by JA Huss
Everything about her screams perfect.
But she doesn’t feel perfect. Even I see that.
She’s afraid. And she’s right to be afraid.
She spots me looking at her and opens her mouth, like she might call out for me. Ask me to help her with this show tonight. Ask me to stay by her side.
But then she presses her lips together, straightens her posture, and turns back to the front desk people.
I turn away too and walk towards the casino. You can get to the beach from the basement, or take the front stairs from the lobby. But I don’t want to walk past Tiffy, so I weave my way through the slot machines and tables until I get to the shops and take the back entrance.
I need to get the fuck out of here.
Chapter Sixteen
Lake Tahoe is one of the most beautiful beaches in the world. It’s been developed, sure. But it’s been protected too. There’s a lot of private land surrounding the crystal-clear water. And the Landslide has quite a bit—relatively speaking for such high-value real estate—on either side.
I kick off my shoes and walk diagonally across the sand. It’s packed with people. Families with kids. Newlyweds. Gamblers asleep under the alpine sun. I weave my way through them and head for the rocks on the west side of the hotel where I go to think things through when the doubts creep in.
And they always creep in, right? No matter who you are—no matter how successful your career, or your love life, or your family—those doubts are always there.
I climb over the slate-colored boulders until I find the spot. It’s just a little bit hidden from the hustle and bustle of the hotel beach, but it’s usually enough distance to get some peace.
The water here is so clear. When you think of a lake, you think of a mud-covered bottom. Reeds and silt muddying the water. But Tahoe is the closest thing you can get to clear blue water and not be in the tropics. The sand is white down below, as I gaze down from the rock, and a crawdad goes bustling by on the bottom.
When I was a kid it used to freak me out to know those things were down there with my feet, ready to pinch me. But I never got pinched. My childhood was good. My family was good. Almost everything was good up until I was eighteen. Then life reared its ugly head and taught me that there is no such thing as fair. My dad died that year. And the shit just kept coming. It never stopped. And my brother?
Seeing him yesterday was a shock. It’s been… I count the years on my fingers. Nine of them all told. Nine long years since life fucked me over again.
“Fletcher?”
Fuck. Tiffy must’ve followed me. A few seconds later she stumbles over and falls in the water, her arms flailing and her face shocked from the cold. It’s a mountain lake, after all.
She sputters out some water as she surfaces. “Oh, my God!”
“Hold on,” I say, scrambling over the boulder and then reaching down for her. She grabs my hand and I lift her up out of the water and let her scramble the rest of the way up the side of the rock. “What the fuck is on your feet?”
“Huh?” she says, her teeth chattering. “Shoes.”
“Four-inch heels, Tiffy? Really?”
“It’s what I had on. Jesus. I didn’t know there was a dress requirement. I called your name and you ignored me. And I really need to talk to you.”
“I didn’t hear you.” I picture her trying to walk across the sand in those things. I have to turn my head away to laugh. And I’m not ready to talk to her yet. Not after all those things Claudio told me.
“I j-just,” she stutters through her chattering teeth, “needed to ask you a…” Her eyes lower a little along with her mouth. Her frown is one of worry, not sadness. But if she only knew how much she had to be sad about. “A favor.”
Here it comes. “What favor?”
“Will-llllll you… will you do one more show with the Mountain Men? I know you quit, and you’re not obligated to give notice or anything. But I’d really appreciate it if you’d take my request into consideration.”
“I thought I was a fraud. A cheat. A liar.”
She scrunches up her face. Probably because she really thinks those things and can’t admit it right now. She needs me. “I don’t know. OK? I don’t know what you’re doing with those contracts. Or your many, many one-night stands. Or me, for that matter. You’re confusing, and calculating, and hiding something.”
“Hiding what?” I snap. I’m so sick of this shit. “You don’t even know me, Tiffy. I’m just some dumb stripper to you. I’m a conman, remember?”
