OGs: Deep Down (5 page)

Max followed Mike’s gaze to Kyra. “She’s something else, huh?” Max said, pointing at her dancing.

He grunted again and took a swig of his beer, his eyes never leaving her. Yes, she was the shit, even now, a bit tipsy and without trying, but fuck if he was going to admit to that. It was a specific kind of hell when one had to see his ex-girlfriend almost every Saturday on TV, in prime time. Not to mention the amount of video clips she danced in that made the music industry’s top-ten list, or the shows she appeared in with Amantis.

Fucking difficult to forget her too. Not that he ever stood a chance on that one.

She wasn’t the girl he’d proposed to seven years ago; she was better. She’d filled out, become a woman. One so damn beautiful she stole his breath. A woman who didn’t belong to him anymore, never mind how much his body and his brain refused to comply.

“Makes you feel like signing up for those aqua dance courses,” Max finished.

Mike growled. Didn’t mean to, but he did.

Max’s lips quirked up. “Calm down, man. You have nothing to worry about from me. Can’t say the same for the rest of the men in here,” he said, motioning to the troop of salivating assholes who were watching her dance, circling like vultures. Waiting for an opening to make their moves.

“She can knock herself out. Don’t fucking care.”

“Right,” Max commiserated with him. “How did the posing in the community center go?”

“How do you think it went?”

“I don’t know.” Max smirked. “Did your grandma’s friends get their hands on some body oil?”

“Fuck off,” Mike muttered. No, there hadn’t been body oil. There had been many flashes from the phone cameras, though. So many he was scared of searching YouTube and finding a video of himself uploaded by the old ladies. The ones who hadn’t had phones had brought binoculars so as not to miss a single detail. Talk about feeling gawked at.

He should have left the community center, but again he hadn’t been able to, so he’d stayed. Trying to keep it down and praying to all the gods he knew that his cock would remain that way. Mind over matter and all that sixth-level black-karate-belt shit he thrived on, but hell if it had worked. Thank God his grandmother had had the decency to arrange Kyra and him in sitting positions, and although close, they were never touching. That had been his only saving grace.

“Are you going to continue posing?”

He shrugged. “Haven’t decided yet.” There was nothing he would want more than bail out, but the thought of someone else staring at her barely dressed body for two hours straight? Maybe even touching her? It enraged him to the point that he couldn’t take it.

“Well, my man, the word is out that Kyra is posing in those lessons. If you quit, there is a shit lot of guys eager to take your place.”

Didn’t he know it. Forget about the old ladies having to make do with Mr. Honbacker or Mr. Stilt. His grandmother had informed Mike there was a waiting list to replace him. Damn, he hated being cornered.

Max opened his mouth to say something, when two exuberant redheaded twins interrupted him.

“What’s taking so long? Come dance with us, Max,” Twin One pleaded, pulling at his hand while Twin Two pulled at the other.

“Go ahead, girls. I’m coming now.”

They both pouted. “Don’t take long,” Twin Two said and then turned to Mike, trailed a finger on his chest. “And your friend is…”

“Not interested,” Mike answered in a clipped tone while Max chuckled.

“Such a pity. I’ll be there if you change your mind,” she offered as she walked away.

“Mandy and Sandy. Or Sandy and Mandy,” Max said, gesturing at the retreating bombshells. “Not sure who is who. I think the one with the pierced belly button is Sandy.”

“Their bellies aren’t exposed.”

“Hence my confusion,” Max explained.

Mike studied them. They seemed so familiar. Then it dawned on him. “Wait a minute. I know them. Aren’t they…?”

“Yep. Two of the mermaids from James’s bachelor party.”

He almost choked on the beer. “You stole James’s mermaids?”

Max chuckled, leaning on the counter. “Come on. That was days ago. James didn’t even look at them. And I didn’t steal anything; they reeled me in. You know what they say about sirens. How was I supposed to resist? I didn’t stand a chance against their luring songs.”

Against their luring songs, right. More like against their bouncing boobs and hard asses. “Don’t give me bullshit. You’re the one who lures them in. Forget mermaids; you’re like the fucking Pied Piper of Hamelin but without the flute.”

Max lifted his left brow.

“On second thought,” Mike continued, “you do have the flute.”

