The Other F-Word

by MK Schiller

  “I know it’s very difficult for you to find four letter words beginning with F that you can consume. My only goal is to leave you completely satisfied.”

  A woman could get used to that.

  I looked at the ceiling, the bright coloured lights of the gaming area, the menu…anywhere to avoid his sexy smirk. “What made you buy a place like this?”

  “I’ve always loved video games. I’m pretty wicked awesome at them.”

  “You are?”

  “I’m kind of a geek.”

  I almost laughed. If geeks looked like that, then I’d been wasting my time chasing after the bad boys in my youth. Then again, he did seem extremely intelligent and wickedly goofy at the same time.

  “I can probably win every game here.”

  “You’re awfully cocky, Mr Wolfe.”

  “Yes, I am,” he said, biting his lower lip. It was a completely sexual remark if I’d ever heard one. “I prefer to think of it as confidence. Would you care to challenge me? You can pick any game and I guarantee I’ll beat you.”

  “We should finalize the details for the party.”

  “You’re right, it’s not like you had a chance anyway.”

  I lowered my glasses. “Any game?”

  “You pick it, we’ll play.”

  Fifteen minutes later, we were standing on the platform of my chosen game, scrolling through a list of songs.

  “I can’t believe you chose this,” he said, running his hands through his silky black locks.

  I studied the console of The Dancing Twins game where sixteen squares stepped on in perfect synchronization to the music stood between me and the bragging rights I was about to earn. He’d underestimated me with this challenge.

  “What’s wrong? Don’t think you can handle it?” I teased. I removed my glasses and set them on a nearby table. Then I twisted my hair into a knot. He leaned against the metal bar denoting his area of dance space.

  Damien chuckled cynically. “I can definitely handle it.”

  I swallowed hard, not prepared for the visual when he took off his Henley. It caused the white T-shirt underneath to ride up as well, revealing a hint of the sculpted muscles that graced his abdomen. He stretched a little too, and his arms flexed with each move. How was he this hot? I looked away, trying to get my bearings as I took my spot on the platform next to his.

  “Are you sure you want to do this? I don’t want you to break a hip or anything.”

  I grabbed his T-shirt and pulled him down to my face. “Bring it, geek boy.”

  He swiped his card. I pushed the button for my song of choice. Usually these machines had bubble gum pop songs, which made sense since they were easy to dance to, but this was an adult arcade and the tunes were varied. I made a mental note to let the girls and Dillon know about this place.

  I settled on Luke Bryan’s sexy as hell song, Country Girl. It seemed appropriate seeing as I was wearing boots. He laughed when he heard the music.

  “You’re full of surprises, Jessie.”

  “Want to give up now?”

  He leaned in close to my ear. “I will school you, sister.”

  I tried to laugh, only to make some sort of nervous, hollow sound that died in my throat. I’d expected him to walk away. This song was sexy, but not something a guy would dance to. I didn’t look at him. As the music started, I concentrated on making my marks and steps. He missed most of his. When I risked a glance at him, he was just shuffling his foot, leaning against the metal bar, crossing his arms, staring at me, smiling wickedly. He wanted a show? I’d give him one.

  Now, I’m not ashamed to say I can dance. This game was all about using your feet to make the right squares, but if you could incorporate your arms, it took something from robotic to creative. The best memory is muscle memory and I had a very good memory. Yeah, I’m a forty-four-year-old woman who can do the Running Man, the Rabbit and every other dance move. The sexiest of them all? The two-step, and that’s what I did. I wasn’t embarrassed. I almost missed my step though when I heard him suck in a deep, audible breath and let out a low whistle.

  “Makes me want to become a cowboy,” he said.

  I didn’t let him distract me. Not that it mattered, I could stop dancing altogether and I’d still beat him.

  I stared at him with great pride when my near perfect score lit up the console. It was a mistake because the deep, lusty stare he gave me took my breath away even more than the dancing had.

  “I win,” I announced in a choked voice.

  “We’re playing two out of three.”

