crashing into anything. Chris’s hand takes mine and a warm sense of ease takes over.
His strong grip is reassuring, familiar. I let my fingers link with his, intertwining with his in a solid grasp — one that’s unbreakable.
The music is pumping, and my eyes begin to acclimate to our surroundings. The bouncer was right … things have changed.
Gone is the seedy, trashy, cliché stripper joint that smelled of stale beer and sweaty men’s body odor. Instead, this place is now decked-out. Black leather covers the walls, circular benches curve behind private tables, and stools line the dance floor. Purple lights are strategically placed offering soft hues to corners and under the bar.
