You Can't Hurry Love

by Lee Kilraine

  Heck, it didn’t matter because there was still her parents to think about. And her job. Just because Paxton was being a butt-head didn’t mean she didn’t still owe him. She’d been living the straight and narrow life so long, another six months wouldn’t hurt. Not if it would help Paxton.

  By the third day with no word from the pissed-off Paxton, Jo was pretty pissed herself. Georgie even had to take the lemon scone batter away from her because she was kneading it into a rubbery mess.

  “You know what? Paxton can ignore me until the end of days for all I care.” She was back on cupcake duty, scooping and filling like a boss. “I have a mind to forget about him and get back to attacking my bucket list.”

  “You totally should. He’s just being a jerk now. Maybe even a jackass.”

  “He really is. To heck with him.” Jo slid the last tray of red velvet cupcakes into the oven and set the timer before washing her hands. “I’m going to dye my hair. And then I’m going to keep right on working my way down the list. What color do you think? I want something really wild.”

  “Mermaid hair! We can check out my Pinterest boards before you leave. There’s a gorgeous pastel rainbow that would look rad on you, or dark aqua and purple.”

  “Don’t forget, it needs to be back to normal in three months for teaching.”

  “Not a problem.” Georgie rubbed her hands together in excitement. “I’ll use a semipermanent vegetable dye; it washes out in eight to twelve shampoos.”

  “You’ll be using?” Jo raised one eyebrow over at her friend. “Didn’t you fail out of cosmetology school?”

  “Pfft. No.” Georgie gave a small wince and shrugged. “I just got bored and dropped out. Besides, on your teacher’s salary, free is a good deal.”

  “This is true.” She nodded. “Okay, so next week okay for you?”

  “Oh no.’ Georgie shook her head firmly. “We do this tonight, before you overthink it and chicken out. In fact, let me grab my iPad and you can decide on the color right now. I’ll pick the dye up from Zuzu’s along with some Chinese food and be over at your place by seven. This is going to be so much fun.”

  “I’ve got to say I’m excited about it.” Silly because it was such a little thing, temporary hair color. But in her life it was big. It would be a statement. A visible reminder every time she looked into the mirror that she too could live life on her own terms. The more she thought about it, the more excited she got and the more right it felt. “Is it sad that the idea of coloring my hair feels so wild?”

  “Yes it is. But you were so worried about being the anti-Darlene you never did anything fun.” The timer rang on the second oven and Georgie slid out the tray of snickerdoodles. “I hope we run a wooden stake right through your inner anti-Darlene’s heart. It’s time for Jojo to come out and play.”

  Right. Why shouldn’t she get to have fun? Take a few risks? Be a bit wild?

  How was it fair that her sister caused trouble on the level of Bonnie and Clyde and her dad was all at least she lived life her way? And the one time Jo had done one wild thing—one—and Paxton was treating her like some pariah. It was ridiculous.

  Well, to hell with her dad and to hell with Paxton. She was done worrying and feeling guilty. “I’m ready for the next one on the list too. I need to dance again.”

  “Yeesss,” Georgie screamed and punched a fist in the air, showering herself with flour in the process. “OMG yes. This is the one I’ve been waiting for. Your parents should never have made you quit.”

  “Georgie . . .”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ve already found a place. I started researching the day we wrote up your list.” Tears actually spilled down Georgie’s cheeks and she brushed them away. “This is going to be so great.”

  Oh lord. Jo was about to cry too, because quitting dance had about killed her. She had missed it like she would have missed breathing. “The thing is, I’m not just talking about dancing like taking a class. What I miss is performing. The energy. The connection with the audience. The applause.”

  “You were so damn good. And because I want to see you dance again, I found you a place to perform. You know how some clubs have open mic nights for comedians?”

  “Sure. We’ve gone to a few.”

  “Well, I found a bar that has open dance night. One night a week.”

  Jo tilted her head at her friend. “Bar? Do you mean a strip club—because no. Just no.”

