by Brenna Zinn
“Thank you,” he said when she returned from dropping off the towel in the bathroom and carefully snuggled up against him. “For everything. You were there for me tonight, not only in spending the night, but in the ambulance and at the hospital. You’ll never know how much that means to me.”
He sounded so sincere, the urge to weep nearly overtook her. Of course she was there for him. He was her hero, her friend, her lover. Where else would she be?
“I wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re important to me.”
She hadn’t said that she loved him, though she hoped he could somehow divine her feelings. He may have asked, no, begged her to stay and they may have just had amazing sex, but Bennett Truitt’s feelings were as much of a mystery to her as was the chupacabra. Earlier in the evening she’d thought he didn’t care for her and wanted nothing more than for her to leave his condo. Now…who knew?
So much time passed before he spoke again, Tatum was certain he had fallen asleep.
“I came to Texas to prove myself to Lyle. We’ve never had what you might call a typical father-son relationship, and I never felt good enough in his eyes.”
Her heart stopped. He’d answered the question she’d asked before getting it brushed off for sex.
“You are good enough. You’re a wonderful man.”
He stroked her hair and let out a long breath. “I doubt you’ll always think so.”
Chapter Twelve
If she hadn’t been there to see the spectacle for herself, Tatum never could have believed so many women would willingly come to an old warehouse on Austin’s East Side to judge a group of men vying to become Iron Rods strippers. Every sorority president she’d contacted showed up for the event, as well as the female editors of the local weekly magazines, disc jockeys and concierges from some of Austin’s more popular hotels. Any one woman who might be instrumental in passing along the word of the new and improved Iron Rods en masse had been asked to join in the fun. From the looks of things, this was the social event of the season.
Tatum glanced around the makeshift studio. With Heather’s help, they’d transformed the space into a dream of white and pink. Soft indirect lighting cast an ethereal glow on clouds of sheer material the color of a rosy baby’s cheeks that covered each and every wall from floor to ceiling. The elegant chandeliers chosen for the Iron Rods renovation were temporarily hanging in the room, adding the right amount of shine and glimmer. Four long rows of sleek leather settees placed end to end flanked a wide runway leading to a stripper pole, giving the men who auditioned plenty of room to show their stuff while the judges sat in comfort. And dozens of fresh-cut flower arrangements in white and varying shades of pink made the room smell like a heavenly floral shop.
On the far side of the room, Zeeda checked in the guest judges and handed them clear clipboards and sparkling silver pens, along with goodie bags filled with Iron Rods swag. Nearby, a smiling T poured free drinks into crystal glasses from behind a pink leather bar with deep tufting and a glass top. In the corner, Alonzo prepped a state-of-the-art sound system, while his twin Miguel and newly hired waiter Gavin Adams, the former Gangsta G, assisted the ladies to their seats.
Heather had designed an updated logo that proudly displayed the words Iron Rods Strip Club in an arch over a Western hat. Beneath the brim, she’d added Austin, Texas. All the Iron Rods staff wore pink tuxedo shirts with the new business logo embroidered on the front pocket. White tuxedo pants topped off by magenta cummerbunds completed their ensemble. Mixed in the sea of loud, excited judges sat Lyle and Annie. Lyle, dressed in a dapper white sports coat and stiff jeans, gave Tatum a thumbs up and waggled his bushy gray eyebrows.
The only person missing from the soiree was Bennett. Since she’d stayed the night with him at his condo, she’d once again spent precious few moments with the slick New Yorker. But with all the madness going on to prepare Iron Rods for opening night, the meals, conversations and hook-ups she had with Bennett were welcome respites. Although her head continually reminded how impossible their relationship was, she’d treasured every second with him.
They had chemistry, no getting around that. And he seemed to genuinely care for her. Yet despite the interest brewing between them, there were times when he seemed more distant than he’d ever been.
Instead of being at the stripper audition, Bennett was back in the Big Apple for some kind of important meeting. The day before he left, he’d been particularly anxious, with mood swings fluctuating from outright grouchy to distant and sad. When she’d asked him what the meeting was about, the big galoot had brushed her off with some nonsense about taking care of some personal business back home.
