by Brenna Zinn
Bennett turned away from the door and took in Tatum. The tall Texan with the brassy attitude beckoned. Yet staying meant crossing an invisible line into some type of relationship. Was he ready? Could he ever be?
Tatum patted the empty space beside her. With one quick motion, she played her hand, indicating she wanted more.
He nodded and snuggled in beside her, feeling as though he had just tumbled over a cliff and was falling, headfirst, into a great abyss.
Chapter Eight
“Hello! Anyone home in there?”
Tatum started at the sound of her roommate’s voice. How long had she been daydreaming? She looked through the windshield of Heather’s car. On her right, the Austin Motel sign that resembled an erect penis protruded from the side of the hotel. Farther up on her left was the granddaddy of live music in Austin, the Continental Club.
South Congress. They were already heading down South Congress Avenue and driving toward the darkening rain clouds coming in from the southeast. They’d passed the last landmark she was cognizant of several blocks before on Barton Springs Road. Her brain had been off in la-la land for several minutes. Not good. Not good at all.
Tatum shook away her lustful meandering thoughts and turned from the passing scenery to face Heather. “I’m sorry. What were you saying?”
“I was asking about how y’all found the general contractor to renovate the club.” Heather glanced at her rearview mirror, then signaled to pass a car backing into an empty stall in front of Jo’s Coffee. “Is he someone y’all know?”
“Ah, no. I mean, I don’t know him personally.” Focus. She had to find her focus. Get her mind off Bennett and center her attention on the renovation plans she and Heather needed to review with the contractor. “He’s someone Lyle Bennett knows. Some man named Dan. Dan Camden, I think.”
“Never heard of him.”
“Me neither. Lyle said he used to work with Dan back in the eighties when they were both strippers. They lost track of each other when Dan suddenly took off after a bad breakup. I guess Dan moved back to town and reconnected with Lyle a few months ago.”
“Your guy went from stripping to construction?” Heather slowed down for a pedicab driver struggling to haul a young couple up South Congress hill. The strong wind blowing in didn’t help the poor man’s sluggish progress.
“From what Lyle tells me, Dan worked construction while he danced at Iron Rods.” Tatum glanced at the block that used to be home to several food trailers and frowned at the hotel that had taken their place. Like many of the unusual businesses on this wonderful street, the trailers had once helped keep Austin weird. They were gone now, as was their great food and the quirky dining experience enjoyed by so many who visited the area. If Bennett had his way, Iron Rods, another Austin landmark, would be a thing of the past too.
“Most of the strippers have full-time jobs outside the club,” Tatum said. “Lyle worked construction too until he became the manager for Iron Rods. Sometime after that he made his fortune and started the holdings company, leaving the management of the club to a crazy cooter named Cotton.”
“And the rest is history. The history you get to write,” Heather said in her happy singsong voice, her big hazel eyes dancing.
Too bad Austin didn’t have a professional football or basketball team. Her perky roommate would make a great addition to any cheerleading squad.
“With some help from my friends, especially you. The designs you put together for Iron Rods are absolutely phenomenal. We’re going to have women lining up just to be in such a beautiful club, regardless of the fact half-naked men are dancing inside it.” Her excitement bubbled up like a freshly drawn beer. The pieces of the Iron Rods recovery puzzle were coming together. Success couldn’t be far behind.
“Nicko Guerra, my friend from college, is coming back into town in a few days to visit his family and help me teach some dance routines to Steele and Gangsta G for their auditions,” Tatum continued. “Nic’s been working as a stripper in Dallas for a while, and I’m going to need all the help I can get to get those two prepared.” Especially with that damn stripper pole.
“Have you talked with the sorority presidents from the university yet?”
“I’ve set up meetings with most of them for next week.”
“Asking them to help judge the auditions for the strippers you’re going to hire is pure genius. Those girls will be so vested in Iron Rods, they’ll have everyone in their sororities clamoring about it.”
Tatum had to admit, the marketing scheme was one of her better ideas. As was her idea to set up an attendee registration on the club’s website. Anyone gifting money to birthday girls, brides-to-be or those celebrating a special occasion need only forward money to the designated Iron Rods account online. The club took ten percent of every gifted dollar, and the party girl received the rest in cash. Brilliant if she said so herself.