She opens her mouth to protest, but I put up my hand and say, “Save it, all right? I’ll do the show. So you can stumble back to the hotel and get changed.”
She takes a deep breath and lets it out. Her arms are hugging her body, and her clothes are sticking to her skin. And then she reaches down and unbuckles her shoes and throws them in the water, one at a time.
What the fuck is this?
She slips her shirt over her head and then stands up on the rock and wiggles out of her pants. She lays them both out on the large boulder very carefully, and then sits and props her hands behind her, tipping her face up to the sun.
“What are you doing?”
“Drying off,” she says. “I’m not walking back there soaking wet. And this rock feels good. It’s hot and I’m cold. The sun is making me tired, and it feels good on my skin. I haven’t had a day at the beach in… hell, years.”
I wait for her to say more, but she’s silent. And then she lies all the way back, sighs deep, and closes her eyes.
I take off my shirt and do the same. The sun beats down on my stomach and it’s good. “I haven’t either, really.”
“Why not?” she asks in a sleepy voice. “You live here. I’d take advantage of it, if I lived here. It’s small, and peaceful. Not like San Francisco. All city blocks and bustling people on their way somewhere.”
“Busy, that’s all.”
“Well, I guess you have time now.”
I open my eyes and stare at her. She’s not pasty, but she’s not tan like me. Mine’s from an airbrush though, not the outdoors. I can’t even remember the last day I had off. “Not really. I have another job. Two actually.”
She open her eyes and meets my gaze. “What kind of jobs?”
“Just some side things.”
“Matchmaking?”
“I guess that makes three.”
“Why do you need so many jobs?”
“Money. I’ve got bills, just like everyone else.”
“You make pretty good money at the hotel. Five hundred dollars a show plus tips. What’s that bring in? Three or four hundred? So that’s not a bad living. Plus you get a free suite at the Landslide.” She props herself up on her elbow and stares at me. “Why do you need so much money?”
“Why do you need to know?” I say, picking a loose rock from the side of the cliff and skipping it across the surface of the lake.
“Because you don’t add up.”
“Neither do you,” I say, skipping another one.
“I’m really not complicated.”
“Your life sure is.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” She has no clue. None at all. “So your dad’s coming and you want the show to be perfect because the travel people are gonna rate the hotel.”
“How’d you know that?”
“Claudio told me this morning. He said you were worried about disappointing your dad. So I guess that’s why you’re here. For him.”
She sits up all the way now. “What’s that mean? You’re so damn confusing, Fletcher. You want to have sex with me, you want to fix me up with Cole, and you want to keep your job. But nothing about that makes sense.”
“It’s not really complicated, Tiffy. And anyone who wasn’t raised as a billionaire’s daughter would understand it. I need money. I have bills. I’m trying my best to make shit work out, so I do what I have to do. People like you just want to stick me in a box. Put a label on me. Make me into something
I’m not. But the truth is, I’m not what you think.” I look up at her. “You have no idea who I am.”
“You’re right, I don’t. Because everything you’ve told me is a lie.”
“I never lied to you. And you know what? Just go back to the fucking hotel and tell Chandler I’ll be there. OK?” I get up and start climbing past her, but she grabs my arm as I try to pass over her body.
“Wait.”
“Why?” I growl. “So I can sit here and listen to you judge me? I’m not a fraud. I’m not a conman, for fuck’s sake. That brother of mine you were flirting with yesterday, he’s the conman. I’m just a guy doing the best he can. So you can stop now. Just stop acting like you care about any of this bullshit, and just go back to your perfect life.”
I regret those words as soon as they leave my mouth because I know her life is not what it seems either. I’m just saying these things to hurt her now. So I guess I am an asshole.
“Then tell why you want to fix me up with Cole.”
“You asked me to fix you up with Cole, Tiffy.”
“Why did you sleep with me?”
