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I’m tired of the behavior of the more recent dancers I’ve hired. They’re inexperienced and not at all like the girls who auditioned as little as two years ago. They give Kelsey a hard time. And the ones who weren’t invited to Holly’s wedding won’t shut the fuck up and stop whining about missing out on a night’s pay. They make more than they would anyplace else. I also gave everyone the goddamn night off to be fair and not leave the place short-staffed or without appropriate security.
I lost money by closing the night after the biggest breakup night of the year. Miss Cooper was ill-informed when she bolted from her wedding. February thirteenth is the day people get dumped. And on February fourteenth those lonely saps descend on my bar and drink themselves into oblivion. So I couldn’t give two shits about my employee’s lighter paychecks. I got where I am today because I accept that not everything will go my way.
If I can suck it up and deal, so can everyone else.
I tap a pen against my temple. “There’s a golf tourney coming up. You interested?”
“I hate golf,” Carver balks.
“But you play well.”
“So does Trig. Ask him.”
“He’s out.”
“I would have never guessed I was your second choice,” he laments smart-alecky.
I rarely ask Carver to golf anymore. It’s not worth listening to his wife, Sloan’s, tirades about my stunted maturity.
“Have you ever thought that maybe you need a new hobby? Something more in your life than hustling unsuspecting golfers and putting the screws to them at the nineteenth hole?” Carver stares into space.
“You mean settle down. I have a woman.”
I have a whole strip club filled with women.
“You’re a far cry from proving there is anything serious between you and Paisley Cooper, Jake. What I’m referring to is that there has to be more than you sitting alone in your house, taking your aggression out on the drum set you’ve been beating on for ten-plus years.”
It’s interesting my friendship with Carver has moved past the childish jabs. Most of what we learned about the opposite sex we learned together. When we were teens, he would have accused me of beating off. Although, Trig’s low blow was about my shallow affinity for the women who warm my bed. Carver’s neglecting to insult me may have more to do with his current circumstances.
“What’s wrong with my house? I like my house.” It’s surrounded by trees and set away from my neighbors. I prefer the seclusion, the anonymity, and the space to play my drums as loud as I want in the middle of the night. I Cheshire grin, mocking Carver’s concern.
“My mill is better.” He smarts, understanding I’ve dug my heels in and won’t budge. Music, even the loud thump of the bass pumping through the theater’s sound system while I’m shackled to Sweet Caroline’s, is my reason for existing.
“Your precious mill would still be a pile of rubble if we didn’t meet like this.”
“I’m sure I’d have found another way to pay for renovations,” he says.
“I admire your confidence.”
“You always have.” Carver smirks. “While we’re on the subject of your girlfriend. How’s Paisley? Has the shock worn off?”
“We weren’t, but Paisley is fine. Also, what shock? She did the leaving.”
“But did she leave the cardiologist for you, or did you impede her escape?”
“Maybe I aided and abetted.”
“That’s more believable than you dating Ms. Cooper. Sloan speaks highly of her. My charge card speaks volumes, too.” He chuckles in a way that reminds me of my dad when he spoke lovingly about my mother. “Paisley is the town darling. Deep community roots. Long standing, successful downtown business. It’s a shame that she isn’t your girlfriend. Paisley Cooper could do wonders for your reputation. Or she would’ve previous to her engagement… and calling it off the way she did.”
I play with my jaw. My thumb grazes my lip, and it twitches, thinking of Paisley. Of kissing her. It’s been a week, give or take, since I saw her reach under her skirt and remove the silk stockings. It took conscious effort to forget what her body felt like pressed up against mine. The night replays in my mind, making my body aware of what it forfeited. Seeing how my friends refuse to hit the links with me, popping into downtown proper is the most fun I’m going to get.
I stand, spin the lock on the wall safe, and remove the cloth I’d saved for the occasion.
“Where are you going?” Carver reacts to my abrupt actions.
“To visit my girlfriend. You can see yourself out. Tell Kelsey not to interrupt me.”
“Should I tell her you aren’t here?”
