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“I can’t. Greer from Mind Your Own Beeswax invited me to go to yoga.” She brushes a flop of hair off my forehead and scowls. Paisley sees the gears turn as if there is a window into my brain. “No Jake. No. Greer has been through enough. Everything anyone would want to know about her is public record, anyway.”
“You’re adorable defending people. Your nose does this scrunchy thing.”
“It’s called unveiled disgust.” Paisley’s unwillingness to pull punches makes me laugh.
I run my knuckles over her bare arm. We both watch the gooseflesh appear. Her lips press to a thin line. Paisley’s fighting the way I make her body react. I’m freaking enjoying every minute of turning her on, my latest hobby.
“Afterward then,” I say, unwilling to argue. She can have an ally. “It’s important we’re finally seen around town.”
“At a strip club?”
“At my place of business.” I’ve given Paisley all the pretend time and space she’s getting. “I’m done hiding for Laughton’s sake. Don’t keep me waiting.”
________________
I’m behind the bar with one eye trained on the ticking clock when the bouncer lets Paisley through the door. She stands timidly beyond the tables where my customers sit, cautious of the men facing forward. Lucky for Paisley, my clientele won’t bother looking back. She isn’t the only one leery of being caught at Sweet Caroline’s.
Paisley clutches her wristlet by her thigh. She hasn’t changed out of her workout gear. When she shifts her weight, attempting to look anywhere but at the dancer performing, the light from the stage glints off of the anklet I put on her.Good Girl.Some battles I’ll fight you for. Others I’ll fight for you. Learn the difference.Light pink yoga leggings cling to her calves. The tone of the second skin is so close to her own. Without the backlighting from the parking lot, the thick sweatshirt covering her ass seems like the only thing she’s wearing. A racerback bra rounds her neck and the wide collar of the sweatshirt falls off her shoulder.
Dear fucking god, I’m going to see bits and pieces of this woman before I ever get a glimpse of her tits.
I’m positive Paisley didn’t dress for me. If she thought I found this the least bit sexy, she’d have worn a cardboard box.
I’d accept the soft invitation to peel that top off and touch her if I wasn’t raised around women who, through their harrowed experiences, taught me better. The choke of fear is real. Stopping doesn’t require a scream, a slap, or a shove. Consent is a thousand yeses and understanding the body language of a single no. Confused? Ask.
Serving guests overpriced alcohol is what makes me the most money. The dancers attract the guests to Sweet Caroline’s. And, while the club is unruly at times, my patience is always thinnest for those who consider hurting my bottom line.
Paisley brings a hesitant thumbnail to her mouth.
My instructions were to be here, not where to find me. The club has a decent crowd this evening. If I wasn’t expecting her, Paisley’s appearance tonight might become inconsequential. My newer entertainers cater to a diverse group. During my dad’s day, beautiful ladies in the audience were a rarity. Nowadays? Anything goes.
She’s safe, so I let my plaything stumble, insecure, a little longer. I relish witnessing the honest expressions morphing over Paisley’s face and her body language. Then I bark at Kelsey over the din of thumping music and shouted drink orders. My new manager takes over the rest of the bar and I rescue the doe before the troublesome strobe lights and the next act overwhelms her.
I lace my fingers into hers. Caught unaware, Paisley hedges, pulling away until she notices it’s me. I’m graced with a tentative smile, and I touch her cheek, appreciating how pretty Paisley is. She’s flushed from her workout, and me putting her in an uncomfortable position.
Pausing the natural inclination to lean forward to capture her mouth, I’m suddenly possessive of Paisley’s reactions when we kiss. Her lips move in anticipation. I want mine on hers. But not in the center of the floor with all my customers able to watch.
We weave in and out of tables, taking the most direct route to my office down the back hall. Possession being nine-tenths of the law, it has the added effect of ensuring my patrons know Paisley is with me.
Pro-tip I picked up on from the shackled and enslaved: Trig planted his ass at my bar when he and Kimber started dating. Initially bad for my bottom line as Kimber was my weekend headliner, it wound up being a boon for her. A lot of her usual stalkers were quick to realize they were out-obsessed.
I close the door to my office and push Paisley against it. Her head bumps into the wood. Bending at the knees, I come up under to taste her. It’s swift and short compared to any of our other kisses. Her guarded features are disconcerted, as if she worried this wouldn’t happen. Machismo aside, I don’t know why Paisley likes it when I kiss her, but she does, and I enjoy taking full advantage. Our lips meld and the magnetic attraction is the polar opposite of what you’d expect from someone who was planning on getting married less than two weeks ago.
Gavin’s loss is my short-term gain.
“Is there a camera in here?” she whispers.
I nod. The entire club has security. Minus the restrooms, the dressing room, and a couple of hidden areas out back that a select few know the camera angles of. It’s rare that I cut off the office feed. Mostly when Carver and I meet or Trig and I are talking shop.
“Can you turn it off so we can talk?”
Her request is a lot nicer than mine was this afternoon, making it easy to oblige.
“Do you expect me to be here a lot?” she settles onto the leather couch, tucking her legs up under her bottom.
“Are you asking for a schedule? Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. The occasional bank holiday… I’m kidding,” I say when Paisley rapidly blinks. “I hate being here.” I sit on the cushion next to her.
“Then why are you here?”
