Текст книги "Reveal"
Автор книги: Elle Brooks
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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 16 страниц)
IN EIGHTH GRADE I got my first real involuntary hard-on at a school swim meet of all places. Megan Colletti, the only girl in my class to have developed breasts, jumped into the pool, with all the boys’ eyes following her chest, which was packed into a tiny piece of bright blue spandex. She broke the surface with her two-piece shifted and exposing everything. While everybody was laughing and pointing, I was doing a piss poor job of trying not to drown as I tread water and splashed about, frantically trying to distort the view of my erection in my speedos. It wasn’t my finest hour, and one that I was almost certain I would never let happen again. But so help me, God, Robyn just walked through the iron gates and down to my table and fuck if I can’t stand up to greet her because of the instant swell in my slacks.
She takes the seat next to me and leans in to kiss my cheek in a greeting at the same time I attempt to take her hand. There’s an awkward few seconds as we engage in a strange dance of trying to greet each other. It ends with me attempting to kiss her cheek and instead crashing into her lips as she moves her head slightly before my lips meet their intended target. We pull apart like we’ve both just been doused in freezing cold water—then burst into fits of muffled laughter at our own embarrassing ineptness.
“Hi,” I finally say, wishing I’d led with that in the first place.
“Hey.”
“Let me get you a drink, I feel like it might take the edge off the embarrassment, although I’m two drinks in and it’s done nothing for mine.”
Her laughter rings in my ears, sweet and light and I wave the waitress over, not daring to stand and go to the bar myself.
“You look beautiful, by the way. How have you been?”
The smallest hint of a blush appears on her neck as she leans closer, telling me that she’s been well, although busy. We make small talk over dirty martinis, and I should be listening to what she’s saying, but I’m too preoccupied with watching her too-full lips to pay enough attention to what they’re actually saying. Somewhere in the back of my mind I register that we’ve been here a while, and she needs to leave for work. I want to tell her to call in sick, spend the rest of the evening with me. Not because I want to do anything more sinister than what we’re doing right now; her company alone is a refreshing break from my usual routine. I’d be more than happy to spend the rest of the evening right here, talking easily about subjects of no real substance: musical tastes, the first concert we saw, the score of the last Giants’ game and how she loves sports, but her sister always thought she pretended to like them in a devious ploy to impress boys. I enjoy that fact that there’s no mention of our work. I spend my whole life at the office these days, eating, sleeping and drinking the Michaels’ merger case, and if she were to ask me about it now I think it would dull her sparkle, and lessen her appeal.
We haven’t consumed an abundance of alcohol by anyone’s standards, but Robyn’s eyes are begging to take on that buzzed vacant haze of someone bordering on being too inebriated to turn up to work, and I’d hate to be the reason she found herself in trouble with her employers.
“Let’s walk off some of these drinks,” I tell her, pointing out toward the park. “We’ll grab some water and hopefully douse the effects before you have to work.”
“That actually sounds like a really good plan. This Martini has pretty much gone straight to my head. I guess I should have eaten before I came here.”
I look down at my watch. It’s 6:15 and I’m betting that she’s skipped out on eating lunch as well as dinner, given how quickly the alcohol has taken effect. She’s a tiny little thing anyway; she could certainly afford to carry a few extra pounds and maintain her stunning form.
“That does it,” I grin. “We’re heading through the park and I’ll buy you dinner before you have to leave.”
“That’s really sweet, Cole, but I don’t have time—” I cut her off as I take her hand and pull her up from the table.
“Sure you do, follow me.”
She looks down at her cell in contemplation.
“I’m not dragging you off to murder you, don’t look so pensive. I promise I won’t make you late…unless you want me to, of course.” I wink and she slaps my arm playfully before yielding to my request. I drop enough cash to cover our check and leave a healthy tip for our server before we turn to walk up the stairs and through the ornate iron gates out into the park.
I take her hand, lacing our fingers together before I realize what I’m doing. She looks down at our joined hands and I stiffen a little, feeling far too presumptuous assuming this would be okay. It wasn’t a conscious decision to hold her hand, but the prospect of having to let it go now is more than a little depressing.
