by ANDREA SMITH
“Dude wants you,” she said, “Suck it up.”
I was really tired; I had danced more tonight than any night before at either Sharkey’s or Jewels. One more dance, then I could hit the road to home.
I went to the back door of the private, glass enclosed booth and waited for the music to start which would move the curtain aside. I always pretended that no one was sitting on the other side of the one-way glass so that I didn’t have to imagine what they might be doing to themselves as I moved sensually and seductively on the pole to the music.
My heart dropped to my stomach as soon as I heard the first few chords of ‘Bad Girlfriend’ blast from the speakers.
(Good God - it’s got to be a coincidence . . .It can’t be . . .)
I forced myself to focus on the music and not who was on the other side of the glass. I took the pole; moving and spiraling to the beat of this song. The song that Slate had picked for me before; the song he used to punish me.
The words and the melody were now familiar to me; it was if they were ingrained in my mind.
‘She likes to shake her ass; she grinds it to the beat;
She likes to pull my hair when I make her grind her teeth;
She’s a bad, bad girlfriend . . .’
Somehow through the grace of God I made it through the song without fainting or falling on my ass. I convinced myself that it was not Slate; it was someone else that liked this hot song. It was a great song for pole-dancing if you liked it fast. I liked it slower.
As the song ended with the final chords; the curtain closed and the automatic drawer was sent in with my tip. It was a one dollar tip.
(Oh holy shit!)
My pulse quickened; I felt faint. I sat down on the floor and buried my face into my hands. He couldn’t hurt me if I didn’t leave this booth. Within several minutes, Juanita was pounding on the door to the booth.
“You alive in there, Diamond?”
I got to my feet and unlocked the door. She was standing there looking confused and concerned.
“Are you alright?”
“Juanita - can you find out if whoever paid for my last dance is still in the club?”
“You know the rules on that, sweetie. The identity of our customers who make these private requests and pay good money is protected.”
“I don’t want to meet him for Chrissake! I am afraid of him. I need to know he has left the building. I need to make sure he is not lingering around.”
“Calm down, sweetie,” she said, taking me by the arm. “Come with me.”
Juanita led me to her office and unlocked the door. She flipped the light on and told me to take a seat.
“You sit tight here. I will check with Damon to see if the customer has left; I will have him check the lot as well, okay?”
I nodded.
She came back twenty minutes later with my street clothes and a cold bottle of water.
“Here you go, sweetie. You relax and drink some water. Get dressed at your leisure. Damon will walk you to the bus stop when you’re ready, okay? There was so sign of him inside the club or out in the lot.”
I nodded, taking the water from her and downing it.
I took my time getting dressed. I knew the bus schedule and I had already missed my normal bus. The next one around would be the last one for the night. I didn’t want to make Damon have to stand outside in the February cold waiting with me any longer than necessary.
I was dressed and ready twenty minutes later. Damon walked me to the corner and waited until the bus picked me up. I found a seat near a window and relaxed back against it. The gnawing fear in the pit of my stomach had subsided. I had practically dozed off when I realized we were nearing my stop. I hurriedly scooted out of my seat; the driver knew me well enough to pull over.
“Nite,” I said, stepping down onto the curb.
“Take care,” he answered as always.
The bus pulled away and as I stepped forward to hit the button for the crosswalk light, I was suddenly snatched up from behind. I opened my mouth to scream, but a hand was immediately clamped over it as I was lifted and pulled backwards to the dark and sinister confines of an alley.
My ‘fight or flight’ reflex was in full force as my muddled mind finally registered danger. I quickly thought back to what I had learned in self-defense training and not sure of what possible disease I might contract, made the decision to clamp by teeth down as hard as I could on the flesh of the hand that covered my mouth.
Immediately, I heard a loud curse and the hand that had been restricting my ability to scream left my face. I took this opportunity to launch a scream until I was whirled around; my face was within inches of Slate’s.
“Shut the fuck up,” he hissed.
CHAPTER 22
I had been slammed up not so gently against the side of a building that bordered the alley Slate had ducked in to. I could feel the rough edges of the uneven bricks against my back. His face was in front of me. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could see his blue eyes blazing into me with something I didn’t recognize. It wasn’t really total anger; it wasn’t really total lust. It was a combination of the two.
“What in the fuck do you think you are doing, Sunny?” he hissed at me. I struggled against him, finally breaking free of his hold.
“What I’m not doing, Slate, is holding someone against their will!”
“Really Sunny? That’s all you fucking have to say for yourself?”
“What in the hell do you want me to say Slate? You don’t own me.”
“I believe I told you once that I would be the one to decide when it’s over; I’ve never once told you that I have come to that decision. Why haven’t you returned my text messages or voicemails?”
He had me stumped there. I hadn’t checked my track phone in a few weeks. I had presumed it was all a done deal for us. This took me by surprise.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the numerous text messages and voicemails that I’ve fucking left for your ass that have been ignored. That is unacceptable, babe.”