A flash of lightning streaked across the darkening sky as they drove farther south. Seconds later thunder, distant but menacing, rumbled in. The weather mimicked Tatum’s stomach, which steadily strengthened its uneasy churning and rolling the closer they got to Iron Rods’ ugly purple building. Bennett would be at today’s meeting with Lyle and the general contractor. Although she’d spent quite a bit of time with Mr. Perfect in the past two weeks, being near him always seemed to make her insides sizzle despite the aggravating mishmash of emotions heaving in her belly.
I’m not only fooling around with the enemy, I’m falling for him.
Bennett wasn’t actually a gunman lurking in the grassy knoll, preparing to shoot her down at first opportunity. But he had flat out told her of his desire to close down the club and build a high-rise. The man assigned as her mentor was a risk to her professional redemption.
Would he be so bold as to blatantly sabotage her plans? Put a torch to the building? Infest the place with rats? Surely not. Once the club opened and he saw how popular and profitable Iron Rods was, he’d change his attitude. Of course he would. Then she could have as much steamy, guilt-free sex with Bennett as she wanted. Maybe even see about taking their relationship, if that’s what they had, to the next level.
The scenario couldn’t be any better for all parties, even the staff. Everyone would come out smelling like a rose.
When Heather pulled into the Iron Rods parking lot, Tatum spotted Bennett, clean-shaven and oozing masculine sexuality, standing by his car and talking with a man she didn’t recognize. The slick New Yorker wore his usual dress shirt and slacks that had a crease running down the front so sharp it could cut wood.
As usual, Bennett was perfect. Positively glorious in every way. The blackening skies over Austin might be threatening rain, but the way her belly loop-de-looped when she spotted him, one would think sunshine and rainbows poured out of his tight ass.
Tatum opened the passenger door, her arms filled with the design plans, while a burnt-orange dually truck drove into the lot. The driver’s shock of shoulder-length white hair and handlebar mustache meant only one thing—Lyle Truitt was here. Her cavalry had just arrived.
Lyle stepped down from the monster truck in Western boots and a straw Western hat. In between these staples of Texas clothing were khaki cargo shorts and an eye-popping red Hawaiian shirt with white hibiscus flowers. He looked absolutely bizarre in a very Austin way. How could anyone not adore the kooky old man?
“Dan Camden, you old son-bitch. You made it.” Like a thirsty island vacationer beating a path to a tropical drink, Lyle marched to the stranger chatting with Bennett and engulfed the man in a bear hug. “I’m so glad you gave me a call when you came back into town. You haven’t changed a bit.”
The heels of Lyle’s boots gave the old man a slight height advantage over Dan, who would have appeared shorter anyway because of his stocky frame. The man thumping Lyle on the back wasn’t heavyset though. His body boasted lean muscles that only years of working hard labor could have produced. From the looks of his darkly tan skin, most of that hard labor had be
en out in the sun.
When the two old friends finished their greeting, Lyle turned toward Tatum. “Young lady, this here’s Dan “The Man” Camden, general contractor and stripper extraordinaire.”
Tatum shifted the rolls of drawings cradled in her arms to take Dan’s outreached palm. They shook, then the contractor lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it on the backside. He raised his gaze two or three inches to meet hers and grinned, displaying a mouth full of straight, white teeth.
“Enchanté.” Dan gave her a quick once-over and shook his head, causing his long, brown hair to dust his broad shoulders. “Lyle said the new manager was a tall drink of water, but he didn’t mention anything about a pretty lady. It’s a pleasure.”
The pleasure was all hers. Though creases had formed deep valleys at the corners of his brown eyes and the notch in his nose suggested a break in the bone at one time, the charming Dan Camden was a ruggedly handsome man. From what she could tell from his appearance and putting two and two together from Lyle’s stories, Dan had to be somewhere in his mid to late forties. But the faded jeans molded to his thick legs and the paint-splattered T-shirt stretching across his wide chest made him the fittest forty-something she’d ever seen.