  “You didn’t even move during that. Give up now before you embarrass yourself.” It was an odd statement considering I had been the one gyrating all over the place, and had even managed to draw a small crowd.

  He shook his head. “Look, Luke Bryan asking me to shake my ass is not exactly something I can dance to.” He took a strand of hair that had escaped my bun and tucked it behind my ear. “Although I enjoyed watching you. How are you so good at this?”

  I shrugged. “I have daughters. We did this every weekend for twelve years. Stevie can beat me, but I’m pretty good.”

  “You’re fucking amazing.”

  Wow…the compliment combined with the swear word vibrated straight down to my G-spot.

  “Don’t start bragging yet. I have a few moves of my own. I’m picking this song.”

  I resisted the urge to reply with some smart-ass retort, but words escaped me so I just nodded and gestured to the console.

  I laughed when the hard melody of Cocky by the one and only Kid Rock came on.

  “Do you know who this is?”

  “I love Kid Rock,” I replied, narrowing my eyes.

  He looked impressed. “Made in Detroit, baby. Just like Rodriguez.” He smacked his chest. “Just like me.”

  Damn…Detroit made more than cars.

  “This is an appropriate song for you.”

  “I think it works for both of us. Or is this not your speed?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

  My smile instantly turned into a frown when I remembered just how crazy-hot this song was. “I can handle anything you can dish out.”

  He smiled, appearing pleased. I looked down at my feet, getting in the right stance.

  “Hope that’s true, country girl.”

  “I will own you,” I said, emphasising each word.

  “I believe that.”

  His face took on a look of sheer determination—an expression I’d never seen on him, yet I was enamoured with it. He spun his cap around to the back of his head, and assumed the stance.

  No more talk. I had to concentrate. I moved around well, even managing to lift my ass on the bar at certain parts.

  His score mirrored mine. I had no idea how he was doing that. People hooted and hollered behind us, especially the women. I heard their catcalls and screeches of approval for him and chanced a glance in his direction.

  Shit, shouldn’t have done it.

  It was one thing for a man to look masculine when doing manly things, like changing a carburettor or lifting weights. Damien looked manly when he was playing a game made for twelve-year-old girls. I knew he could slow dance from our experience at the club, but right now he looked like Channing Tatum in Step Up…or maybe Magic Mike. He had this crazy hip-hop plus salsa completed with a touch of samba style to him, and he managed to do that without missing a required step. He made the dance all his own. His feet moved so fast and accurately, it looked like he was mechanical and graceful in the same instance. I thought I had moves, but this man put me to shame. This time, I was the one standing, shuffling my feet, watching his fine ass with the rest of the ladies in this place. The lyrics were meaningful too…almost like he was trying to send me a message.

  His hard breaths and the light sheen of sweat that glistened against his skin made me pant, even though I’d exerted only a portion of the energy he had. Even his sweat smelt delicious.

  “I won,” he said.

  “How did you lea
rn how to dance like that?”

  He encircled his arms around my waist, bringing my pelvis against the metal bar that separated us. He bent down. His chest was pressed against mine. I was sure I could feel his heartbeat against my skin…or maybe it was mine. “Can you keep a secret?”

  I shivered hearing his low husky voice.

  “I was a stripper.”

  I wiggled out of his grasp. “Seriously?” I looked behind us, but the other sounds of video game pings and loud chatter drowned us out.

  He smiled. “I needed a lot of capital and I couldn’t keep going to my dad. So, that was my second job from the time I was eighteen until I turned twenty-two.”

  “But…but…”

  He brought his finger to his lips. “Shhh, I have a reputation to protect and besides, if my mom ever found out, she’d kill me.”

  “How do you keep it a secret? You’re so successful.”

  He shrugged. “People figure it out. I don’t give a fuck. That’s why being cocky is a useful tool. No one brings it up. I had a pseudonym and I worked mostly private gigs anyway.”

  I cupped my hand to my mouth. “What was your—?” I was about to say stripper name, but corrected myself. “Pseudonym?”