  “Not a strip club . . . exactly. First off, the place is down in Southern Pines, so it’s not local. No clothes come off. I’m not saying they don’t get risqué, but everyone keeps their tops and bottoms on. Like in the movie Flashdance, only much classier.”

  Wow. She was really making changes in her life. And she didn’t even feel the need to hyperventilate into a paper bag. Yet.

  Funny how a person could go about her life, seemingly unaware of a problem, but it was there, bubbling away under the surface. Poking at a person’s mind in a very cagey and unspecified way. Like a whisper in the dark when you don’t know who’s whispering or what they’re saying. So you tell yourself you didn’t hear anything and go back to ignoring that little poke into your conscience—into your soul.

  That’s when the subconscious steps up and takes care of things while you’re busy ignoring all the signs and signals. Jolene hadn’t had a clue what her subconscious was up to until her arrest. Everything about the arrest—the nervous tension, the whispered gossip when she walked by—had her subconscious saying Yeeessssss. And her conscious was like Whaaat? Are you kidding? No.

  What was it that her inner self had worked out that she’d been denying? That deep down, Jolene Jolene Joyner was sick and tired of being good. But even if she had admitted that to herself, she might not have done anything about it.

  But the arrest and the whispers and the odd looks around town had woken up the inner bad girl she didn’t even know she had. Though if Jo were being honest, this moment had been coming for a while.

  Jo had first noticed her when she’d begun impulse shopping last year. Next she’d started returning her library books a day after the due date. She’d also cut off the tags on her new mattress—even though the tag said not to. And recently, on the last day of every month, she threw caution to the wind and didn’t floss.

  Out of all the items on her bucket list, only one had an emotional connection for her. The others represented normal, silly rites of passage that most teenagers did at some point. Jo had been too busy being good to try them. But dancing? Dancing was the one thing she had tried—and loved and then given up.

  Once upon a time dancing had been her calling. Her ultimate dream and surely her vocation. From the very first moment she put on her ballet slippers she knew, as sure as her sister would throw a fit at dinner every night, that dancing was what she was born to do. Ballet, tap, or jazz—it didn’t matter as long her body was moving to the music. The dance studio became not only the place she could let go and express herself, it was also the place she could disappear and escape from the ravages of Hurricane Darlene and the storm surge in her wake.

  But this would be different. It would open the door to her shuttered soul and let a small ray of light shine through. Dancing again was going to let her hold on to a small part of the dream she’d let go. It might even rescue a little piece of her heart.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It had been three days since Jo had handed the dog over to Helmut Pope and Paxton had come to a conclusion. He’d fucked up. He’d steamrollered Jo to get what he wanted and damn if she hadn’t called him out on it. Good for her. He gritted his back teeth together, thinking about the apology he owed her.

  She was right; he was the one who’d insisted they take the dog out in public even though he’d known how she’d ended up with it. No, he wasn’t letting himself off the hook.

  Except it wasn’t all so clear-cut. Because he felt an awful lot like he had the night he’d thought Jo had stood him up. Of course now he knew she hadn’t—but this time, by wit
hholding information she could easily have shared with him—he felt just as used. Okay, maybe also a little pissed and a lot disregarded.

  Why had she even bothered to agree to help him knowing whose dog she had hiding in her kitchen? Well . . . thinking back . . . she’d agreed before he mentioned Mr. Pope.

  He didn’t care; he wasn’t giving her a pass on that because she’d had plenty of time to tell him since.

  Had she been listening when he explained how important this whole deal was to him? Not only did Pope have a large influence on who made partner in the firm but he had a wide reach in the community when it came to political circles and influence. He wasn’t the only stepping stone on Paxton’s path to his goals—but his was one of the big ones. So yeah, the fact that Jo had forced him to be part of putting Pope on the spot in a very public way pissed Pax off.

  The fact that Paxton had partially pushed Jo into the situation meant he needed to kick his own ass. And it hadn’t taken him three days to figure it out, but it had taken him three days to swallow his pride and remove the righteous indignation in which he’d wrapped himself.