“This is my roommate, Heather Cheatham,” Tatum said, finishing the introductions. “She’s the mastermind behind the design scheme for the club.”
Thunder cracked overhead and lightning lit up the black sky. A sudden gust of wind blew through, pushing over the tall weeds surrounding the parking lot and nearly knocking Tatum off her feet. Fat raindrops plopped one by one to the ground, and their numbers were increasing.
“I reckon we’d better get inside before we get soaked,” Lyle said, raising his voice to be heard over the approaching storm.
Not needing to be told twice, the group raced to the red front doors of the club and rushed inside just as the sky opened, releasing a welcome downpour. Lyle switched on the interior lights. Any fantastical dreams of the club being completely renovated by magical elves since her last visit were dashed as she took in the familiar ugly sight. The sooner Dan “The Man” got to work, the better.
Aware of Bennett’s close proximity, Tatum raked her fingers through the tangles the blowing wind had whipped into her hair, trying to tame the long locks. How was it she never seemed to be at her best when Slick was around? She glanced in his direction and noted not a single jet-black hair was out of place.
Bennett’s gaze locked with hers. The heat behind his eyes melted her insides, sending a trickle of warm cream to her new panties. Chances were they wouldn’t be alone together for him to see her outrageously priced, but oh-so-pretty purple satin undies. She’d worn them anyway, just in case, and felt incredibly sexy just having them on.
“What happened to that door? Looks like a tornado hit it.” Dan asked, pointing to the door to the manager’s office as he walked in.
Tatum’s back tightened as the evidence of her lustful first encounter with Bennett was there for the entire party to see. “I accidently broke it trying to move in some furniture. We’ll get a new one, right?”
“Sure. No problem. Easy fix,” Dan responded before uttering a low, “Whoa, Nelly,” as he passed the end of the wall used to separate the entryway from the main stage area. “Speaking of things not changing a bit. The place looks exactly the way it did when I worked here years ago. I think you were using those crappy tables and chairs then too. Not even the bar has changed.” He ran a hand over the top of his shaggy head. “You want the renovations done by when?”
Lyle’s long mustache twitched. “What are you talking about? It ain’t all that bad.” He adjusted his straw hat, stomped over to Dan and placed his fists on his narrow waist. “It just needs a woman’s touch. That’s why we have the ladies here to give it a facelift.”
“Facelift?” Dan let out a dry laugh. “More like a complete overhaul. You sure you don’t want to just tear it down? Might be easier.”
Bennett turned to Tatum, his eyebrows raised and lips curled on one side, the smug expression communicating, I told you so.
Tatum hugged the redesign plans to her chest, grabbed Heather’s hand and pulled her to Lyle’s side. “Luckily, that won’t be needed. We’ve got the ideas sketched out, Lyle has the funds to make it all happen and now we have the construction know-how. In a few short weeks, none of y’all will recognize this place.”
“That’s right. So let’s get started,” her roommate chimed in with her usual spirited enthusiasm. Heather withdrew the longest paper roll from the stash in Tatum’s hold and spread it out on the bar.
Dan clapped his hands, sending the loud sound throughout the cavernous room before rubbing them together as if he were a miser preparing to count his money. “Well, all right then. Let’s see what these fine ladies have in mind for this old monument to decadence.”
Starting with a general outline and then focusing on the details, Tatum and Heather reviewed the design plans, making sure to indicate the Iron Rods staff would be meeting with Dan in a few days to share their ideas for the layout of the bar, the women’s restroom, and the DJ booth. By the time they finished, Lyle’s Hawaiian-shirt-covered chest puffed out as though he were a proud rooster.
“Damned fine work, ladies. Damned fine.” The old man beamed. “I can imagine the club’s transformation already. Beautiful, yet sensual. Opulent, but not overdone. Yes, indeedy. The changes to Iron Rods will make it a showcase in Austin. We’ll be bigger than Austin City Limits, Esther’s Follies and Hippie Hollow combined.”
