Careful What You Kiss For (8 page)

“Do you need to get that?” he asked, when she didn’t move.

“No.” Nothing good could be on the other side of that door.

Another knock, more insistent this time.

“Ignore it,” she said. She drew a steadying breath as the roller coaster crept upward. “You were saying?”

He looked puzzled for a second, but then leaned forward, deep blue eyes focused on her. “When I saw you last night, I couldn’t believe — ”

The apartment door screeched open and a heavy footstep sounded in the hall.

Tensley turned, picturing herself in a slow motion suicide leap toward the intruder, the word
n-o-o-o-o-o
roaring from somewhere deep inside. No more surprises. No more terrifying revelations into a life that wasn’t hers. No more.

“Babe! What’s the deal? Why didn’t you answer the door?” A man moved into view. A short, muscular man with huge, tattooed arms. He was wearing a sleeveless tank top. In October. Jeans with a hole in one knee. And a grin that showed even, white teeth.

The man’s expression changed to a frown that settled into deep creases between his dark brows. He looked to be in his thirties. He looked to be someone who lifted weights full-time. And he looked to be … not very happy. “Who’s this joker?” He jabbed a stubby finger in Max’s direction.

Max stood. “Just an old friend.”

“Old friend.” Thunder clouds formed in the man’s eyes.

Tensley also stood.
Combat yoga, anyone?

“From years ago.” Max’s tone was smooth, unruffled. “We ran into each other and were catching up. My wife and I went to high school with Tensley.”

That stopped her. His wife.
Is he lying to muscle man … or me?

“We were talking about getting together for dinner sometime soon,” Max went on. “Tensley told me she had someone special she wanted to bring.” He aimed a questioning look at her. “I’m thinking this must be him.”

Her mouth opened, but all she could do was stare at muscle man, at Max, and back again.

Uncertainty flickered across the other man’s face, but then, after appearing to make a decision, he stepped toward Max. “Name’s Razor,” he said. “Razor Burns.”

Seriously? Razor Burns? This wasn’t happening.

“Yep, I would be her someone special.” Razor dipped his chin toward Tensley. “That’s my girl.”

And the roller coaster, having reached the top, plunged straight downward, Tensley screaming silently until her lungs ached. She did not have a boyfriend named Razor. Razor Burns.

“Nice to meet you.” Max extended his hand, barely flinching when Razor did his best to crush it. “I’d better get home. It was great to run into you, Tensley.” He flashed a smile at her. “Rhonda will be excited. I’ll have her call you to set up dinner.”

Rhonda? As in Rhonda the Skank? What the fuck. Of all the names he had to pull up for a fake wife, he picked
Rhonda?

“Yeah. Great,” she choked out. “Tell Rhonda the Ska — ”

She knew that look on Max’s face. It meant “play along.” He’d signaled her with it many times in high school.

“Ska —
git
Valley Homecoming Queen,” she managed to finish, “to call me.” As if Rhonda could have ever gotten off her knees long enough to walk across a stage. She tried a smile, but it disappeared before it even got started.

“I’ll do that,” Max said.

“Homecoming queen, huh?” Razor gave a hoarse way-to-go chuckle. “Yeah, I nailed the homecoming queen at my high school, too. She kept her crown on the whole time. Damn thing almost poked my eyes out.” He shook his head, then brightened. “Huge tits, though.”

Again. Seriously?

Max gave an easy answering chuckle.

She might have to kill both of them. From the deadly lotus position.

“They were nothing like yours, though, babe.” Razor snaked a possessive arm around her waist and nuzzled her neck, causing every one of her nerve endings to shout its protest. He dropped his voice. “Don’t worry. I don’t even remember her name. And you don’t wear a crown so your Razor-man is safe to keep on going a-l-l night long.”

Give her a minute and she’d get a crown. A huge one that would stab her Razor-man in all kinds of sensitive places.

Max lifted his hand. “So Rhonda will be in touch. Good seeing you, Tensley. Nice meeting you, Razor.” He strode to the door.

Tensley would have run after him, but Razor Burns held on to her as what felt like every hope she’d had of regaining her normal life disappeared with Max Hunter. She hadn’t always had the greatest life, but it was hers and from this vantage point, it looked pretty damned near perfect. She wanted it back.

