“You smell good,” he said. He leaned closer, so close that now I could smell him distinctly. He had cologne on of some sort and his clothes had a clean scent, but all I could register was Man. All I could think was Sex.
“What do you say, Gwen? Should we try to make an arrangement?”
Somehow my hands found their way to his chest, as if they had a mind of their own. He felt firm and warm beneath my palms. My breasts ached at the thought of pressing against him. It wouldn’t be the first arrangement I’d made for casual sex. If they didn’t have the habit of getting messy and tied up in feelings, I’d probably pursue more strictly sexual relationships.
But the effort to keep things unattached was so not worth it. And, with JC, I could tell it would be especially difficult. He was the type of guy who liked to be fawned over. He wanted to be special. He wanted to be loved. I couldn’t give that.
Even if I could, JC wasn’t the guy who would ever give it back. Any relationship with him would be doomed from the beginning. It would be bad. People would get hurt. And I’d never been into causing pain.
There was no denying my attraction to him though. And fighting off his advances took more energy than I wanted to expend. Which, coupled with my frustrating call with Norma earlier, made me more than a little irritated.
With more strength than was probably necessary, I pushed him away. “No, definitely not.”
I slipped off the bar stool and spun to him, my back tall as I let gravity give me an anchor that I so desperately needed. “I don’t know what you have over Matt, Mr….” God, it was ridiculous that I didn’t even know his name and JC was simply too familiar. “Mr. C. But I don’t work like that. You’re lucky that he’s the general manager and not me because there would be no such special favors or blind eyes. I am not the type that makes deals or arrangements of any sort. I’m by the book. So it’s best you remember that and keep all your negotiations with Matt.”
JC bit back a smile.
“Hey. I’m serious.” I felt like stomping my foot, but held back, knowing it would probably not help my case.
He covered his mouth with his hand. When he removed it, all traces of his smile were gone. “I’m sorry. I know you’re serious. I didn’t mean to patronize you. You’re just even more adorable when you’re feisty.”
“You didn’t mean to patronize me, but you just did?” If he wanted feisty, I’d give him feisty. “You know what, Mr. C? I do have an arrangement I’d like to make. I work on Thursday nights and you have the room booked on Tuesdays. How about we agree that I won’t come into the club on those nights and you don’t come into the club on these nights?”
“Oh, Gwen. I can’t make an arrangement like that. That wouldn’t give you a chance to change your mind. And as worked up as you are right now—your shoulders tight, your jaw clenched, your eyes tired—I’m betting that you’re going to change your mind. Real soon.”
“Don’t wager too much. I’d hate to see you in the poorhouse.”
He took two steps toward me and reached his hand out to my cheek. It was the first time he’d touched me and it was almost too much. Like a hot coal against an ice cube, I melted under him. Melted into him.
I also wanted very much to drop the coal and jump away.
He sensed my warring reactions. I saw the disappointment in his eyes. But along with the disappointment, they flickered with hope.
“The next move is yours, Gwen.” He slid his thumb down my face, following my jawline. “You know where to find me.”
That was the problem. I wished I didn’t know where to find him. I wished I didn’t know him at all.
Mostly, I wished I didn’t know what it was like to feel the touch of his skin on mine. The trail he’d swept on my cheek burned for long minutes after he turned and left the club.
Then, it faded and was gone. And I was left alone in the cold of my ice prison once more.
Chapter Three
“Have you heard anything lately from Ben?” I asked Norma as I folded the stocking embroidered with his name and packed it in the tote marked CHRISTMAS. It was Martin Luther King Jr. Day, so even though Norma worked on her laptop most of the day, it was from home.
“Not since I called him last week with the news about Dad.” Her words were obscured as she spoke around the spatula handle between her teeth. She’d taken a break to make grilled cheese sandwiches, and I’d seized the opportunity to have an actual conversation. Norma took the flipper from her mouth before going on. “And I got a short email yesterday.”