Was he running? Possibly. A man who lived his life without love wouldn’t know how to deal with those powerful emotions and all that came with them. Would he be afraid of love? Considering no one else had made room for Bennett in their lives, why should he think she would?
Heather walked through the door from the hallway, a sparkling pen poised on the side of her lip in a thoughtful look as she searched the crowd. The white leather folder she carried perfectly matched her elegant knee-length dress. Her roommate might be prone to accidents, but she could coordinate her outfits, as well as big events, like nobody’s business. When she lit upon Tatum, she waved. Apparently the time to start the strip-off had come.
Twenty-three men had shown up for the twelve available slots. Surely with that many dancers to choose from at least twelve would be decent enough to hire for the team. After the selections were made, Tatum would work with each man to perfect two individual routines, then create three small group routines. At the same time, she and Heather would help solidify the strippers’ stage identities and costumes. Although the process of making the stripper selections was a big chunk of the work needing to be done before the grand opening at Iron Rods, pages of tasks on her to-do list had yet to be completed.
Clutching her own leather folder against her chest, Tatum took in a deep breath and mentally reviewed the welcoming introduction she’d prepared. She was nervous as a virgin in a whorehouse, but she was ready.
Tatum gestured at Alonzo to cue up the first dancer’s music and turn down the lights. Shoulders back, chin up and her folder brimming with the names of the auditioning strippers, she strode confidently through the rows of seated women. When she arrived at the stripper pole, she smiled and slowly took in the crowd, making eye contact with as many ladies as possible. Women of all ages, colors and sizes, most dressed to kill, sat expectantly on their settees. As Tatum brought the wireless microphone to her mouth, a hush fell over the room.
“Ladies, welcome to the Iron Rods auditions. Thank you all for being here this evening.” Her audience enthusiastically clapped or held their drinks high in her honor. She relaxed just a little. The hardest part of her introduction was over. As much as her mouth and brain had wanted to blurt out Thank all y’all for being here, she’d kept her language professional sounding. Damn hard thing to do for a girl born and raised in West Texas.
After reviewing the forms with the judges and explaining the scoring system, the time had come to send in the first stripper from where he waited in the hallway. The remaining dancers were sequestered in the other side of the warehouse, awaiting their turns.
Tatum glanced at Alonzo and gave a quick nod. Music instantly filled the room, enlivening the already charged atmosphere. Deciding the occasion called for a little Texas flair to stir the local ladies even more, Tatum threw on her thick Southern accent.
“Y’all ready to make a little Austin history tonight?” she asked, walking around the makeshift stage. The ladies hollered back. Though loud, the response wasn’t good enough.
“I said,” Tatum raised her voice, “y’all ready to make a little Austin history tonight?”
The rambunctious crowd screamed and bounced on the settees. Some of the women in the back row stood, clapping their hands and hopping around on their high heels.
“Then let’s get this party starte
d by welcoming dancer number one, The Gladiator!”
A roar of excited shouts and shrieks erupted when Miguel and Gavin opened the hallway doors for the first stripper to enter the room. The Gladiator stood, hands on hips, in the middle of the doorway. With blunt-cut bangs and a well-groomed mustache and beard, the stripper looked like an ancient Roman who had miraculously spirited through time. His wide forehead ended at thick, nicely trimmed eyebrows, which rested over narrowed, dark eyes that both intimidated and beckoned in an extremely sexual way.
The Gladiator wore a simple blue tunic beneath an intricate cuirass fashioned from bands of black leather strapped around his shoulders and torso. Overlapping flaps of leather trimmed with silver studs hung on the bottom of the flexible armor. On his forearms and shins he’d tied leather gauntlets with silver trim that caught the light and flashed as he advanced into the room.