Her huge, chocolate doe eyes flick up to meet mine, and I prepare to apologize and loosen my grip, but instead of breaking our connection, she smiles wistfully and looks ahead, her hand still firmly in mine.
“It’s nice walking through the park; I don’t do it enough,” I admit and she seems surprised by my admission.
“I love the park. I run in here most days, although I haven’t for a while. It’s best early in the morning before it’s taken over by tourists and the hustle and bustle of people wanting to enjoy a little sanctuary from the concrete jungle,” she tells me, gently swinging our hands back and forth as we walk.
I used to come here with my dad and brother, before the divorce. Every weekend we would spend the day in the park, just the three of us while Mom got to enjoy the peace and quiet of our house without three rowdy boys watching sports and demanding snacks every half hour. I don’t remember the last time we spent any real quality time together, just the three of us. I make a mental note to call Dad and get it organized when I have some free time.
“Here we are…our restaurant for the evening.” I point to a large smooth boulder and Robyn’s eyes crinkle in confusion. It’s ridiculously cute. I point to the hot dog vendor fifty feet away, and she smiles in understanding.
“You find us a good spot and I’ll go grab dinner. What would you like? There’s hotdogs or hotdogs.”
“I can’t decide, surprise me,” she smirks.
I return a few minutes later with our hotdogs and two bottles of water.
“You know this is the best thing about New York right here,” I say around a mouth full of bread.
“What, hotdogs?”
“Damn straight hotdogs, they just don’t make them the same anywhere else.”
“Hmm,” she murmurs. “I could take them or leave them.”
“What!” I swallow my food and pin her with a serious look. “We can’t be friends if you don’t share my affinity for street food, sorry.”
She giggles and bumps my shoulder with her own. My statement had the desired effect: I wanted to make her smile, but I didn’t count on how disarming that smile would be. I’m overtaken with an immense yearning to kiss her, and if her expression were anything to go by, I’d say she’s reading my thoughts at this very moment. Her smile fades as her lips part in the slightest movement. She’s staring at me, waiting for my next move, and I know the instant she catches my gaze drop to her mouth by the hitch of her breath. I lean forward, knowing that she doesn’t want a relationship, knowing that she’s not over her ex-boyfriend and knowing that I’d assured her I just wanted to be friends. But the urge to press my lips against hers—it’s colossal. I’m a strong-willed man, but my tenacity lay in a shattered pool at my feet, disregarded and forgotten as I close the small distance separating us. Without care or regard for anything other than satisfying the primal need to possess this woman, I press my mouth against hers as lightly as I can muster, given that I want to completely devour her right here in the park.
Her lips are soft and warm and for the briefest of seconds, unmoving. There’s just enough time for me to come to my senses and realize that I’ve overstepped the mark, but then something dreamlike happens. I feel her mouth begin to respond to mine, so slowly, so painfully gentle that I’m almost too afraid to increase the pressure. I test the waters, and trace my tongue along her bottom lip and it falls open, granting me access to heaven. My hand finds the back of her neck and then suddenly there’s no one else here, only us as I deepen the kiss and am rewarded with the sweetest groan of appreciation. My exploration comes to an abrupt end when I register her hand pushing at my chest as she pulls her head away panting.
Fuck.
“I-I can’t, we shouldn’t,” she stammers and my heart sinks to my feet.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” I struggle out. It’s a lie, of course. I know exactly what came over me. I’ve been desperate to kiss her since we first met, I just haven’t acted on the ridiculous impulse to do it until now. She looks confused, but not upset at least, and I let that soothe my conscience as I back away, giving her room to breathe.
“It’s not that I don’t want to,” she whispers.
“Well, if you want this what’s stopping you?” It’s a bold question, but I ask it with enough reverence for it not to sound jarring.
She lets out a bemused huff. “I don’t even know, timing, I guess.”