“And there it is,” I sneer. “You’re just like all the others. I promised fun, you agreed, and now you want to attach some secret meaning to it. It was a fuck, Tiffy. I like to fuck, like every other normal man my age. And it was fun. OK? You’re a good fuck. And if you were still interested, I’d fuck you again. But you’re not. That’s all there is to it.”
“Would you still do your job if I said you didn’t have to quit?”
“I just told you, I’ll do the show!”
“Not the show,” she says, gripping me tighter. “Your job with me.” Her face is serious. Even a little sad.
“Teach you to be sexy?”
She laughs. “I was wondering what word you used for it. Is that what it is to you then? Teaching girls to be sexy like you?”
“Like I always say… Sexy doesn’t sell, it’s for sale.”
She laughs again and it makes me smile. God, what will happen to her when her father dies? I can’t imagine. “You don’t need me to teach you that, Tiffy. I already told you, you’ve got sexy in spades.”
“Not according to Cole. Because I asked him if he’d like to have dinner tonight, just the two of us, and he said he was too busy. And if you were interested in someone, and they wanted you to eat with them, then you’d say yes, right?” She looks at me, wanting me to say no, but knowing I won’t lie to her.
“I’m not sure.” Maybe Cole is distracted by her dad’s illness and doesn’t have time for that kind of stuff right now? Maybe his job is the most important thing in his life? I can relate to that. It’s why I don’t have girlfriends. But maybe the fact that she won’t inherit any money takes her out of the running? And if Cole knows about that then…
It’s that last part that gives me pause. If that’s the reason I will kick his ass. I don’t care how big that motherfucker is. I will kick his ass if he’s been using her and her dad all those years for money.
“Look,” I say. “I don’t think you’re serious about Cole, Tiffy. I think you want a boyfriend and he’s just as good as the next. I think you want to replace whatever is missing in your life with him. And I don’t think you trust me one bit. So just say it.”
“Say what?” she asks, equally annoyed.
“Just admit you can’t walk away from my sexy.”
She laughs and hides her face.
I like her laugh. She doesn’t do it enough. I bet she’s been on this road to respect since she was adopted by the old man. A little girl is suddenly thrust into a world of the rich and powerful. Parties, private schools, and all that other shit that comes with it. Pony lessons, ballet, tutors, and most of all… expectations.
“Say it,” I repeat. “Tell me I’m sexy and you need me. And then I’ll help you. Just let all that other stuff go. If you want the fantasy, then let me be your fantasy.”
She rolls her eyes and presses her lips together.
“I know you think it, Tiffy. Everyone thinks it. You can deny all you want. But I’m hot.”
She snorts. “It’s not hot to know you’re hot.”
“Sure it is.” I stare at her green eyes as they sparkle with the reflection of the water. “Sure it is, Tiffy. In fact, when I look twice at a girl, it’s not their body I’m looking at. Lots of people have nice bodies. Lots of girls have pretty faces. When I take a second look, it’s because she has confidence.”
“Then why did you look at me?” She’s serious now. She holds her hand up and shields her eyes from the sun and I can see them peering out at me from the shadow she creates. “Because everything about me says second best.”
“Wow. Who did that number on you? Normally I’d accuse your father, but I don’t think it was him. So who called you second best, Tiffy? It wasn’t Claudio. It sure the fuck wasn’t me. Was it Cole? Did you turn his disinterest into self-loathing? Because I’m gonna be honest here. From my perspective, everything about you says winner. Everything points to strength, independence, and intelligence.”
She drops her hand from her eyes and bows her head. “Thank you.”
And that’s a good answer. She can accept a compliment, at least. I have known lots of girls who couldn’t even do that. But Tiffy’s reply comes off as well-bred manners instead of confidence. It’s something she’s been taught to do. Be polite.
“I’ll do the show and keep our deal about Cole.”
She looks up, but the smile is gone.
“I’ll do it. But I want something from you in return.”