I stifled a yawn and looked at my watch. It was after noon, way past my bedtime, especially when I had to be back at the club by ten that night. But it wasn’t often that Norma and I had daylight hours together, and I liked to be with her. In her company, I was less inclined to wandering thoughts of sensual lap dances and a sexy-grinned ringmaster who occupied my mind way too much. Especially since he’d made it clear what exactly he wanted from me. I couldn’t give it to him, but as I lay awake trying to sleep, I fantasized that I could while my hand crept underneath the band of my panties and danced around in regions I’d ignored for way too long.
Getting off felt good and all, but it was also a blaring reminder of how alone I was most of the time.
So I put off bedtime as long as I could when Norma was around. Besides, someone needed to get the holiday decorations put away, and if it wasn’t me, they’d probably still be up come summer.
“Yeah, I read that email.” It was one of the reasons I’d been thinking about him.
“If you read the email, then you know as much as I do about him.”
Norma had waited until after my birthday to call Ben with the news about Dad. He’d taken it fairly well. He’d been upset, of course, but he hadn’t broken down like we’d expected. After that, he seemed to withdraw. Maybe that was his way of handling it. Or maybe he just wasn’t that worried about it, being across the country and all.
But then there was the email.
Norma had left her laptop up and her email open. I’d seen his name, so of course I read it. His four sentences had stayed in my mind like a memorized poem.
Checking in. Don’t bother sending more money this month. I’m working overtime this week. I won’t need any more.
It was fairly banal, really. Nothing special, but something about it put me on alert. It wasn’t the brevity of it—Ben was often a short and sweet type of guy. The message itself didn’t necessarily raise any red flags. And Norma regularly supplemented his paycheck from the movie theater that he worked at, so the topic wasn’t unusual.
Just, Ben wasn’t…strong. I hated to think of him as fragile, but that was a fair description. He’d been better the last couple of years. Not like before. He had his job. He had friends. Boyfriends, occasionally. I supposed I shouldn’t worry.
Still, he was far away. It bothered me not to have him closer where I could see him and know he was okay. Especially now that Dad would be out so soon.
I put my stocking on top of Ben’s, followed by Norma’s. “What did you think about the email? Did it seem strange at all to you?”
“No. Should it?”
Maybe it was me. I felt off. I’d felt off for several weeks. It started the night of my first encounter with JC and only grew more when I’d seen him again, but I refused to give him full credit for throwing me for an entire month. So he’d said some things that wouldn’t leave me. So he made my insides twist and turn with want. It didn’t mean anything. I was due for a total life examination. That he was there when it began was merely a coincidence.
But just because I was going through something didn’t mean that Ben wasn’t going through something too. In fact, considering the circumstances, I’d count on it.
“Maybe not.” I stood and pulled the ceramic stocking holders off the mantel, wrapping each piece one by one in newspaper. “Do you think it’s weird that he asked you not to send any money? I mean, why doesn’t he need any extra spending money?”
She buttered
the top of the sandwich that was cooking. “He said he has overtime. He must be doing okay.”
“Even with overtime…is he not going out? Is he turning into a recluse? Is he not splurging on himself ever?”
“Gwen, you’re being paranoid.”
“You’re right, you’re right. I know you’re right.” But I couldn’t let the worry go. I felt an unexplainable anxiety. Like an itch that I couldn’t quite locate, I kept scratching at my mind, trying to figure out the thing that was making me so uncomfortable. So uneasy.
I bent to pack the final stocking holder and closed the tote. “We should go visit him.”
Norma flipped a sandwich, the butter sizzling as it met the hot pan. “Okay, tell me when and I’ll look at my calendar.”
This was how this conversation always went. One of us suggested visiting, and the other said to pick a date, and then neither of us would agree on a good week to take off from work. Maybe Norma wasn’t the only one of us that was a workaholic.
