by Gwyn McNamee
Tubbs, one of the bouncers, immediately makes his way toward us from the side of the room. His eyes never leave the offending man, and I don’t hang around to watch the lecture he’s about to receive. A lot of things fly in here, but touching one of the girls like that isn’t one of them.
When I reach Byron, he quirks an eyebrow at me. “You okay?”
I wave him off. “Yeah, I’m fine. That’s the most action I’ve seen in a long time, though.”
He chuckles and leans against the bar. “I find that hard to believe.”
I guess it is kind of crazy. Almost two years is a long time to not be touched by anyone. And people expect strippers to be without morals and common sense.
The morals, I have. The common sense…that’s debatable. Looking back at what brought me to where I am today, any sane person would say every single choice I’ve made has been worse than the last. At this point, I’m starting to wonder if I’m even capable of doing anything right anymore.
After last night, the coffee I’m about to get won’t be near enough to wake me up and get me on track this morning. My confrontation with Nora affected me more than I care to admit. A half-bottle of Lagavulin and a few grams of coke haven’t erased her almond sweet scent from my nose.
Fuck.
Maybe the smell of coffee will help. Something needs to because Nora, coupled with the meetings with Castillo and Dom, have left me completely off-balance. I don’t even remember feeling this much stress in law school or studying for the damn bar.
All it takes is a fucking woman to get under your skin, apparently.
I yank open the door to Crescent Coffee and freeze halfway through the jamb.
You have got to be fucking kidding me…
I would know that ass anywhere, even encased in skin-tight spandex instead of bare on the stage.
Of all the coffee shops in NOLA, fate had to lead her here this morning. What did I ever do to piss off that fickle bitch?
The prudent choice would be to turn around and run back to my car at the curb. But doing the prudent thing has never been my forte.
I slide into line behind her and peek over her shoulder. Her focus is on the cell phone in her hand and not on the creeper leering at her. This close, that goddamn scent works its way into my nostrils despite the overwhelming coffee smell this place has.
Why are you torturing yourself?
I never thought I was a masochist until now.
Instead of moving back, I lean in closer, until I’m confident my breath will fan her neck when I speak.
“You must have been put on this Earth to torture me. It’s the only explanation for how your ass can look so amazing in those pants.”
She doesn’t jerk away. She doesn’t look back. She simply shuts down her phone and slips it in her purse.
“Are you following me, Stone? I thought we already discussed that stalking is frowned upon by law enforcement.”
The words are spoken so evenly and without malice, I can’t help but smile.
“Aww, if I didn’t know better, I would think I’m starting to grow on you.”
Nora snorts out a laugh and finally glances over her shoulder at me.
“I’m not following you. My new office is just two blocks over, and I haven’t managed to locate my coffee maker at the house yet.”
“Likely story.” She rolls her blue eyes before moving forward with the line.
I wish I were joking. Not having coffee immediately ready for me has made for some rough mornings the last couple weeks. Thank God, I found this place. If I can’t get an IV drip of caffeine, I can at least get a quad shot to get me through the a.m. Today, I have three court appearances for various clients—two of Dom’s men who got caught with some stolen goods, and one pro bono disorderly conduct case for the county. It will be good to be back in the courtroom. Those four walls always felt like home to me and working for Dom has meant I haven’t been in one in far too long.
Nora reaches the counter and orders while I dig out my wallet. I catch the attention of the barista and wave a twenty at her. “I’ve got this.”
“No, he doesn’t.” Nora shoots daggers at me and shoves a ten across the counter. When she gets her change, she practically races to the end of the counter to wait for her drink.
Her self-preservation skills are clearly better than mine. I order and pay for my drink then move to where she stands, purposely avoiding looking in my direction.
“You could have let me buy you a cup of coffee, you know. It’s not like it’s an agreement to give me your soul.”
Although, I wouldn’t mind having that.
Those damn hypnotizing blue eyes meet mine, and she scowls. “You buying me coffee is a date. And we aren’t going there, remember?”
I chuckle and lean against the counter. “We can’t have a cup of coffee together as totally platonic friends?”
She scoffs. “I highly doubt you have platonic friends.”
Got me there.
“Look, just sit and have your coffee with me. I promise I won’t bite, unless you ask.”
A low noise that sounds an awful lot like a growl emanates from her throat. I manage to hide my grin by turning to check on our drinks. A young guy, who can’t be much older than Nora, brings them both over and smiles at her. “Hey Nora, how are you?”
My spine stiffens and a feeling a lot like jealousy has me taking my cup from him a little too violently.
“Hey Jamie, I’m good. It’s nice to see you. Call me so we can get that dinner we’ve been talking about.” Before she can take her drink from him, I snatch it, offering him a scowl.
He narrows his eyes on me before smiling at Nora. “Sure thing. See you later.”
When I turn to hand Nora her drink, she eyes me and chews her bottom lip. “If I agree to sit with you for a totally platonic cup of coffee, you have to stop with the sexual innuendos.”
Might as well be asking me to stop breathing.