“Hippie Hollow? I completely agree. And being more famous than a nudist beach on Lake Travis really is saying something. If we can eventually rival the nightly bat exodus from under the Congress Avenue Bridge, we’d definitely be sitting on a gold mine.” Sarcasm sweetened Bennett’s voice like saccharine. He looked at his watch. “Lyle, if we’re done here, I’d like to take a few minutes to talk with you about the land deal in Bastrop. I’m meeting with the city’s planning director and city engineer in two hours. I need to know how you want to proceed.”
Bennett’s disinterest in the renovation plans couldn’t shake the mantle of excitement Tatum had wrapped herself in. He could be as pissy as he liked, but in the end she’d show him just how wrong he was. Iron Rods would be huge. It had to be.
She folded her arms, feigning complete indifference to Bennett’s snarky comments. “I don’t think you’re needed for anything else, Bennett. You’ve been so incredibly helpful already.”
Yes, she was playing passive-aggressive tit-for-tat with her lover, but she couldn’t help herself. If she didn’t put him in his place and call to attention what a dick he was being as she had on more than one occasion, he’d continue to be a pain in the butt or worse throughout the whole renovation process. He wasn’t an unreasonable man, just incredibly stubborn.
“Heather and I would like to do a walk-through with Dan in the dancer dressing room and get some of his thoughts on what should be done in there.” Tatum rolled up the plans. “Having input from someone who actually used that room will help with its functionality.”
“I like your thinking, young lady.” Lyle dropped down from a barstool and straightened his outrageous Hawaiian shirt. “If you don’t mind, I might want to add my two cents to that room too. I have a little dancer experience my damn self.”
Tatum caught Bennett rolling his eyes.
Mr. Perfect evidently didn’t like the fact his father had been a stripper.
Her own father had left school at the age of sixteen to start driving a truck for the oil companies. The pay wasn’t much, but it was a good, honest job and he worked hard for every dime he ever made. She couldn’t be more proud of her daddy if she tried. Lyle’s work as a stripper had been honest work too. And the old man clearly worked his tail off. How Bennett could find fault with what his father did for a living was beyond her understanding.
“Okay, Bennett,” Lyle said, twisting his mustache between two fingers. “Let’s head to the manager
’s office and talk about the Bastrop property. Time is money.”
Once again, the cleaning fairies let her down. When Tatum walked into the dressing room with Dan and Heather, the disgusting smell of funky old gym clothes hit her as though she’d been struck with a used jock strap. She fought the urge to slap a hand over her nose and mouth. She tried not to breathe.
Heather waved a manicured hand in front of her face. “What did those men do in this place that makes it smell so bad?” she choked out. “Can we at least open that door and let in some fresh air? I think I might get sick.”
Dan stepped around the trash and ancient furnishings, making his way to the back door. He pushed the emergency crossbar and the large metal door opened to the wet sidewalk leading to the far end of the parking lot. In the time they’d been in the club, the rain had come and gone, but a light wind still blew. Fresh, cool air blew in, chasing away some of the sour odor. The pleasant draft at least made the room tolerable.
Note to self, add ventilation system to the dressing room.
Dan stopped on his way back and picked up something from under one of the large metal storage shelves. “Well, what do you know.”
From where Tatum stood, the thing in Dan’s hand looked like a thin gray stick no longer than a ruler. Dan drew the object across his T-shirt, leaving a long streak of thick dirt on the fabric. Once dusted, the stick was shiny and black, with silver tips on both ends.
“I can’t be positive, but this looks just like the old magician’s wand Bennett used to play with when he stayed here.” Dan twirled the stick over and around his fingers as though it were a miniature baton.
“Bennett Truitt used to play in the dressing room of Iron Rods?” Heather asked, her voice giving away her disbelief.
“Oh yeah. All the time.” Dan tossed the wand high in the air where it spun end over end before falling and landing in his large hand. “When I was a strapping young buck and started working here as a stripper, Bennett was already hanging out in this back room every night. If I remember correctly, this was around the time Lyle started his holdings company and handed the management reins over to Cotton. Lyle spent most of his free time here though. From what the other strippers told me, Lyle’s son had spent every summer hanging out in the dressing room since he was six while Lyle did his thing up front.”