“I haven’t checked my phone; I assumed we both had concluded that it was over.”
“I had reached no such conclusion, Sunny,” he said, his breath now warm against my lips; his closeness melting my reserve. God I so wanted the feel of him again; his nakedness; his passion; his body entwined with mine.
(Stop it! I cannot go back there; it is too dangerous!)
Before I had to shove him away to make a hasty exit, his lips had come crashing down on mine. I held on to my reserve; not allowing my lips to respond. His mouth worked mine expertly; his tongue gently traced my lips. He had slowed down; he had shifted into ‘gentle’ mode now. He knew what worked with me and when; he played it perfectly.
Before I had the chance or the opportunity to reinforce my resolve my body, the traitor that it was, defied my better judgment. My arms laced up and around his neck; my body melted into his. My lips parted and accepted his tongue; my tongue explored him. I felt his body pressed into mine now; I felt his manhood against me, my body was aching for the fulfillment that I knew he could provide.
I fisted my hands into his thick mane, sighing audibly as I capitulated to his touch. I pulled him even closer; making no secret of the fact that I wanted him right here, right now, no matter what. I had to find some strength against this man. My self-preservation depended upon it.
“Slate - no,” I pleaded, breaking off from our passionate kiss.
“Baby, your lips are sayin’ no but the rest of you is screaming ‘hell yes’,” he said, stepping back.
“I don’t want you to hurt me,” I said, bowing my head in shame.
“Baby - I never do anything you don’t like,” he replied, totally clueless.
“I’m talking about my heart, Slate. I’m talking about what I feel for you that you don’t feel for me. Please?”
He moved back from me almost immediately. He raked his hands through his hair; turning h
is back to me as if he was ready to go off. His frustration was apparent as he whirled around, facing me once again.
“You’re too good for me, Sunny. You don’t need the aggravation of what my life involves. Can you please trust me on that?”
I looked into his intense blue eyes and all I could see was sincerity and pain. His admission has not come easily; I wanted to be back in his arms again.
“Slate,” I said softly, “Can’t you let me be the judge of that? I can’t fuck you and not love you; I’m sorry, that is just the way that I am.”
He was not comfortable with my words; it was fairly obvious. I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to dance around the issues. My feelings had to count for once. If they didn’t then I hadn’t learned anything from the past nineteen years of marriage to the mannequin. I was done being that person that allowed someone else to define their existence. Done.
“Jesus Christ, Sunny,” he hissed, “I’m not that person; I’m sorry.”
“Then please let it alone, Slate. Please don’t break my heart.”
His gaze penetrated me totally as he took several moments to consider what I had said.
“Babe,” he said softly, “Come here.”
I obeyed and moved closer to him. His strong arms reached out and pulled me against him. He held me tightly, his chin resting on the top of my head; we rocked back and forth in the embrace. The cold February wind brushed against us.
“Can I ask you something, Slate?”
“Go ahead.”
“How did you know that I was working again?”
I wanted to make damn sure that Jackie had kept her promise to me and not told anyone.
“Indy is small town, Diamond. Your private viewing dances are somewhat notorious with certain patrons of both clubs. I have good hearing and I listen. I had to see for myself. I don’t want you dancing, babe.”
“I know Slate. But it’s not for you to decide.”
“Can we reach a compromise, Sunny?”
“What do you mean?”
“Can we spend a day together this weekend? We are supposed to be having record high temps for February. I want to take you out on my bike. I want to feel you behind me as we travel the roads together and just hang out. What do you say?”
My mind was racing; there was no reason to not go with the exception of the major issue of my heart being broken.
“If I agree, will you please lay off about my working and agree that we go as friends and not ‘fuck buddies’?”
“I can do that,” he said, his wide grin allowing the appearance of his sexy dimple. “Well, I mean I can do that for one day.”
I had to smile back at him. He was so freaking cute and hot at the same time.
“Okay then. What time?”
“My place; around ten in the morning?”
“I will be there, Slate.”
CHAPTER 23
It seemed to me as if Saturday would never arrive. True to the weather forecast, Saturday dawned sunny with the high temperature projected to be in the mid-sixties. A warming trend had started on Thursday and was to carry though into mid next week.
I fussed over what I was going to wear. I finally decided on a pair of my skinny jeans, a cotton tee, a comfortable hoodie and boots. I did my make-up carefully; and put my wig on, making sure that I wore it tied back so the wind wouldn’t tie it into knots.
I had taken my track phone from the drawer earlier in the week and listened to the multiple voicemails that Slate had left. I decided that we would definitely address the language that he had used in the later messages. He had also left several text messages that weren’t quite as graphic. I erased them all not bothering to change his name on my contact list from ‘Asshole’ just yet. As I put the phone back into the bedside drawer, I spotted my diaphragm case.
(What the hell? I stashed it into the pocket of my jeans. Better safe than sorry!)
Slate was waiting for me at the bus stop when I got there. I couldn’t help but smile inside at the fact that he was looking forward to our day together as much as I was.