  Of course Paxton still didn’t know all the details, but considering he was the one who’d gotten Jo out of jail, he could piece the majority of the facts together. Except for Pope’s motivation. Maybe the man had a valid explanation, not that Paxton had come up with one. The point was Jo’s actions had removed Paxton’s opportunity to find out before any damage was done.

  Did that mean he thought what Pope did was right? That the man should get a pass? Hell no. But surely he could have thought of other options rather than publicly humiliate and anger a man who with one word could help or destroy Paxton’s career.

  Pull it together, Pax. He ran a hand down his face and calmed down. His brothers accused him of being hotheaded. It was true. All good lawyers had some acting ability. They were a passionate breed—when they needed to be. Sometimes they needed to be just as cool and detached. He could usually control his emotions.

  But this thing with Jo had rubbed a raw spot from his past. Their past. Because if he was honest, this wasn’t really about Pope or even Paxton’s goals. The anger he still felt was on a personal level.

  Sure he and Jo had been opening up to each other because of their deal, but it turned out he really liked the woman he’d come to know. Liked her a lot. He’d thought they were on their way to a friendship. And worse? He’d let their time together, talking, laughing, and kissing, delude him into thinking they’d grown to trust each other. The damn joke was on him.

  “So is that a yes?”

  Paxton blinked his attention back to the boardroom, where they’d just wrapped up the monthly meeting. Damn it, he was supposed to be networking. Normally, this was his time to discuss cases and keep his finger on the pulse of the firm since working in one of the start-up satellite offices had him too removed. Important face time that thoughts of Jo were interfering with. He needed to decide what to do about Jo soon, but right now he needed to lock thoughts of Jo away and focus on work.

  “Sorry. I was thinking about a recent case. Run it by me again.”

  “We’re having a bachelor party for Stu tomorrow night. Roger’s organizing it and swears he knows a gentlemen’s club over in Pinehurst that’s classy. Are you up for it?”

  Well, damn. He had to be, didn’t he? The fiasco with Pope’s puppy meant he was no longer anticipating the coveted invitation to the couples’ wine tour weekend in the mountains, so the last thing he wanted to do was miss this. He needed to be a team player. Although he’d like nothing more than to miss it. He didn’t care what you called it: gentlemen’s club, strip joint, topless bar . . . they were pretty much the same thing and not his type of entertainment.

  “Sure I am. I’ll even volunteer to be the designated driver.” Because being drunk in a dive strip club had never been his thing. As the DD, he’d be in control of how fast they could get out of the place. He liked control.

  John slapped him on the back. “Appreciate it, but no need. Roger’s renting a limo. It’ll mostly be a group of Stu’s frat brothers, and he warned me they can get wild.”

  “Sounds like fun.” As fun as an attack of appendicitis. Although that would get him out of it. No, because even if he thought he could fake it, you can’t fake surgery. Suck it up, Paxton. You’re a team player. And possibly a babysitter, because if it got too raunchy, he could get them all the hell out of the place.

  Hell, even if it was about as fun as retaking the bar exam, it would still beat sitting around picking at the scab Jo had left. Seriously, without Jo’s help he would need to work every opportunity that came his way. Besides, after three days of Jo practically invading his every thought, he would embrace spending a few hours looking at women who weren’t Jo.

  Paxton stayed a bit longer to talk with a few more people. When he’d been asked to start up the satellite office in Climax, he knew going in that he’d need to make an effort to get in some face time at the main office in Charlotte on a regular basis. Out of sight out, of mind was all too true.

  “Paxton, I was hoping to catch you before you left.” Helmut Pope steered him down the wide, wood-trimmed hallway leading to the executive offices. “I just looked at your report on the Climax office start-up, and I wanted to tell you you’re doing a fine job. Satellite offices sometimes take years to turn a profit, but you’re setting some records. It isn’t going unnoticed.”