The door shut, leaving Tensley standing with a man named after a facial injury.

He landed a drive-by kiss on her cheek and took off toward the kitchen. “What’s to eat? I’m starved.”

She put a hand to her cheek, where his rough whiskers and wet lips had brushed her skin, and scrubbed at it with her fingers. As he walked away, he flexed his arms and pulled his hands into fists, swinging them from side to side like a boxer. Wine glasses hanging from an iron rack near the kitchen clinked together in alarm.

His walk reminded her of someone, but she couldn’t think who. She couldn’t think much of anything.

“Babe?” Razor called from the kitchen. “Some of the guys are gettin’ a game going over at Rod’s house. You care if I go, after the gym?”

She was one-hundred-percent sure she did not care what Razor did. Now or ever.

He appeared again, a stalk of broccoli in one hand, a bottle of vitamin water in the other, and an expectant look on his face. He tipped his head. “You okay? You look kinda funny.” He took a big bite of broccoli, watching her as he crunched. Bits of green clung to the corners of his mouth.

“Uh, no. No, I’m not.” She shook her head, hugging her waist. “I don’t feel well.” True enough.

“Oh, man. Really?” Another bite. More crunching. More pieces of broccoli refusing to enter his mouth. “Can I get you anything?”

“Nothing. Except … ” She gestured toward the broccoli. “I don’t think I can watch you eat.”

“Sorry.” Another large bite and a swig of water and he was done. He disappeared into the kitchen. When he returned a minute later, he was drawing one large hand across his mouth. “You gonna be able to work?”

If he meant work at Gary’s, she was never setting foot in that strip club again. Not if they dragged her by her tiny thong. She shook her head. And then shook it even harder.

“Pops told me you were acting weird last night. Bet it was because you were feeling sick, huh?”

Pops. As in … father. That walk. She knew she’d seen it before.

“You don’t have to keep telling him you’re quitting, you know. You can just ignore him if he’s making you mad. Hell, that’s what I do.”

Gary. The owner of the strip club. Was this man’s father.

Razor started making his way toward her, but came to an abrupt stop when Gemini planted himself squarely in the man’s path. “I swear,” Razor muttered as he went around him, “that cat hates me.”

Gemini was beginning to grow on Tensley. Something began to bubble in the back of her throat. Hysteria. Nausea. Maybe both.

It deflated as soon as Razor leaned in to kiss her. “Stay away!” She put her hands in front of her face.

He pulled up, looking hurt.

She felt bad. For all she knew, or didn’t know, he was an okay guy. “Sorry. I just — don’t want you to get sick, too.”

His expression softened. “Aw thanks, babe. You don’t want me to miss the game.” He stepped back, rubbing his hands together. “’Cause I’m feelin’ lucky tonight.”

“So go be lucky.”
And leave me the hell alone.

“You
bet
I will.” He chortled at his own joke. “Okay. I’m leavin’ now.” He aimed a finger at Gemini. “Stay,” he ordered.

The cat ignored him, zipping by Razor’s feet and causing him to stumble. “Shit. You’d better get over this, dude. I’ll be movin’ in here before long and she’s not gonna let you get away with that crap anymore.” He turned and winked at Tensley. “Right, babe?”

Tensley couldn’t even begin to muster a response.

Razor didn’t seem to mind. “Hey, I’m gonna call you from Rod’s. Make sure you’re okay. Can’t have my girl being sick.” He flashed his white-toothed grin at her. “Unless you want me to play doctor.”

Her stomach turned over. “I’m good,” she managed.

“Call if you need your Razor-man.”

Not in a million years.
“Uh-huh.”

“Don’t want you passin’ out on stage and hurtin’ yourself now. Pops will get all pissed off and — ” He continued to talk, even as the door banged shut behind him.

There was apparently no sick leave for Gary’s Gorgeous Grecians.

Tensley stood, riveted to her spot, for several minutes and then turned. She fell onto the sofa, face down, inhaling the smell of cloth and cat.

Max. Maybe with a wife. Who might or might not be Rhonda. And she still didn’t know why he had come to see her or what he had been about to say.

A job at a strip club. Where she owed money. A flyer circulating who knew where. Her entire life, upside down and spinning.