I even saw a slight smile grace his rugged good looks as I stepped off of the bus. He was right there, putting his arm around me as we walked to his apartment.
His bike was out and ready to roar.
“You ready to ride, babe?”
I nodded, genuinely enthusiastic about spending some time being that close to Slate. His nearness made me tingle inside.
“Let’s get a lid on you,” he said as we approached the bike.
(What the hell is a lid?)
I understood once he reached for the spare helmet that was perched on the back bar thingy on his bike. Slate handed it to me and I situated it onto my head, having no clue how to fasten it properly. I heard his smirk as he gently brushed my hands aside and fastened the strap to fit snugly.
He quickly put his helmet on, and then motioned for me to climb up behind him as he fired the engine up.
I did as instructed, wrapping my arms around his torso as he revved the engine a couple of times before we took off into the unknown together.
Slate took a route out of town; we headed out into the country northward from Indianapolis. I had never been on a motorcycle before; I loved the feeling of freedom that came with being out on the open road; feeling the sun and the wind around me, and pressed up against Slate as he kicked the bike into higher gears.
We had been on the road for a while before Slate pulled off the main highway onto a county road that was winding and remote. It was a beautiful day; it seemed like spring, not winter. The road continued on up around hills and woods. I knew this area from years back. We were getting close to Forest Woods Reserve. It was comprised of hundreds of acres of woods with trails, streams, cliffs and waterfalls.
It was a gorgeous, well-preserved area that offered year round activities for those who wished to escape from the city and enjoy remote nature. I was beginning to wonder just what Slate had in store for me. This area was extremely remote and secluded. He continued on until we were out of the park reserve and turned on to another county road. A couple of miles into it, he turned off into a gravel parking lot in front of a log building that had a flashing sign that read, ‘Katy’s Café.’
(What are we doing here?)
Slate removed his helmet and then helped me with mine. He affixed them to his bike and then started off towards the door of the café.
“Uh, Slate?”
He turned at looked back at me seeing my questioning gaze.
“You like chili, Sunny? Come on then; best in the state.”
I followed behind him as he entered the café. It was dark and faintly musty; there was a big stone fireplace against one wall that wasn’t going because of the balmy February day. The inside of the café was rustic, with a long bar that spanned one whole side of the café. There were tables and a few booths along the opposite wall. Several patrons were seated at the bar and another couple at one of the tables eating.
A tall, dark haired woman who looked to be in her mid-fifties came bustling out of a swinging door behind the bar which I could only guess, led to the kitchen. She had two steaming bowls of something on a tray which she promptly delivered to two of the customers at the bar.
She looked up; a smile and a look of recognition crossed her face.
“Slate,” she said, grinning, “It’s been awhile. Where have you been keeping yourself these days?”
“Oh you know, Katy; busy with stuff in the city.”
“Uh huh,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “Up to no good is my guess, handsome. Who do you have there with you?”
Slate looked over at me with a look of warmth.
(Wow! That’s different.)
“Oh - this is a friend of mine, Sunny.”
“Hi there Sunny,” she greeted, It’s nice to meet you. I’m Katy; the owner of this establishment. Slate is my favorite customer. Any friend of Slate’s is welcome here.”
She was extremely friendly; I was having a difficult
time in drawing a connection between bad-boy Slate and this seemingly warm and friendly woman who knew him.
“You two sit anywhere; as you can see, there is plenty of room.”
Slate headed over towards a booth in the corner. It was a little more private. Katy was eyeballing me; I could tell out of my peripheral vision.
Slate ordered for both of us, which didn’t surprise me since he seemed to have the need to control everything. What the hell had his mother done to him I wondered? He ordered two bowls of chili and grilled cheese sandwiches.
“You’re gonna love Katy’s chili,” he promised me. Katy brought us two tall glasses of iced tea.
“How do you know about this place?” I asked.
“Oh, I’ve been coming here for years,” he replied.
“But I thought you moved around; didn’t you say your last home was in Virginia?”
Slate looked at me suspiciously. “I thought we had the rule about personal stuff,” he remarked.
“Okay fine. It’s going to make for a pretty boring day if we can’t make small talk,” I griped, taking a sip of my iced tea.
His hand reached over taking mine, gently caressing my fingers with his. He played with my wedding band, frowning.
“So has the rat bastard been on good behavior?” he asked.
“What about our rule?”
“How about we amend the rules just a little bit,” he offered.
“Oh I get it; I have to answer your questions, you don’t have to answer mine,” I replied rolling my eyes.
I actually was surprised to see a smile spread across his face.
“No, smart ass, we simply keep it to generic type stuff; no names, no specifics, no family history.”
“What the hell is left?”
“Plenty,” he said, “Now answer my question.”
“The rat bastard has not bothered me physically or otherwise, okay?”
“Good,” he said. “Where does he think you are today?”
“He’s out of town; he travels quite a bit with his career.”
“I see. What is he, a truck driver or something?”
“Yeah,” I lied, “Something like that.”