  He dragged a hand through his dark hair, making it some kind of messy beautiful. My fingers twitched in response. “Longfellow,” he said with a wink.

  “Longfellow?”

  “Yeah and let’s just say, it’s not because I like poetry.”

  I swallowed. “I assure you, I made no such assumption. You’re full of surprises, Mr Wolfe.”

  “Don’t think it wasn’t hard work. I definitely had to earn my paycheque, which meant I needed to know how to dance.”

  “Judging from the way you just moved, I’m sure you earned every penny.”

  “Yeah, well, my question is why didn’t you move, country girl? Did you let me win that one?”

  “I got a cramp,” I lied.

  His sexy smirk told me he wasn’t buying that for a minute.

  “I guess it’s a tie. Good job,” I said, holding out my hand to shake his.

  He shook his head. “Nu-uh, that’s not how two out of three works, baby.”

  My heart slammed into my gut when he called me baby.

  “We don’t have to declare a winner. This is a friendly game.” I cursed myself for the high-pitched, nervous quality of my voice.

  “There is always a winner. If you quit, it’s forfeit. I win by default.”

  “I’m not quitting.”

  “Then play with me,” he commanded in a low, gruff voice. Everything that came out of his mouth sounded as sexual as hell.

  I didn’t answer.

  He leaned against the metal bars and crossed his arms, staring at me with those blazing golden eyes, challenging me. He knew how to push all my buttons. That was probably the one argument he could have made to get me to play another round.

  He turned to the other patrons and clapped his hands. “Attention everyone. We’re at a standstill.” He raised his arms up in a gesture to get them riled. It worked as crowd started forming around us. “Who wants a tie-breaker?”

  They whooped and yelled, eventually chanting in unison, “Tie-breaker, tie-breaker, tie-breaker.”

  I swear to God, it sounded like, ‘tie and break her’ to me.

  “The people have spoken, Jessie. Let’s not disappoint them. You pick the song.” He gestured to the console.

  I punched the buttons, picking Hips Don’t Lie by the very sexy Shakira and Wyclef Jean. I might not have been a stripper, but I sure as hell had moves. I untied my knotted hair, letting my locks fall against my back. I slowly unbuttoned my billowy peasant blouse, feeling braver with his hitched breaths. He scanned my thin black tank top with appreciation. Fuck conservative. Forget funky. It was time to get my freak on. He didn’t whistle or smirk this time. I was casting my own spell.

  I pressed the start button. The music boomed, loud and lusty. I used the best move in any woman’s arsenal…the hip shake—sexy, classy, effective. He stood in place, hands on his hips, staring at me as if his board had turned to liquid cement, keeping him trapped.

  I looked at him the whole time, rather proud that I was winning our little game. Not the actual game we were playing, although I was going to easily win that too. I was talking about the game of seduction. I piled my hair up on my head, twisting my waist and glancing back at him while I moved my hips with the grace of a hula dancer. Just when his hands clenched against the metal bar between us did I let my hair spill down. I crooked my finger at him in a suggestive gesture.

  Then he fucked me up again, licking that bottom lip before jumping over the guard rail that separated our gaming areas. He pulled me against his chest, and moved us in a slow samba. His strong arms enveloped me, as his lips brushed my temple. God help me, I would have had sex with him right then.

  The applause broke the spell and we both just looked at each other with disappointed expressions.

  “I want you so bad, Jessie. Give up. Give in. Give yourself to me,” he said softly, taking me into a strong embrace that was anything but comforting. Then he pulled away and raised our conjoined hands at the crowd. “We’re here every Saturday folks, but for now, I’d appreciate it if you’d help me keep the lights on and spend some cash.”

  I stood on my tiptoes so I could whisper in his ear. “You can’t handle a cougar, cowboy.”

  He placed my hand on his chest. “Claw away, baby.”