This time I meant it. I needed to see Ben. I needed the break. I needed...something. But what?
An image of JC popped in my head, which I quickly squashed. It wasn’t JC I needed nor anything he had to give. But maybe California for a weekend could make a difference. It was something at least.
I stacked the tote in the corner with the rest of the boxes that needed to be put in storage. There weren’t many—our celebrations were minimal at most. Then I crossed to the side of the island counter that was opposite my sister and stretched my body across it and propped my face up with my hands. “Let’s really do it this time, Norma. Not just talk about it. Let’s really go to San Francisco.”
“Of course.” She didn’t meet my eyes, but she was buttering the next piece of bread, so maybe I was reading too much into it.
The gesture also made me nostalgic. The whole situation did, in fact. It reminded me of days in college with Ben still in high school, both of us living with Norma. She’d cook for us then too. We never really celebrated holidays until it was just the three of us. This year, it had only been Norma and me.
I turned my face so my cheek rested against the granite countertop. “We really should have made him come home for Christmas.”
Norma pursed her lips. “He didn’t want to, Gwen.”
“But we should have convinced him.” So we’d had the conversation a few times. It didn’t change how I felt.
She removed the skillet from the burner and wiped her hands on her jeans. Then she turned her full attention on me. “He doesn’t want to be here. Don’t you get that?”
I straightened to a standing position and met her patronizing tone with one that was obstinate. “Then we should have gone to see him.”
“You didn’t want to miss work.”
“You didn’t want to miss work.”
She rubbed her hand over her mouth, and I suspected she was revising whatever it was she originally planned to say. After a moment, she nodded once. “Neither of us wanted to miss work.”
“Okay, well, let’s both miss work and see him now.” I cocked my head and studied her, trying to read her silence. “Why don’t you want to go?”
She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t say I didn’t.” She put the just cooked sandwich on a plate and pushed it toward me. “There’s grapes in the colander over there if you want some to go with.”
I slid the plate closer to me but ignored the topic of food. “You didn’t say anything. So I had to read your expression and your face said it’s not going to happen. Don’t you want to see him?”
She met my eyes. “I want to see him. Of course I do, Gwen. He’s my baby brother.” He was much more than her baby brother. She’d practically raised him. She’d practically raised both of us.
Her focus went to her own sandwich where she picked at the crust, and this time I was sure she was using the food as an excuse. “He doesn’t want us there.”
“Nah. That’s not true.” Then I thought about it a second. “Did he say that?”
“He doesn’t have to. I can tell.” Her voice was tight. Much like me, Norma rarely showed her emotions, and I never knew how to react when she let a bit of sorrow or disappointment slip past her stoic front.
“No, you can’t tell.” Maybe she actually could. She talked to Ben a lot more often than I did by email and by phone. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to him, but Norma was the mother figure in his life.
Still, he and I were close. There was no reason I knew of that he wouldn’t want to see either of us.
Was there?
A possible reason popped into my head, and I blurted it out. “He doesn’t want to have anything to do with the past. Does he? Including us. That’s why he’s pulling away.”
She shrugged. Then she thought better of it and shook her head. “I don’t know. Don’t listen to me. Maybe I’m wrong.”
Her body language said that she didn’t think she was wrong. And now that I’d had the epiphany, I realized she was probably very right. I picked at a hangnail on my thumb, mostly so I wouldn’t have to look Norma in the eye any longer, but also because the tiny sting of pain comforted me. “We aren’t Dad, though,” I mumbled. “We aren’t the bad guys.”
“No. But we remind Ben of him. I can understand that he doesn’t want to be here. It’s easier to forget about it all without constant reminders.”
I wondered if that’s what she thought of me as—a constant reminder. Did I make her remember our childhood? Did I make her miss our mother? Norma was twelve when she died. She remembered Mom better than I did. We both looked like her, but I was the one who had her fair coloring—her blonde hair, her blue eyes. Did Norma see her when she looked at me?
