by lesley,allyn
I’m torn what to do. I don’t want my brother to try to wife-up a stripper. But there’s nothing wrong with just passing the time between a stripper’s legs, right? EC’s had a bitch of a couple of years, beginning with the time his ex purposely announced her abortion to a room full of workers and clients at the garage. My brother hasn’t been the same since. I’m thinking he’s owed... actually, overdue for some fun. So I ask him, “You want to have some fun?”
He nods, still looking ahead. Some of the groomsmen have crowded the stage and are throwing bills at the dancer. Which they should. She was that damn good.
I’ll let him have some fun for tonight then bring him back to planet Earth after he seals the deal. “Gimme a second.” I leave him seated.
By the time I reach her, she’s having a hard time stuffing her tips in her G-string. “Miss Cheeks.” I snicker at her awful stage name, even if she does have a set of sweet ass cheeks. I don’t think about that any other time, I’d be standing in front of her, saying words to get her to leave with me.
Her blond hair whips around as she looks me up and down. I guess I come up lacking in her eyes, because instead of acknowledging me, she continues picking up her money.
“I want a private lap dance.”
“Fuck awf.” She tells me with that thick New York accent that makes it sounds like she’s speaking the words from her upper teeth, when she’s really saying the word ‘off’. “I don’t do lap dances.”
“Bullshit.” They all say that. It’s like the first line they’re taught to tell customers, maybe to keep us interested and to see if they can command a greater price from our wallets.
“My set’s done.” This is said snooty-like, as if I overstepped some invisible boundary with her by my earlier statement.
“I’ll make it worth your time.” I crook my finger at her. She comes closer like I knew she would. I whisper a number I’m sure she’s never heard in her entire stripping profession, especially for a lap dance.
“Is this for you?” Her sneer tells me how she feels about me.
I motion to where EC’s nursing a drink.
When I turn back her way, I scan her face with its olive complexion, close-set brown eyes, and small nose. Up close, I admit she’s attractive, just not my type. No one’s been my type since Chelsea walked into my garage and life.
“How do you have that kind of money?” she asks, snapping me out of my head. “Are you drug dealers or something?”
“Or something.” No need to tell her who we are, then the gold digger in her would probably show its true colors. “We’re on the up-and-up, I swear.”
“Fine,” she says as I help her off the stage. “You’re not going to be in the room are you?”
Not a chance. I don’t say anything as Sweet Cheeks gets her target in her sights. Her approach is subtle, I’ll give her that, but purposeful. After EC picks his gaping mouth up from the floor, he gets a handle on the situation just as she leads him out of the VIP area.
I laugh when he fist pumps the air behind her back. Everyone’s relaxing, and the night is still young. Fishing out my pack of Newports, I pull out a cigarette, hoping the nicotine will ease the crushing emptiness in my heart since Chelsea chose to walk out of the lounge.
I thought tonight, I’d show her she’d regret not staying in the lounge with me but it’s me who now has regrets... regrets that I didn’t go after her and beg her to stay.
Chapter Twelve
She takes my thumb into her mouth as my hand palms one of her breasts.
Even though I know the answer, I ask, “You like that?” I continue moving inside her.
She looks up at me and licks her lips. “Yeah.”
I swivel my hips, going deeper. My eyes roll back in my head. Being with her like this, being this close to her...
“Just like that, Dyllan.”
She squeezes my dick, and I swear I’m in heaven.
“Open up for me.” The windows to her soul stay closed, and that won’t do. “Open up, Chels.” I continue moving in and out of her warmth, getting more addicted the longer I’m nestled inside her heated walls.
Her eyes open slowly, and she gives me one of her signature sexy grins that light up her entire face. As if she’s not already beautiful and much too perfect for a deadbeat like me. But, I’m a selfish prick and I want her, all of her, all the time. I lower my upper body, making it flush against the heated skin of her breasts.