Max’s shoulders shook with laughter. “That’s like the pot calling the kettle black, don’t you think? And if I have to be a fictional character and wear tights, I’d rather be Batman, not a gayish-looking guy who hypnotizes rats.” In spite of himself, Mike couldn’t refrain from laughing. “I get you’ve kept a low profile while giving a go to monogamy, but you’re single again. Mandy and Sandy are waiting; I could use a wingman.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to fly solo, Maverick.”

“I thought that now that you broke it off with Melanie, you would be back to your old self. Giving me a run for my money.”

Mike searched Kyra with his eyes. “Not in the mood. Go to your mermaids. I’m fine.”

Max palmed him in the back and gave him a pitying look. “When you get tired of lurking back here, salivating after you know who, come find us.”

And with that, he left.

That was what Mike should do—leave and pray he’d pass out from alcohol as soon as possible. Or follow Max’s advice, make a move on one of those little agreeable mermaids, and fuck her until his dick fell off. As the fast-tempo music changed to a slower song and Kyra moved to sit, a bunch of guys headed her way, their fangs fucking bared already. And before his mind could catch up, he lunged toward her.

“Dance with me, Blondie,” he heard himself say as he grabbed her hand and pulled her flush to him. At the contact, and the scent of her drifting to his nostrils, a jolt of electricity surged through him, haywiring all his systems. Oh fuck, it was as if his sensor receptors recognized her.

Her beautiful eyes grew wide, but before she could react, he trapped her hand on his chest and, with the other arm, encircled her waist. She looked too stunned to push him away. Good.

“Don’t call me that.”

He shrugged her off. He’d called her Blondie for years and wasn’t about to change now. “Any luck finding a boy toy for rebound sex?”

She stiffened and tried to wrench away, but he didn’t budge. “None of your business.”

True. And yet here he was. “You keep dancing like that, the line will get fucking long.” Although she didn’t need to dance for that to happen; any guy in here would sell his soul to the devil for a chance to be with her.

Her eyes hardened, and her lips pursed in a tight line. “Are we talking now? Because you haven’t said five words to me since I came back to Alden.”

“Maybe I had nothing to say to you.”

“And now you do?”

“Now I’m drunk, and you’re strutting around half-naked.” She shot daggers at him with her stare, but he held out. She was actually more dressed than most in the Shack. Certainly much more dressed than in that show in NY he’d gone to see ad nauseam. There too he’d fought with the need to get up onstage, cover her, and beat the crap out of every asshole looking at her. That she was by then married to another man hadn’t really made a difference in his fucked-up, deranged mind.

“Half-naked? Please. Don’t come here throwing shit like that in my face when every frigging woman in this bar has been doing the catwalk in front of you all night.”

Ah, so she’d noticed him.

“Not every one,” he pointed out. The one he wanted the most had been ignoring him.

“By the way, where is Melanie?” she asked in a sugary tone, glancing around. “Waiting for you at home?”

“She’s out of the picture.”

His attempt to settle down with someone had been bound to fail, but he’d held on to the illusion with tooth and nail, telling himself the situation would get better. Until Kyra came back and he understood the futility of it all. Melanie was sweet and pretty. Home oriented. The perfect wife. But he didn’t love her and hadn’t wanted to string her along in hopes of his heart catching up. That would never happen, mainly because his heart was not his to give anymore. “Now answer me, got a boy toy in sight?”

She brushed off his last question. “What? Don’t tell me she took offense at you banging Sinful on the side?”

“Sinful is just business.”

Her smile was all teeth. “Aren’t they always?”

She was trying to cover it up, but she was getting pissed. He knew explaining what had brought him to Bottoms Up would appease her, but he didn’t feel like explaining himself. Not about that and not about Melanie.

“What the hell were you doing there?” he asked.

“Same as you?” she answered, her smile as fake as fake could be.

“Fucking doubt it.”

The last person he’d expected to find in the strip club was Kyra. As used as he was to seeing that cute but total-piece-of-shit car by the shoulder of the road, broken down, in hindsight it should have tipped him off, but it hadn’t. He’d come close and touched the hood. Yep, overheated. He’d assumed Kyra had gotten a ride to Alden.

Not quite.