  “Thank you, Helmut. Appreciate it.” He’d been working his ass off for over two years to make it work. “Did you have any thoughts on my suggestion about adding general legal services? I included the estimated needs for the future—”

  “Not enough profit there. We set up that office for the forecasted real estate boom.” He winked at him and nodded. “The boomers are about to retire and they’ll be selling their farmland when they find out their kids want no part of that life.”

  From talking with local farmers, Paxton wasn’t so sure about that. Either way, it seemed like offering clients what they needed would go a long way toward establishing trust should Helmut’s prediction prove true.

  “Before I forget, my wife and I are hosting a couples’ excursion in Asheville next month for a tour of some of the wineries. I’ll be sending you an invitation.” He slapped a good-old-boy hand on Paxton’s shoulder. “I hope you and Ms. Joyner can make it.”

  “That sounds great. We’ll look forward to it.” Well, how about that? He’d finally been extended the coveted couples’ event invitation where the important networking went on. It didn’t make a lick of sense to him, but if someone’s wife or husband got along with another in the firm, it was practically like a seal of approval, giving added visibility in a competitive field.

  “I didn’t see your name on the list for the tailgate party for this weekend. I know my wife is looking forward to talking with Ms. Joyner. Kitty’s the PTA president this year and loves talking to teachers whenever she can corner one.”

  Damn it. He doubted Jo would want to go with him, as big of an ass as he’d been. And there was the matter of his overdue apology. Groveling might work.

  “I hope your decision not to come has nothing to do with the park the other day.” Helmut shook his head with regret. “I didn’t mean to be so abrupt, but I was shocked to see Margaret’s puppy. A happy shock, and I couldn’t wait to get home to reunite them.”

  “I can only imagine.” Except he didn’t want to imagine because he wasn’t eager to delve into his boss’s actions.

  “Anyway, you put those lawyer skills to good use and talk Ms. Joyner into joining us.” Helmut slapped him on the back once more and disappeared into his office.

  Well, that should have solved his problem. Jo’s dog incident hadn’t jeopardized his plans after all. But even knowing Jo hadn’t thwarted his goal and accepting he owed her an apology, the fact that she hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him the truth still burned his gut. And what the hell was that all about?

  * * *

  He had to g
ive Roger credit—the place didn’t reek of sweat and booze. The Library was decorated just like you’d expect: the walls were head-to-toe shelves chockful of books. Looking closely as they walked to their table, the books were even shelved according to the Dewey Decimal System. It did have a classy vibe, but still, the same dim atmosphere broken up by strobe spotlights darting around from above and pounding music loud enough to make it hard to hear conversation but not enough to know what song was playing. And of course plenty of scantily clad waitstaff, both women and men, roamed around, shaking and shimmying everywhere one looked.

  The hostess led them to a table at the edge of the stage’s jutting catwalk and Paxton made a mental note to volunteer to plan the next bachelor party. He could think of a lot of things he’d rather do than tuck dollar bills in G-strings. A road trip to Graceland, a day on the lake, a private tasting at a whiskey bar, a deep-sea fishing trip. Hell, even jumping out of an airplane or spending the day on a golf course beat an evening at a strip bar drinking watered-down drinks.

  With the limo, he didn’t need to stay sober, except it would probably take a sober person to keep this group under control. So Paxton ordered a coffee and girded his loins in preparation for the next few hours. He’d do his part by feeding Stu dollar bills and making sure the waitresses kept the drinks watered down; no one was throwing up on his watch.

  The lights around the tables dimmed another level and the DJ off to the side got the show rolling with one dancer after another stripping down to itty-bitty bikinis to some rock songs he’d never heard. What happened to classic rock and roll?

  Some dancers were actually talented, at least to his untrained eye, others simply good strippers with hot bodies. All elicited applause, catcalls, and tips. Lots of tips. The dancers shimmied along the edge of the stage and catwalk, pausing only long enough for a hand to tuck dollars into skimpy bikinis or briefs before slipping quickly away.

  Every so often Roger Barnes, the most mild-mannered family man in the firm, pulled out his cell phone to film one of the pole dancers.