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“You’re just jealous you’re not going to be the first to fuck on the bar,” I teased.
But in total Gem fashion, she turned to head back out the way she came and called back over her shoulder, “Who said I haven’t already?”
MISSY
“You do this every weekend?”
Calli chuckled softly, nodding her head while continuing to cut the cucumber on her tray. “My mom started it, and I remember it being my favorite day of the week, where the house was full of chatter and laughter, and it always smelled so good.”
I shook the jar in my hand, holding the lid on tight as I sloshed around the dressing I’d just made. Sunday lunch had been a thing when I was younger, and my parents would have their ‘couple’ friends over once a month to gossip and brag. My mom hired caterers and bar staff so she could focus on getting drunk and holding my dad’s arm.
This was so much more than that.
I could already tell by the way Calli danced around the kitchen, apron around her waist, hair up in a messy bun while she mixed the salads, checked the vegetables on the cooktop and hurried the meat out to Bishop for the barbecue.
This was not about showing off to friends.
This Sunday lunch was about bringing family together.
I stepped a little closer to the refrigerator, grinning as I examined the photograph of a woman taped front and center. She had soft brown curls covering part of her face as she looked down in wonder and adoration at the tiny newborn baby cradled in her arms.
That baby—Calliope.
“She died when I was like seven,” Calli explained, pausing with her hip against the kitchen counter and wiping her hands on her apron. I was sure it still hurt to say those words out loud, but the soft smile on her face told me that it was probably a lot easier than it used to be. “My dad is amazing, but sometimes it’s nice to have another feminine energy around.”
“Does your dad date?” I questioned, an eyebrow raised.
She tried to cover her knowing smirk, but her eyes gave her away, lit up in amusement. “I’m not sure whether you’ve picked up on this, but these men… they don’t date. They see something they like, and that’s it.”
That’s it.
That was exactly how it felt.
As if Hawk appeared in my life that day, and he never left. He was suddenly offering me a job. Caring for me when I was hurt. Looking after Kadey.
He lit my body on fire and challenged my mind and everything I thought I knew about myself.
Who I wanted to be.
How I wanted to be loved.
The people I wanted to surround myself and my daughter with.
We were only a few weeks in, and I was starting to feel more at home here, at the clubhouse, and at his place than I did in mine and Kadey’s apartment. For so long, it had just been her and me. Us against the world. Yet he walked in, and it was like a piece of a puzzle sliding into place.
“You know,” Calli added suddenly, that smile of hers growing a little wider. “My mom was a stripper too.”
I choked out a laugh. “Really?”
“Mmm…” she hummed, taking the jar from my hands and upending the contents over the salad she’d constructed. “Dad didn’t tell me until last year. He thought maybe it would change how I saw her.”
“And do you think it would have?” I questioned, noting the way she paused briefly before grabbing two large wooden serving spoons and placing them in the bowl.
“I don’t think there’s anything that could change the way I saw my mom,” she answered honestly, that smile returning. “She was pretty damn amazing. And strong. I can’t imagine the whole stripping thing is exactly the easiest job in the world.”
A giggle pulled my attention to the living room where Kadey was happily playing with some of Calli’s old Barbie dolls, pure joy lighting up her face as she danced them around in the air. “I guess it depends on your reasons for doing it. Some do it to provide, others to put themselves through school, or sometimes, they just love to dance.”
A lot of people have this idea about the kind of women strippers are…