Tatum looked on, too stupefied to move off the stage. The man marching through the doorway simply overpowered her senses. She remembered taking his name and contact information earlier that afternoon when he’d come in to register. At the time she’d thought he was a big, handsome hoss much like a lot of the other big, handsome hosses coming in to audition. Now that she saw him in full costume, one he’d brought himself, she was thunderstruck. He’d transformed into a sexy warrior no woman could resist.
Ok, big guy. Now let’s see if you can dance.
And dance he did. When Tatum vacated the stage, The Gladiator strode through the throng of women on his trunk-like legs to the infectious beat pumped in through the speakers. Hitting the main stage, the stripper came alive with slick moves, hip thrusts and footwork totally unexpected for such a big man. Though the women were asked not to tip the auditioning men, they all stood up and crowded the dance space, not wanting to miss a second of The Gladiator’s performance, especially as he smoothly removed the pieces of his costume and proceeded to share his thong-wrapped goods.
For the next four hours, the judges viewed each and every one of the auditioning strippers. As more and more men hit the stage and comparisons were made, sorting the dancers based on their degree of skill became simple. Some clearly had talent and some did not. Luckily for Steele, he had a fabulous routine and had put in the practice to shine before the women. No doubt his scores would come up high.
One dancer of particular interest to Tatum was the Masked Man. Tall, well-built but not overly muscular, with hair as black as coal, the Masked Man had walked into the registration area that afternoon already wearing a black mask. When she’d asked about the disguise, he’d said with a Scottish accent that he needed to protect his identity and asked that his real name, Mack Garner, never be made available to anyone other than her, the Iron Rods manager. To everyone else, he wanted to be known simply as McKenzie. She’d agreed, but he’d definitely piqued her curiosity. Though Mack wasn’t as tall or as broad as Bennett, he definitely wasn’t hard to look at and his foreign lilt was to die for.
Intrigued by the Masked Man, she’d waited with great anticipation to see if his dancing ability equaled his mystique. Still in his mask, he’d come out of the hallway in a tuxedo suitable for James Bond. When the music started, time stood still. The man could dance, and not just a little. From the time he stepped into the room, he owned it. One minute gyrating, then popping and then sliding, he moved his body as though it were a finely tuned instrument. His dance steps were controlled, and boy howdy, did they hypnotize.
By the time he’d finished his routine and stood before the female judges in a silky red thong to accept their thunderous applause, Tatum knew she had her lead stripper. The Masked Man would absolutely steal the show the nights he performed at Iron Rods. He’d need to change his stage name—the Masked Man didn’t have the right kind of star power to it that he deserved—but she’d work with him once the staff practices started. One of these days she’d make it her business to find out more about who he was and why he had to hide his identity. But that was a story for another day.
At the conclusion of the competition, the chosen strippers were announced. One by one the members of the dance team strutted in tiny thongs to the stage and took a bow, leaving the heated judges panting for more. Then the entire ensemble paraded a final time through the crowd, waving and blowing kisses to everyone in the room.
“Only three more weeks, ladies,” Tatum announced, taking back the stage. “Can y’all wait that long until you see my men again?”
The barrage of whoops and claps from the stirred women shook the large studio. Someone from the crowd shouted, “Tatum! Tatum!” Soon the entire raucous group joined in.
Tatum swept her hand from high above her left shoulder down to her right foot and curtsied as she had so often in her college dance performances. After a moment, she stood and bowed to each section of the room.
“Thank y’all again for coming out tonight. And a big thanks to the Iron Rods staff who helped this evening.” She bowed again at Zeeda, T and the rest of the employees who had lined up next to the stereo equipment in the corner. “I hope all y’all tell your friends, your readers and your listeners about the great time you had and the wonderful Iron Rods team.”
As the herd of women moved like cattle through the doors from the studio into the hallway, Tatum overheard their excited conversations. Phrases such as, “I can’t wait until Iron Rods is open,” “Those guys are great,” and “I think I’m in love,” were spoken over and over again.