Her head turns as she looks away, and I stare at the side of her face, wondering what to say to bring back the playfulness of a few minutes ago. The atmosphere is suddenly too oppressive for an afternoon in the park with a beautiful woman.
“It’s no secret that I like you, Robyn, and I think maybe you like me the same way too, but you feel it would just be easier if you didn’t. We don’t have to label what we’re doing, if you don’t want to. We’re capable, astute adults. Why can we not enjoy each other’s company and see it for just that? Timing isn’t everything. Let’s not burden ourselves with what we think we should be doing, and just enjoy what we are doing. The moment we don’t, we can stop?”
“Why do I get the feeling that you’ve just pitched me the whole ‘friends with benefits’ scenario, only more eloquently.”
I laugh and shrug. “I didn’t realize I had, but now that you’ve put it out there, I guess it could have been misconstrued that way. I’m not looking for a cheap hookup when the mood takes me, and I’m not asking for no-strings sex. That’s not what I meant. In a perfect world, I’d like to date you, begin a real relationship, but you’ve told me you’re not in that place right now, and I respect that. I like you. I’d like to see more of you, and I’m not going to lie and tell you that I don’t want to kiss the living hell out of you. But I’m happy to keep things like this if that’s what you want. A kind of suspended relationship that covers spending time together, a few stolen kisses and the occasional boob grope,” I tease. “I’m willing to wait out this timing issue if you are.”
“How are you even single?” she beams.
“You know, I ask myself that every night as I play X-box, in my underwear eating Cheetos and spray cheese from a can.” Her nose scrunches at the mental image I’m painting for her. “Or maybe it’s my lousy jokes and insane commitment to my work,” I offer.
“I guess I can see that.” She nods contemplatively. “So let’s carry on the ‘friends with casual kissing’ thing. I can do that.”
“And the occasional groping?”
Her mouth tips into a wickedly enticing smirk. “Not quite there yet,” she says.
“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” I point down at her hotdog. “Now eat up, you’ll be late for work.”
“HE KISSED ME.”
“And what did you do? Please, for the love of all that’s holy, tell me you kissed him back?”
“Oh my gosh, Lucy, you’re so dramatic!”
She slides her shades down her nose a little and makes a point of looking at me. “You’re just noticing this now?”
“Thank you for the ride, by the way, although you really didn’t have to, the club is literally just around the corner.”
“Like I was going to drive by after seeing you with Mr. I’m Too Pretty to be Real. Besides, I want to see where you work, and it will be good to catch up with Annie. I haven’t seen in her in a while.”
“It’s just up here on your left. You can stop just behind the bike; it’s my boss’s.”
“Nice. Anyway, quit stalling. Did you kiss him back?”
“Yes, sort of…why do you even care?” I ask, amused.
“Because he was hot as all hell, for one. But honestly, the last time I saw you, you weren’t in a good place. Danny really worked you over. When I watched you walk hand in hand out of the park with this guy, I hoped that this was maybe you turning a new page, and putting Daniel behind you. Which is exactly where he deserves to be by the way—asshole.”
Lucy loved Daniel. They got along great, had a lot of the same tastes and liked the same bands. Truthfully, they had more in common with each other than either of them have with me, but she’s the most loyal friend I have. I knew without a doubt as soon as I’d told her what was going on she’d support me over him. Not that I’d ever make her choose. “Well, there’s not really much I can tell you. We’re casual, that’s about it.”
“Wait, casual like just hang out and fool around? Or casual like convenient hook ups?” she asks as we make our way from the car to the club door.
Just then Callum passes and I whisper-shout to Lucy, “I don’t know yet. We’re casual as in fooling around!” His step falters and he looks over at us. “Hey, Callum…this is my friend, Lucy.”
“Hi Lucy.” He smiles, not stopping to talk.
“He’s usually much more friendly than that; he’s probably busy,” I tell her as I pull her deeper into the club.
“That’s your boss? Damn!” Her neck is craned as she traces the path Callum took back to his office.
“Maybe Annie can hook me up with a job here too,” she laughs.