I toss her a sly grin. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”
She grabs her drink from my outstretched hand, careful not to touch my fingers. “Somehow, I highly doubt that.”
That damn ass squeezed into the yoga pants taunts me as I follow her to an open table near the back of the café. I swear, a woman created yoga pants just to fuck with men on a daily basis and keep us in a perpetual state of semi-boner.
Nora drops into a chair across from me and takes a drink from her cup, watching me intently over the rim.
I’ve never struggled to find something to talk about with a beautiful woman, but remove flirting and sexual innuendo, and my vast conversation skills are somewhat limited.
“Are you dating that guy?”
Well, that came out a little more bluntly than I intended.
She looks over her shoulder toward the counter then back at me. “What? Who? Jamie?”
I nod, trying to keep my annoyance out of my features but probably failing.
A laugh bubbles up. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no, we went to high school together.”
“Oh.”
Oh? Really, Stone? That’s the best you have?
She sets her cup onto the table and clears her throat. “How are you liking being back?”
While I’d much rather be talking about her, at least she saved us from any more uncomfortable silence. No doubt, I would have said something to offend her, one way or the other, if she hadn’t jumped in with her question.
I sip my espresso and consider my answer before replying. Being home has been strange. Things have always been a bit tense with Savage, but since I’ve returned, that tension has quadrupled. I get he doesn’t want me to work for Dom, but his unwarranted disdain for him, after everything he’s done to help our family, really grates on me. He needs to drop his holier than thou attitude and accept that Dom is going to be a part of my life, all of our lives really, forever.
And that tension makes it awkward for the rest of the family. They don’t want to choose sides. I can�
��t really blame them for that. But if I could tell them everything, what he did for me, I know they’d see things my way.
“It’s been interesting.”
A slim brow raises. “I couldn’t help but notice a bit of…well…tension between you and Savage.”
“Yes, it would have been hard to miss.” It makes me wonder what else she’s caught on to.
She takes another drink, then turns the cup in her hands. “Does that have anything to do with you working for Dom Abello?”
The question lacks any malice and seems genuine. Maybe she doesn’t have the preconceived notions about him that others seem unable to shake.
I nod and take another swig of my much-needed caffeine. “It’s hard for some people to understand my loyalty to him.”
“So explain it to me.”
My request seems to shock him. He stops twisting the cup in his hand and watches me for a moment. Those familiar blue Hawke eyes assess me, and I turn my attention out the window instead. One can only withstand that kind of scrutiny for so long.
“I never really knew my father. He died when I was five. Savage kind of took over the role of man of the house, more out of a sense of duty than any real necessity. My mother was well taken care of, by Dom.”
Over the last almost two years working for Savage and Gabe, I’ve heard bits and pieces of Dom’s involvement with the Hawke family, but the whole story remains somewhat elusive. Dani says he was basically a father to Stone, but she made it very clear he’s a scumbag and Savage hates him. Something happened, when she went to cover the story about his men getting killed, but she doesn’t ever want to talk about it. And eventually, I stopped pressing. Dani doesn’t do anything she doesn’t want to, so unless she wants to talk, I’ll never get it out of her anyway.
“Was he in love with your mom?”
Stone tosses his head back and laughs. “No, nothing like that. It’s more like he’s an older brother. She was best friends with his younger sister growing up, and my dad and Dom were close when he was still alive. I think he felt a sense of duty to my dad to ensure the family was okay. And it’s something my mom and the rest of us have always appreciated.”
“Except Savage?”
His head rocks side to side as if he’s considering his answer. “Savage has a bit of a problem with his ego. He thinks he can do no wrong and that he knows what’s best for everyone else. He borrowed some money from Dom after college to start up his first bar, but after that, he distanced himself and started lecturing us about how dangerous Dom was.”
Well, he’s right.
It’s no secret what Dom Abello does or what he stands for. But Stone doesn’t seem like some idiot who would blindly follow someone with no redeeming qualities. His loyalty intrigues me.
“It seems Savage’s feelings haven’t affected your relationship with Dom, though.”
He shakes his head but doesn’t respond right away, instead taking another drink from his cup. “No. Because Dom has done things for me that Savage will never truly comprehend.”
I wait for him to expound, but the silence between us lingers into an almost uncomfortable length. This may be a good time to end this “platonic coffee.”
Stone sighs and runs a hand back through his thick black hair. “I was really messed up as a kid. Maybe I was trying to compete against four siblings for my mother’s attention, or maybe I was just a little punk. Either way, I got into a lot of trouble. Petty shit mostly—shoplifting, fights with kids at school, shit like that. And then something major happened. Dom stepped in to try to get me back on track. He helped me gain control of my life. If it wasn’t for him, I would probably have spent most of my teen years in jail, and I certainly would never have gotten where I am today.”
The clear love and respect Stone holds for Dom is actually quite endearing. Even though it’s created a rift between him and Savage, he’s not willing to cave on his sense of duty.
Fudge.