My lips seek out hers. Soft, sweet, tantalizing, I almost come from the feel of them alone. I flip us over so she’s on top. Surprise and excitement register on her face when she realizes I’m giving her control.
“Really?” she asks, grinding her lower half on me but still sounding surprised.
I barely grunt out the whispered approval when she does a move that drives me farther inside her. That feels good... too damn good. My hands curve up her hips, traveling past her stomach, and glide up to her plump breasts. With a twist of her nipples, Chels moans, dropping her neck back that I want to mark to tell the world she’s off-limits. She groans loudly, sliding down my cock.
“All you,” I tell her as I try not to come.
Her moves are unhurried: sensual and rhythmic. She knows what she’s doing and how to do it. She takes my hands from her breasts and guides them over her ass. Damn. I squeeze the plump cheeks, as she grinds her lower half on me. Sweat forms all over my body. I’m close to losing control.
“You like that?” she asks in that teasing way of hers.
She knows I do. She knows I like everything she does to me. Her fingers graze over my sweat-slick stomach, lingering on the tattoos scattered over my body, leaving me feverish. I push up into her, filling her completely with my cock.
“I’m close. So close,” she breathes out.
I am too. If she continues moving like that...
“Yes, Dyllan. Damn, don’t stop.”
I moan out her name, and that’s all it takes. I’m falling under her... all over the fucking place by the rush of my orgasm that arches my back off the bed. She flops tiredly on top of me, and I hold onto her for dear life. Running my hands through her beautiful hair the color of warmed Earth, I cradle her to my chest then close my eyes with a sated smile on my lips.
“Dyllan.”
A large, rough, and masculine hand slaps one side of my face.
“Dyllan.”
What the... “Huh?”
“Move your ass, bro. We’re going to be late for the wedding.”
My eyes crack open, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings of the hotel room. EC rushes about, announcing he has first dibs in the bathroom.
My hand flies to the spot beside me, but it’s nothing but cool sheets under my fingertips. It was only a dream.
She’s too beautiful for words.
I know I should pay attention, listen for JC’s cue when I’m to do the one job he’s asked of me. But, I can’t concentrate. Not when she’s standing a few feet away, taking my breath away with her hair loosely curled at the front and a bun-type style at the back, wearing just a hint of makeup. All throughout the wedding ceremony, I’m stealing looks her way.
I can’t help it.
I can’t not look at her.
Someone clears their throat, and I see an upturned palm as if it’s waiting for something.
Shit. Right.
I pluck the ring box from my breast pocket. EC snickers, and I could throat-punch that fucker. Ma discreetly shushes him. I pause, touching the softness of the black velvet box and wishing it were me giving it to—
“Dyllan, the ring,” JC whispers, but not low enough.
The audience laughs as I hand it over. While Emma and JC pledge their undying love and commitment to each other, the room and everyone in it slowly fades away.
It’s just Chels and me. She’s in white—white lace to be exact. Her smile’s radiant, as is the one I’m wearing, looking down at her, holding onto to the hand I never want to release. I slide my ring onto her finger, procl
aiming Chelsea Sterling as mine.
I blink as the minister pronounces Emma and JC man and wife. What the hell was that? That was one weird mental picture. No way am I ever marrying. Especially not to her. Not after she left me high and damn near dry, the way she did back in the lounge room. I must still be drunk. That’s the only reason why I’d even think about—
“Are you going to get Chelsea?” EC asks from nearby.
When I pick up my head, I see her at the top of the aisle, waiting for the two best men to walk her down it and through the doors. Emma and JC are making their way down the center aisle. Reaching her right side, I loop my arm through hers then EC flanks her other side. We walk down the aisle to a smoky-voiced man who sings about a woman who’s the best he’s ever had. My heart seizes with each of the lyrics, and I draw closer to Chelsea’s side.
Everyone’s unaware of me becoming choked up as the singer croons about a love that won’t fade away and the woman seeing right through him. We pass unrecognizable smiling faces, tear-filled eyes of family members, and friends with camera phones clicking away to capture the bridal party. The church’s doors open quickly, and the action sends a gust of wind indoors. Some of her hair comes loose from her up-do, and whiffs of her delicate perfume and just her one-of-a-kind scent are all I can smell now.