“Yeah, he’s nice. It’s his apartment upstairs where I’m crashing. He’s a little intense though.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know; it’s weird, I can’t explain it. He’s super sweet one minute, and then brooding the next. I guess I just don’t quite know how to take him yet.”
Her smirk is instant.
“Not like that!” I chastise. “Jesus, you’re worse than Zane.”
“About that…I can’t believe he works here. I haven’t seen him since the night you passed out. I caught him doing the old sneak out on me while you were still comatose in your room. We’d laughed because I’d already been awake an hour, but didn’t want to leave some strange guy in your apartment that you probably wouldn’t remember. So I stuck around. I’d left him on the sofa sleeping to go to the bathroom, and when I came back he was halfway out the door.”
“Oh God, why didn’t you tell me that when I called and told you about him interviewing me? You know he’s around here somewhere now, right? And for Christ’s sake, don’t let on to Annie that you’ve slept together. She’s practically in love with him. I’m pretty sure he feels the same way about her too.”
“Calm down, Robz. It was one hook up. I don’t mind if we bump into him.”
“Okay, well, I need to go and get changed for my shift. Stay here, Annie should be in any minute.”
I make my way backstage, gathering my costume up for the first performance. All the while my mind is reeling about the kiss with Cole. Maybe this could be a good thing, like what Athena had said about the Death card in my reading. Maybe Cole represented moving on after the ending of my relationship with Danny. Whatever—I’m not about to question it too much.
I pull my romper off and change as the other girls filter in to do the same. I push all thoughts of Cole and Daniel aside and focus. Time to let loose and lose myself in dance. This may not have been what I’d dreamed of when I was younger, but the more I perform here the more I enjoy it. I’m still dancing, and visions evolve. I used to dream of Danny and I marrying, him being content with his music, and me dancing on Broadway. As I stand at the curtain ready to walk on stage now, I realize that I’m not that far from my dreams. Broadway is only one block away. I may have been painted into a corner, but I’m not about to cower down and admit defeat; I’ll dance my way out of it.
I stand in position between Lauren and Katie, each in our champagne flapper style dresses. My hair’s twisted underneath a short, sharp black bobbed wig to match the other girls, and we’ll be dancing to the house band for this number. The twenties theme is back in full force; the atmosphere crackles as a few overly zealous men’s voices whoop and jeer for the show to begin. The drums tap us in.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
The saxophones begin; the curtain draws back at the same time three spots illuminate each of us. We snap our fingers, hips pushed out to our left side, and one leg extended…and then shimmy to the beat. The sea of faces merges and distorts, fading to black as I relax enough to let the music take over and guide my movements. We’re in perfect synchronization as we walk to the edge of the stage, each extending one arm and pulling our gloves off, one finger at a time using our teeth. The tempo begins to quicken, the music thundering loud and brash as we launch into a complex routine of shimmies, turns, and pirouettes while navigating around the stage, careful not to bump into one another.
The alcohol I consumed earlier has my concentration working overtime, but I’ve got this. I know the routine, the timings and stage like the back of my hand. I’ve spent most nights when the club has closed and everyone has gone home down here perfecting each routine and making damn sure that I stand out for all the right reasons, and not for being the new girl. Our dresses hit the floor in perfectly timed succession, each being kicked up, caught and then thrown dramatically to the back of the stage. We move into line, each holding onto one another’s hips while our heads are turned looking out to the audience. Our feet work a string of steps, before we drop to the floor, rising languidly in one long exaggerated back roll and booty shake, still in line, each slapping the girl in front’s thigh. We tease and torment at the idea of our jeweled bras coming off. It’s enough to up the anticipation, but still allows us to keep ourselves under wraps. The band is reaching a crescendo as we fall back into line and Lauren’s bra drops, her hands rising to her mouth in a dramatized ‘Oops’. Katie’s hands cover Lauren’s breasts, and mine find my hips with a cheeky wink as the house lights dim and the stage darkens. The blackness lets us gather our clothing and quickly leave the stage in relative privacy to rapturous applause.