Why does he have to be so darn charming and clearly passionate about the people he cares about? It makes pretending to hate him even harder.
“Have you told that to Savage? Maybe it would help him understand?”
He barks out a laugh. “It wouldn’t matter. Even if I could tell him everything that happened, which I can’t, he’s too stubborn to ever admit he’s been wrong all this time. It’s better if I just leave it alone and let him think whatever he wants. We can play nice when we’re with our mother. We’ve been doing it for a long time already.”
Huh.
The mention of things he can’t tell Savage certainly has my interest piqued, but if he can’t tell his own brother, he’s certainly not going to tell me. And that’s probably for the best anyway. Revealing deep, dark secrets isn’t something platonic friends who barely know each other do. It would definitely be a step in the wrong direction for us trying to ignore the attraction simmering between us.
He studies me for a moment, and it’s like being put under a microscope. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Do you like working for my brother and Gabe?”
“Of course I do, why else would I still be there?”
My answer may have come a little too quickly. It’s true though…mostly. Savage and Gabe are great bosses really, the best I’ve ever had anyway. I could do without the leering and groping patrons, but that’s just part of the job, and compared to other clubs, The Hawkeye Club is basically a palace where we are treated like queens. All I have to do is take my clothes off and dance a little. I really can’t complain about anything.
Stone smirks and leans forward, resting his forearms on the table between us. “The money?”
I narrow my eyes at him and take another sip of my latte to prevent myself from saying something stupid.
Does he really think that’s why I do it?
Am I nothing more than some money-grubbing skank to him?
“It’s not about the money. Yes, I make a decent living dancing, but it’s more about the freedom of it.” I give him the same line I’ve regurgitated to Byron, Gabe, Savage, Dani, my mom, and anyone else who has asked since I started working at The Hawkeye Club. It’s not a total lie, and it’s always easier when there’s at least a half-truth to what you tell people.
His dark brows furrow, and he narrows his eyes at me. “You really think people believe that?”
“What the heck is that supposed to mean?”
He leans back in his chair, giving me space to breathe. Or at least try to.
“Stone, what’s that supposed to mean?”
A nonchalant shrug is the only response he offers. And a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He’s so darn smug, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
I guarantee he has no clue why I’m really stripping, even if he can see through my sort-of lie.
Anger simmers just below the surface, something completely foreign to me. I don’t get mad. Not really. I get frustrated. I get annoyed. I get irritated. But to get me angry…that’s a real feat.
Yet Stone Hawke has managed it more than once already.
I’m being a total asshole. I know that.
But I’ve learned that letting someone sit and stew with a question or observation is more likely to illicit a truthful response than bombarding them with questions.
The way Nora is fidgeting in her seat assures me I’ve struck a chord.
She finally cracks. “Answer me, or I walk out of here right now.”
As much as I would love to watch her walk away in those damn yoga pants…I’d much rather get her to talk. I need to learn more about her to figure out how to maintain this “friendship” thing we’re shooting for.
I hold up my hands in surrender and offer her an apologetic smile. “I was simply making an observation, Nora.”
“An observation of what?”
“Of you. You put on a good show while you’re center stage, but there’s something in your eyes that
tells me in your heart, that’s not where you want to be.”
She scowls and crosses her arms over her chest. “I don’t think anyone grows up wanting to be a stripper, Stone.”
Touché.
“True, but I also doubt most of the women who end up dancing have the kind of intelligence and options you have available to you.”
Her jaw drops. “Wow, could you be any more insulting toward girls who dance?”
“It wasn’t meant as an insult, just an observation. Yes, there are girls who dance to pay for law school or medical school, and there are probably some who truly enjoy doing it, but the vast majority of dancers do it because they have a lack of job options that will earn them that kind of money, many don’t even have high school diplomas. Tell me I’m wrong.”
The press of her lips into a tight, thin line would be adorable if she wasn’t so mad at me for being correct.
I don’t want her mad. What I do want is to push her to open up to me. She’s so guarded around me and presumably around everyone else. She needs a push or she’ll drown in whatever is weighing on her so heavily. Nora is struggling, whether she wants to admit it or not. I understand why Savage and Dani are so protective of her. She has a pure, kind soul, and it would be easy for someone to take advantage of that. In her profession, there’s no shortage of creeps. What happened at TWO the other night only demonstrates that. For her to be doing this, exposing herself to this lifestyle when she has a hundred other options, something must have really shaken her. And she clearly hasn’t worked through it yet.
Maybe it’s not my place to try to help her. Hell, not probably. It isn’t my place. But no one seems to be getting through to her, and she’s floundering. She needs direction, and that, I can do. It’s just going to take some pressure.
“I know you were pre-med at Tulane. What I don’t know is why you dropped out to strip for my brother.”
Anger flares in her eyes, and her hands clench around her coffee cup. “Why is that any business of yours, anyway?”
Damn. She’s feisty when she’s mad.
That’s not good for my libido. Vivid mental pictures of her simmering while trussed up in my playroom flit through my head and are nearly impossible to shake.