Chels, my heart kind of mumbles out but my lips refuse to call out.
Maybe I do speak, because she turns to me with a small smile just as the singer continues to pour his heart out in a way I doubt I’ll ever be able to do. I’m so tempted to kiss her. Falling under the spell of the words that’s still in my head and her warm body so close to mine, all I want is her, even when I know she doesn’t want me.
My silent confession leaves me dazed. I’m tripping. Chelsea’s tripped me up, and I don’t think she even knows it.
The seven of us who’re part of Emma and JC’s bridal party sit at a circular table, watching my brother twirl the new Mrs. Sterling around the ballroom to one of the couple’s favorite songs.
Chelsea sits to my right, hands clasped under her chin and elbows propped on top of the table. In the dim glow from the candles placed around the reception hall, she seems happy. Her countenance is peaceful as she basks in the evident love between my brother and her sister.
“They make a beautiful couple.”
Her gaze lowers to the table before lifting up to mine. “Yes, they do.”
“Like night and day. He’s silent as a church mouse, and—”
“She’s like a roaring thunder,” she finishes my thought with an impish grin I’d love to see more of.
I can’t help but joining her in the grin because it’s the truth. Emma’s always on the move, whereas my brother is happiest at home, strumming a random song on his guitar.
“They make it work though,” she goes on but I feel like she’s also having a conversation in her head like I am in mine.
“Yeah.” They both keep each other balanced. Makes me wonder about Chelsea and me. As I watch JC brush Emma’s cheek—maybe she’s crying?—I tell the woman beside me who makes my heart hurt and soar at the same time, “They sure make it look easy.”
“Love is easy.”
Her words bug me, especially that emphasis I know she knows I’d pick up on. Love is easy? But is it? Chuck and Ma make it look easy. Even when she’s roaring mad at him, he has a way to sneak a smile out of her. Their kind of love is the same one I see between Emma and my brother. I guess, love is easy... with the right person. My fingers lift on their own, tucking some strands of hair behind her ear and taking a little too long to trail the pads of my fingertips against her silky skin. My moan drowns in Emma’s off-tune singing. With my hot fingers that still remember the touch of Chelsea in my pocket, I tell her, “She sounds awful as hell.”
For some reason this makes her chuckle then she brings me into her head. “Same thing I used to tell her. As kids, I was always banging on the bathroom door for two reasons.” She’s quiet for such a long time that I think I’m going to have to force her to reveal the rest, but she tells me on another soft chuckle, “She hogged the hot water. I mean every damn day. I was lucky I never caught a bad cold bathing in almost too cool water. And her God-awful ‘singing’ would creep through that closed bathroom door and rattle both my ear drums.” We both shake our head at the same time while Emma sings her heart out to her husband with not a care in the world that everyone around them are praying for her to shut up. “But look at him...” Chelsea doesn’t finish, because it’s true. JC’s eating it up, smiling like the cat that ate the canary, as if Emma’s voice soothes him. When he joins in the singing, the guests laugh at the couple.
“Mr. and Mrs. Sterling request the maid of honor and best man to join them in their dance,” announces the master of ceremonies.
While pushing my back on the chair, hoping to catch EC’s attention to tell him to dance with Chelsea, I notice her stiffened position and downcast eyes. Even after a loud ‘psst’, the putz, who I know is ignoring me purposely, continues chatting up a bridesmaid next to him.
You can do this. It’s only one dance. That’s what I tell myself when I offer her my hand and we make our way to the dance floor. When the strings of the song we’d both first heard in my condo back in August 2011 seep throughout the room, that’s when I know it: I’m fucked.
“Shit,” I mutter.
With my free hand, I loosen the bowtie that feels like it’s about to choke me. She squeezes the hand in hers as the singer’s voice greets us as we reach the center of the floor.