“I’ll make sure you have a job—”
“No,” I cut her off. “I’m scrappy, Tiffy. That’s not what I want. I can find my own way in this world. I don’t need your handouts. Fuck the job. I’ve already written it off and have three ideas for replacing the money.”
She squints at me, suspicious. “Then what do you want?”
She has every right to be suspicious. Because I’m smiling a devious I-am-sexy-fucking-Fletcher-Novak smile. “A lap dance, Tiffy. I want a lap dance. Right here. Right now.”
Chapter Seventeen
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.” And he isn’t. I can tell. Because he stands up and walks across the large flat boulder to another one that is the perfect height to sit on. “Come on, show me your stuff. Show me how sexy you are. And if you do that, I’ll give you everything you want.”
“Fletcher, I’m not a stripper.”
“Neither was I nine months ago. My first lap dance was hilarious. Chandler laughed his ass off. I had to do him, by the way. So at least you’ve got me to entice. Just imagine trying to be sexy with a dude like him.”
I laugh as I picture him. “But you’re different. You’re good at this stuff. Girls look at you and imagine ripping your clothes off. Guys look at me and imagine the granny pants I have on under my suit.”
“No,” he says with a laugh. “I’m pretty sure the thought going through my head that night I saw you at the show was, She looks fuckable.”
“It was not. I was a prissy bitch to you that night.”
“You were a sex kitten, Tiffy. Even your name is sexy. You opened that door and the look on your face said insatiable sexual appetite.”
“Fuck you,” I chuckle, trying to hide my blush. “It did not. I was thinking about how to fire you that night.”
“Lap dance. Come on. Get up and do it.”
“I don’t even know what a lap dance is. I’ve only ever seen one at your show.”
He eyes me suspiciously, considering if I’m lying or not. And then he stands up, takes my hand, whirls me around and pushes down on my shoulders. “OK, I’ll go first then. But you’re not getting out of it.”
I take a deep breath as I look up into his blue eyes. My heart starts to beat a little faster as I imagine what it would be like to watch him try to seduce me with a dance. I blush. Fiercely.
He shoots me one of those grins that light up his face. “Ready?”
I nod.
“Pay close attention, Tiffy.” He says this as his hips begin to move back and forth. I’m already mesmerized. But when he places his hands on my shoulders and straddles my legs, I have to gulp down air. “You have to make contact, Tiff. It’s the most important thing. I touch you here,” he says, his voice lowering as he rubs my shoulders, “and if you’re into me, a chill should run through your body.”
It does. It so does.
His hips are right in front of my face now, and I can’t help but stare at his torso. My eyes slip down to his belt. And then his hands are there, playing with the waistband of his jeans. “And then you direct my eyes down to your hips. Just like that.”
I glance up at him to see if he’s laughing, but he’s got a serious look on his face. And if I didn’t know better—if I didn’t know that this was the infamous Fletcher Novak, the guy who fucks anyone he wants, whenever he wants, and doesn’t have a flavor of the week, but a flavor of the day—then I might think he’s into me.
“When my eyes are on your hips, you tease me with them. Be my fantasy, Tiffy. Make me imagine what you’d look like with no clothes.”
Jesus. I can imagine. I saw him that first night. I saw him naked the next day. I sucked his dick looking up at him like this. It’s very easy to imagine him naked. He certainly qualifies as my fantasy.
He begins to play with my hair, taking the long dark strands into his fingers, caressing it in a long dragging motion until I feel a feather-light touch on the top of my breast. I look up at him again.
“Touch my chest first. Soft strokes that make me feel like this is all real.”
It’s not real, Tiffy. I say it to remind myself. It’s not real. This is a job to him.
His fingers slide between my bra strap and my skin, sweeping up until they’re on top of my shoulders. “It’s a tease, though. That’s the most important thing to remember. It’s just a tease. You want me to look at you with lust. You want me to look at you with desire. You want me to think I have a chance.”
You have no chance, Tiffy. Oh my God. Why am I even thinking these things?