  A part of me wanted to follow him anywhere, but my self-preservation mode kicked in right then. I was having one of those weird ‘looking into the future’ moments women tormented themselves with. I scanned the lingering crowd. All young girls in their skimpy shirts and cut-off jeans with jewellery sticking out of their belly buttons, staring at him like he was the last Red Bull and vodka in town and glaring at me like I was the fire-breathing dragon preventing them from quenching their thirst. Their nasty looks echoed the mean phrases I imagined ran through their minds…‘what’s he doing with her’? It was a question I asked myself.

  He could have any of them. Hell, he probably could have all of them at once. I wasn’t a girl that suffered from low self-esteem by any means. But seriously, why did he want me? The answer was quick and sudden. He wants to fuck you, Mason. That’s all he really wants.

  There was no doubt it would be the most fantastic sex I’d ever have, but my worry was what would happen in the morning? Would it be over? His conquest won? His challenge complete? That devastation wasn’t worth one night of passion for me, no matter how epic it might be.

  The best memories were muscle memories, and the memory of a broken heart was the sharpest of all. It wasn’t about the sexual attraction…okay, it was. It was more than that too. I cared about him. I liked him. There was no way I was going to risk my delicate heart to him so he could crush it. So I smiled weakly and waved goodbye before running away like a scared kitty cat. Because in reality, that was what I was.

  “Jessie?” He ran after me, calling my name.

  My special name…but I got into my car before he reached me, and I hit the accelerator, leaving him there.

  Chapter Eleven

  Along with my dignity, I’d also left my purse, folder and sunglasses at the restaurant. He couriered the items back to me that night with a dozen long-stemmed, pink roses and a note asking me to call him. I didn’t. The following day, he had a messenger bring me twelve take out containers of food with a note.

  You didn’t to try the menu last night so I had the chef make these for you. Do you want company? There’s no way you can eat all this by yourself. Call me.

  I didn’t.

  I got a voicemail too. “Jessie, I have no idea what happened. If I did something that offended you, I’m sorry. Please call me. I’m worried about you.”

  Then another. “Jessie, I don’t know why you’re avoiding me. I thought there was this crazy chemistry the other night. Just call me.”

  Then another. “Is it
because I was a stripper?” His sarcastic laugh made me shiver. “I didn’t think of you as the judgmental type.” That actually made me laugh too because the truth was I wasn’t a fan of strippers or anything, but the way he moved had turned me on so much, I was actually very appreciative of that form of art now.

  Then a final. “I have no idea what the fuck you’re doing. It’s pissing me off.”

  Damien knew where I lived, but he never showed up. I was glad for that.

  A few days later, I received an email that with an attached gift of an iTunes song download from Damien Wolfe. I opened it to find Believer by American Authors. I’d never heard it, but I loved it.

  What the hell? Was he actually trying to communicate with me through music? This was a game I’d invented. Why had he had to pick such an awesome song too?

  I sent him Sara Bareilles’ Love Song because it was actually the anti-love song—its lyrics spoke of being overwhelmed and unable to reciprocate his feelings. It was a perfect expression of what I was feeling.

  He sent back I Will Wait by Mumford & Sons—a song that left me speechless because it suggested his feelings were much deeper than I’d thought. I couldn’t allow myself to believe it. So fuck it, I brought out the big guns and sent back Let It Be. He sent back a Beatles song too—We Can Work It Out.

  Damn…even The Beatles were against me.

  * * * *

  It had been two weeks since the Damien dance fiasco. He’d stopped texting and sending me gifts of songs. I cursed myself every day, wondering what the hell was wrong with me. There were so many women who had one-night stands—why was I so freaked out by it? I was a feminist for God’s sake!

  Then one humdrum Tuesday, Alan approached me. “Are you all set for the meeting?” he asked, grinning. He’d had a perma-grin since Damien had agreed to host the fundraiser.

  “What meeting?”

  Alan’s smile faltered into a frown instantly. “With Damien Wolfe. I thought you set it up. He emailed and said the three of us were meeting to finalize everything.”

  “Everything’s pretty final until the menus are chosen.”

  Realisation slowly dawned on me. I smelt his intoxicating scent and felt his presence before my eyes feasted upon him. He wore a crisp navy suit and the maroon tie I loved.