Or worse, did I make her think of Dad?
Even if I did remind her—even if we reminded Ben—I wished it wasn’t an excuse to break the three of us siblings apart. I wanted us all together. I wanted to protect the little family I had. Wanted to stay close and bonded.
If I couldn’t have that, I at least wanted to make sure we were all safe. “If Ben wants to be in San Francisco, then I support that. But I worry about him. Especially when we don’t hear from him or when I don’t know that he’s engaging in his life. He pulled away before, remember? Before he—”
“I know.” She cut me off, not wanting to hear me finish the sentence as much as I didn’t want to say it. “I know, Gwen. I worry too.”
She gathered her brown hair off her back into a ponytail, held it for a second, and then dropped it again. “I’ll call him, okay? Let me call him.”
And because Norma was the one who always dealt with Ben, I’d let her. “Okay.”
***
Eighty-Eighth was busier than usual that night. Apparently MLK Jr. Day was something people had decided to celebrate this year. I wasn’t complaining—I liked to be busy.
The club closed at four-thirty, and because Matt and I were so fast when we shut down together, I was done with my reports a little after five. I left him in the office to finish up his work while I checked on the floors.
I did my normal walk-through, checking the restrooms for stragglers before crossing the main dance floor to the bar by the kitchen. The place was quiet, but there was a single figure sitting on a stool at the end, his back toward me. I looked around for Alyssa or Greg—the closing staff for that floor—but didn’t see them anywhere. They were usually quick at cleanup, so I suspected they were already in the employee room, punching out.
But that made the lone figure more puzzling. “Excuse me,” I called, as I got closer. “The club is closed.”
The man turned, and my pulse tripped. “Oh. It’s you.”
JC seemed less surprised to see me, which made sense since it was my work, and I was expected to be there. Still, I didn’t have to like it. That he again had the balance and I again was thrown.
His lip ticked up, and I imagined he was pleased to have me off-kilter. “Hey. Nice to see you.”
As they always did, his eyes raked down my body
, slowly. His pupils dilated as he took in each part of me—my chunky heeled black sandals, my bare shins, my black flared Jersey skirt, my white V-neck ballet sweater, the curve of my generous breasts.
Above that, his stare lingered at my throat, then at my lips.
The back of my neck grew warm, even with my hair pinned up. My mouth watered, my skin felt on fire from just one simple sweep of his gaze. It made me forget the question I should have been asking—why was he here?
Finally he met my eyes. “You look good, Gwen.”
The compliment knocked me. Not because he’d given it—men rained compliments on women in my work environment. But because he’d actually looked before saying it. And because it was absent of the sleazy undertone that usually accompanied such words. There were still hints of desire, yes, just it felt less about trying to get laid and more about actual appreciation.
I’d have rather had the lewd ogle. That, I knew how to deal with. This, I didn’t. It confused me as it begged me to consider that maybe JC wasn’t that horrible of a person, and that wasn’t something I was willing to acknowledge.
So I put up my guard and returned his sincerity with Class A bitch. “I thought you said the next move was mine.” I wasn’t making a move, but, dammit, I didn’t want him around tempting me.
“It is.” He cocked his head. “Are you ready to make it?”
“Uh, not a chance.”
He turned away from me. “Then pretend I’m not here. I didn’t come for you.”
It wasn’t until he’d said that he wasn’t there for me that I realized how much I wanted him to be there for just that very reason. Stupid. Because I thought I didn’t want him there at all. If I wasn’t careful, he was going to accuse me of giving mixed signals. I certainly was giving them to myself.
Just walk away, I told myself. Do your work. Ignore him.
I couldn’t ignore him. “I guess you probably don’t have to leave with the rest of the customers, do you? Another part of your informal deal? It’s not Tuesday.” Even to myself I sounded childish and snotty. It did nothing to calm the butterflies in my stomach.
Free Me Page 4