Two days ago, even two hours ago, she never would have believed it, but right now it appeared as though a heavy-footed, broccoli-chewing alleged boyfriend named Razor Burns might be the least of her problems.

As Alice in Wonderland, the queen of upside down, had said, “It would be so nice if something made sense for a change.”

• • •

Tensley sat cross-legged in the middle of the apartment’s bedroom, surveying the damage. She’d gone a little crazy after her face plant in the sofa, making her way into the bedroom to overturn drawers and pile the entire contents of the closet into one corner. She’d even crawled under the bed to see if anything had escaped her tornado of scrutiny, though she’d only found dust bunnies. All that proved was that her housekeeping skills hadn’t improved any in her new life.

She hadn’t known what she was looking for. But it had seemed reasonable that somehow, somewhere, she’d find a clue. A clue that would lead her home.

But most of what she found only left her more confused than she’d been before she started looking.

She had two distinctly separate wardrobes. One belonged, quite obviously, to a stripper. Sheer fabrics, from bright colors to virginal white. Decorated with feathers, fishnet, leather, and even chains. Shiny miniskirts with matching sheer bras.

As Tensley fingered the light, barely-there outfits, she couldn’t help but wonder how she looked in them. How the spotlight caught her svelte body as she moved. If the lace-up shoes with the six-inch heels made her legs look miles long. If men …
wanted
her so badly, their brains turned to mush.

Now that would be a change.

The other part of her wardrobe was remarkably similar to the clothes she owned in her old life, minus the business suits. A size smaller, but in the same jewel tones she loved. She even favored the same designers, though in this life she’d substituted knockoffs for the real thing. Pretty decent knockoffs, at that.

She’d also found a few familiar things in a box tucked in the back of the closet, which had caused her heart to speed up with simultaneous relief and foreboding. An old picture of her and Max. Ripped in half and taped back together, more than once. Just as it always had been. A photo album from her childhood. The teddy bear she’d slept with every night until her first day of junior high, despite her mother’s disapproval.

And on the dresser, she’d found her iPod, loaded with all the songs she loved, from country to hip-hop. She’d leaned against the wall and hugged all four treasured items to her chest until she felt brave enough to begin searching again.

In the nightstand, she’d found several novels, including one she’d been reading in her old life. A chill had run through her when she’d found a bookmark tucked into the same page of the same book she’d left off reading a few nights ago, before the visit to Madame Claire.

In a dresser drawer, there were several crumpled to-do lists, in various stages of completion, but the notes were so cryptic, they didn’t give her much insight into the tasks. Carefully, she’d smoothed the papers and stacked them in a pile.

Another drawer had yielded a more disturbing discovery — a small gun, with her initials engraved on the side. She’d stared at it for several minutes, relieved that this had been the one drawer she hadn’t dumped upside down before going through the contents. She didn’t know how to use a gun and wouldn’t have been able to tell if it was loaded. She’d never
had
to know before.

Worst of all, beneath several pairs of jeans, she’d found an envelope in her own handwriting that had been addressed and sent to her mother, but stamped “return to sender.” The postmark was two years old. Had to have been important for Tensley to write a letter, instead of an e-mail.

She couldn’t bring herself to open the envelope. Not yet. At this point, some things were better left unread. If she could figure out how to get back to her normal life, she’d never even have to know.

Please
. She didn’t want to know.

Piles surrounded her. A leather whip poked out from beneath a heap of underwear and mittens. A box of condoms rested on top of flannel pajamas, with a pair of black leather spiked heel boots standing guard.

The whole room looked like the victim of a maniacal, unfocused burglar. Tensley couldn’t bring herself to clean it up. Instead, she uncrossed her legs, pushed herself up off the floor and left, closing the bedroom door behind her.

In the midst of her investigative tornado, she’d realized that one person was missing in all of this. The person who had started it all and now had a hell of a lot of to answer for.

This kind of thing was
so
not in the best friend handbook.

Tensley found a crisp white sheet of paper and a pencil. At the top she wrote, “To Do” in careful, precise letters. Then she drew a box and next to it wrote, “Find Kate.”

After a minute, she drew a line through “Find” and wrote “Kill,” pushing the pencil so hard, it broke through the paper. But then she reconsidered, putting a line through “Kill” and erasing the one through “Find.”