“Is the big, bad Dyllan afraid of a little dance?” Her raised eyebrow teases me but not more than the tiny lip quirk of hers. Now, that I’d love to suck on. But for some reason, I’m on my best behavior. I don’t give into my baser instinct or even come back with a retort that would have her face blazing. All I do is place my hand at the small of her back and lead Chelsea into a slow dance. “Do you remember this song?” Her whispered words blanket my chin while her sweet smelling breath curls up inside my nostrils, nestling there, and I know her scent is now permanently planted in my psyche.
How could I forget? “Yes,” is all I can croak out. I look off to the side; a kind of weird heat creeps all over my body as Chelsea comes closer into my arms.
“What are you thinking about?”
Just like that, she commandeers all of my attention. I tilt my head down, noting her soft cheekbones, her sparkling eyes, her graceful neck, and her smooth complexion. The combination of everything and just her makes my entire body hard and achy. My hands slide up then down her back. This is probably the last time I’ll get to touch her. I’m at a loss, listening to the lyrics and staring down at her.
“Dyllan.”
I swallow a thick ball of emotion that had made its way from my heart up to my throat. “I was thinking how beautiful you look. How great this dress looks on you.” I circle us toward a secluded spot, swaying to the soulful music.
“This old thing?”
I bask in the airiness of her throaty laughter. My eyes trails over the rosy hue in her cheeks, the soft skin at her neck then farther down to the dress that flatters her curvy shape. “You make old look good.” I press her closer to me, whispering in her ear, “Real good, Chels.” Then, I remember I’m hard, but her gasp tells me she’s already felt it. She never moves out of my embrace or requests I back away though.
“Dyllan, what are you doing?”
I’m glad the song is slow. I can stretch out the length of time I have her in my arms. Maybe for a very long time. I rule out forever immediately, drawing her tighter to my chest. “Dancing,” I tell her as the singer belts out that she knows her love hasn’t made up his mind as yet, but reassures him she’d never do him wrong.
The singer’s words infiltrate my ears, punctuating my movements. Chelsea easily guides us when I miss a step, almost stepping on her dainty feet. My body temperature is at an all-time high, like I’m in a sauna, and I swear my heart skips a few beats.
�
��Hey.”
I look down at the woman in my arms, attempting to savor the way my fingers curled around her hands and doing my best to sketch her image into my brain for later. For many laters when she’s no longer around.
“Great lyrics, right?” she asks, no longer looking at me.
I’m tongue-tied. I can’t... I won’t admit to anything. I can’t. This is how you make me feel, Chels. As I hold her in my arms, I know I wouldn’t know how to love her, don’t even know how to give the kind of love she deserves, even though she makes me want to try.
She’s right.
In the end, she was right last night in the lounge room.
She shouldn’t do anything more with me.
I pull her closer than is appropriate. “You were right to leave me the way you did.” And, that’s the truth. I sniff her hair, which is now down and floating about her shoulders. “I didn’t want you there in the morning anyway.” That lie comes out flawlessly, because even though I haven’t seen Jess in years, I’m still her son... the son of a liar. I twirl her back to the center of the dance floor. “When this song ends, you won’t have to worry about me any longer.”
There’ll be no hard feelings between us. I won’t resent Chelsea, because she was only looking out for her best interests. We’ll socialize at family functions, and I’ll grin and bear seeing her with the lucky son-of-a-bitch who’s making her happy at the moment.
I’ll just have to stay away from Chelsea Robinson. Far, far away... and keep the things in my heart even that much farther away, too.
“Wh-what?”
I kiss her temple, and in my head, I see her melting into me, telling me she wants to give this weird thing between us a go. But she says nothing more, and neither do I. The feel of her on my lips guts me and rips me to fucking shreds.
“Let’s enjoy the last few seconds.” I close my eyes as the singer tells her lover that she could make him happy, make his dreams come true; on and on the singer goes about how she just wants to make him feel her love.