Pride and satisfaction fizzed like sparkling water throughout Tatum’s veins. She had done something truly spectacular that evening. Her marketing ploy had worked even better than she could have imagined. On Iron Rods’ opening night, she’d slay the crowd of women once again and then every night after. The window she’d been looking for since the door slammed on her professional dancing career had finally appeared.
Steele approached from the now quiet hallway holding a tote bag, a contented smile etched on his tanned face. He stopped before her, placed his bag on the floor and put out his beefy hand. She smiled back and gladly shook it.
“Thanks,” he said with genuine warmth. “I owe you a lot.”
“You’re welcome, but you deserve most of the credit. You worked hard and it paid off.” Hoping Steele would become one of the stripper team, Tatum had come prepared. She reached into her leather file and pulled out a business card. “Do me a favor and call Nicko to thank him too. I’m sure he’d appreciate it.”
The big guy took the card and shook his head. “Consider it done.”
He picked up his bag and turned to leave, then took a step back. “And thank you for helping my daughter and her friends. They had their dance team tryouts this past week. The results were posted on Friday. They all made the team.”
She let out a whoop and fist pumped into the air. Elation engulfed her like a toasty fuzzy blanket on a frigid February morning. “I’m so happy for y’all. I loved working with them. I truly did. Be sure to let me know when the girls perform so I can watch them.”
“It’s a deal,” he promised and waved his goodbye as he headed toward the warehouse front doors.
A warm hand fell on Tatum’s shoulder. She glanced back to see Lyle grinning from ear to ear. His handlebar mustache tilted in the same direction as his upturned lips.
“Young lady, I reckon hiring you was the best thing I’ve done since marrying this woman.” He gestured toward Anne standing at his side. The beautiful woman with silvery-blonde hair blushed, lightly tingeing her flawless creamy complexion. “I’m so damned happy, I’m ready to dance a jig. Taking my lovely bride here to the Broken Spoke to do just that. Ain’t gonna stop dancing until my feet blister or they kick me out of the place.”
Anne laughed and took the old man’s age-spotted hand in hers. “Then I’m glad I took a nap this afternoon.”
A sense of longing tugged at her heart as she took in the happily married couple who looked more like love-struck teenagers. She craved that kind of relationship, solid and everlasting, with Bennett. Ther
e was not a single doubt in her mind about her feelings. She yearned for him so badly her bones ached from the wanting. Unfortunately, she had no idea if the slick New Yorker she’d fallen for felt the same way. The messages he sent were mixed and confusing. Hot as blazes one moment, colder than a witch’s tit the next.
“I talked to Miguel,” Lyle continued. “He’s going to wait around here until you are ready to leave and then walk you to your car. Don’t want any more wacko strippers meeting you in the parking lot.” Out of nowhere, the old man snapped his fingers. “Nearly plumb forgot. I talked to Bennett on the phone a few minutes ago. Said he’d left you some of those text message thingies, but you probably haven’t seen them yet. Still don’t understand why that boy couldn’t wait to go to New York next week. He completely missed tonight’s shindig. Sometimes he doesn’t make a lick of sense to me.”
A sizzle of excitement sparked through her belly. Bennett had left her messages. He was thinking about her while he was a thousand miles away. Surely that was a positive sign of his affection, wasn’t it?
Anne directed a look of sympathy at Tatum. Understanding and compassion gleamed through her brown eyes. If only Lyle weren’t here. Then she’d feel free to pick Bennett’s stepmother’s brain and try to figure out what was going on inside his head. Anne seemed to be one of the few people who actually had a pulse on the frustrating man.
“Ready to kick up your heels, little lady?” the old man asked.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Anne stuck a booted foot out from beneath her long, billowy skirt. “I got my dancing shoes on.”
“Then let’s be like a deer and get the buck out of here.” Lyle released his hold of Anne’s hand, wrapped his arm around her slim waist and led her through the doorway. As they walked down the long hallway the sound of Deep in the Heart of Texas whistled slightly off-key floated along with them.
When the place had been tidied up and all the strippers and staff had left the building, Tatum recovered her purse from a locked closet and checked her texts.