She had been completely oblivious, talking to Angie and the bartender, but there had been more guys looking at her than the stripper. That the stripper had been all but naked and perfectly made-up, and that Kyra had her face scrubbed clean and her luscious hair in a tight bun hadn’t seemed to matter. She’d had on a power suit, an outfit he’d rarely seen her wearing, but it looked good on her. Hell, everything looked good on her.

All the other patrons had ogled her as if expecting she’d jump to the stage and strip off those conservative clothes, unwind the tight bun, and show them the wild kitten underneath. Mike knew because he himself for a split second had expected that. And it had infuriated him. Hearing her talk about needing a distraction hadn’t improved his mood.

“I asked, do you already have a boy toy in sight?”

She glared at him. She was gathering air—to yell at him or to push him away, he didn’t know—when he felt her cell vibrate.

Momentarily derailed, she fished it from her pocket and watched the screen, her anger deflating right away, her lips tilting up. “Excuse me.” The second he loosened his grip on her, she moved a bit farther from the crowd to a quieter spot. Mike, as if pulled by a rope, followed her.

“Hi, babe,” she said, answering the call.

Mike tensed.

Kyra’s face relaxed, a wide smile lightening her whole expression. She used to look at him like that, once upon a time. Not at the beginning, because she’d been reserved and not prone to shows of affection, but little by little he’d gotten her to loosen up.

“Why are you calling this late?” A pause, and then she continued, “I miss you too, my love.”

His fists were closed so tight his knuckles were white. Had he been holding a beer, he would have shattered it. God, he wanted her to speak like that to him. Only to him. To smile like this because of him. He couldn’t bear the thought that she’d bestow this smile because of some other asshole.

“I see you’re having fun.” She chuckled. “Yeah, sure. Be good. Love you too, babe.”

As she slid the phone shut, Mike walked the couple of steps to her.

“Sam,” she explained, still smiling. “They’re camping.”

Sam. She’d been talking to her daughter. The breath he hadn’t known he was holding came out in a whoosh. She wasn’t talking to a man. He knew Kyra wasn’t his anymore, and he knew he shouldn’t feel relieved, but he was. Fucking relieved. Unwilling to dwell on that, and taking advantage of her visibly softening, he brought her back to him and enveloped her in his arms.

This time she didn’t complain or stiffen. It looked like talking to her daughter had calmed her down, because she wasn’t belligerent anymore.

They were farther away from the crowd, not on the wooden floor anymore but on the fine sand, and although they could still hear the music, dancing here felt much more intimate.

“How’s Sam?”

“Having fun.”

“Good.” He tightened his embrace.

“You’re holding me too close,” she whispered against his chest after a long second but didn’t move to separate their bodies.

“I don’t think so. I’m holding you just right.”

And miracles of all miracles, she didn’t object; she relaxed and melted into him. He buried his face in her hair, breathing her in. God, she smelled the same to him. Like home.

“You got divorced,” he said against her hair.

She snorted softly. “What tipped you off?”

“Oh, I don’t know. The wedding cake with the bride figurine kicking the groom to the curb?” The bride figurine was on the top layer, holding her dress with both hands, her leg bent after having kicked the groom, who was rolling down the tiers, all disheveled and with a black eye, his suitcases rolling with him.

“Yeah. That was fun. Angie is nuts.”

The irony of her being a shrink wasn’t lost on him.

“Angie apparently has a client who collects husbands. She’s the one who mentioned breakup divorce cakes to her.”

“I see you’re still close with Angie.”

Angie and Mike had a sort of standoff. He’d been pissed at her for a while. Every time he’d come to her asking—no, not asking, demanding—to know why Kyra wasn’t taking his calls and later on why she wasn’t back from the cruise. Never mind what Mike did, how hard he pleaded or yelled, Angie kept her mouth shut and didn’t tell him squat.

In hindsight, Kyra had been banging that creep. Angie had just been following instructions.

“Yeah, I wasn’t close to anyone except for Angie and—”

Him. She’d stopped herself, but he knew what she’d wanted to say. She’d had friends, but they had always come second to him.

They danced for a while in silence until he felt her light chuckle against his chest. “You still can’t dance for shit.”

Before he thought about what he was doing, he cupped her face and brushed his thumb over her slightly parted lips. “True. But you still make it worth my while.”