I quickly change into my server’s uniform as the other girls take their time fixing their hair and makeup while swapping out costumes. I’m out on the floor in minutes with a smile on my face, ready to charm the big tippers and hopefully make enough cash to pay off my credit card bill. Momma always said there was no rest for the wicked; I guess she forgot to mention that it’s also true for the damned.
The next three weeks play out similar to the last. When I’m not dancing or serving at the club, I’m rehearsing, or if our schedules align, meeting up with Cole. He’s been true to his word, not pushing for anything that I’m uncomfortable relinquishing. It’s easy, but more than that—it’s fun. He makes me forget the mess I’m in. We’ve done nothing more than kiss and although I want to take it further—God, sometimes I think he or I or both might die if we don’t—the timing doesn’t feel right, and something always seems to get in the way. Shifts that need covering, a meeting he has to attend, or my rehearsals bumped up or pushed back. Callum has started paying me weekly, and with the tips I bring in from serving I’ve managed to pay off my credit cards and a few of my smaller bills. The rest of my money is being stockpiled in my sock drawer, ready to hand over to Mr. Carter in a little under three weeks’ time.
I’ve managed to pull together a little over $2000 since starting at the club. I’ve worked my ass off serving and dancing but it’s not enough, and I don’t have the time nor energy to take on a third job. I’m not helping with Cal’s expenses, as it is; I’m eating his food, using his apartment, and I feel like the world’s biggest mooch. He insists that it’s fine and says he feels better knowing that I’m safe, but I’m not his to look after. I shouldn’t be here, and yet I still am. Things have lightened between us; the tension’s somehow lifted, and he doesn’t leave a room two minutes after I enter it. He overheard Annie asking about Cole, only she doesn’t call him that, she refers to him as Mr. Bigshot, so now Cal teases me if I have plans to go meet him, calling him Daddy Warbucks on account of the fact that Annie mentioned he worked in the city and was older than me. It doesn’t matter that it’s only by a few years; the teasing continues, and the more I protest, the more he does it.
Cal and I have fallen into a routine of waiting up for each other, giving an account of the highlights and lows of the day, then making a cup of cocoa with the music turned low before heading to bed. It’s a strange relationship to have with your employer, but I think we moved past that the night he came to my rescue. Cal’s a good guy and more than that, he’s a friend. Our easy banter and late night drinks are fast becoming my highlights. Lauren and the other girls often talk about him as a raging lothario, the eternal bachelor that doesn’t want anything more than a few drinks and a quick hard screw. When they talk about him like that, I have a hard time picturing it. He’s a tiny bit flirty and suggestive if he’s been drinking, but I’ve yet to see him with a woman. He’s professional with all the girls that work here, and he never mentions ones he sees outside of work. We seem to stray naturally away from that part of our life in our midnight conversations.
Annie told me that he screwed around on account of his long-term girlfriend getting pregnant with another man’s child while they were still together. I don’t want to ask him to confirm or deny it, but damn would I like him to open up a little more. He’s a conundrum to me. He’s all hard, masculine features, but as soft as a teddy bear if you catch him in the right mood. That’s one thing I’ve pegged pretty well; he wasn’t joking when he told me that his moods were reflected in the music he plays. The apartment is rarely ever silent; he always has something playing in the background, even if it’s turned down to barely a whisper. It’s still there, an almost perfect indicator of whether or not his nightly confessions are going to be filled with highlights or low points. In the time I’ve been staying here, I’ve only heard one Nine Inch Nails track being played, and I did what he’d requested. I stayed out of his way and skipped our run-down that evening.
I have pretty a big low to tell him about tonight, one that has my blood boiling and my stomach aching. I feel completely blindsided, pissed off and downbeat, and he’s the only person I want to talk to about it. I could call Cole, but I haven’t told him about this part of my life, and I’m not sure that I’m ready to yet, or even if I want to at all. He’s my respite from reality, and as unrealistic and deluded as I may be for thinking that I can keep my worlds separate, I intend to try.
