Ripped (31 page)

A wave of elation washed over me, lifting my heart and painting a huge grin across my face. “Anywhere. Wherever you want, Jaz.”

“Hmm, maybe the coffee shop on the corner, near our apartment.”

Our apartment. She still thought of it as our apartment, and that gave me more hope than I’d thought possible only a few minutes earlier. If she was still thinking in our, us, and we, then all hope wasn’t lost after all. “I can be there any time. It’s your call.”

“Okay, give me half an hour.”

My legs wouldn’t stop jiggling, my knees rubbing the underside of the table where I sat as I waited for Jaz to walk through the door. It had been forty minutes since we’d spoken, and I’d already been in our booth for twenty of them. Checking my watch again, I had the unnerving feeling that she’d changed her mind. That I’d caught her off guard and she had agreed to meet me before she’d had a chance to think about it and realize what a bad idea it really was.

I saw her walk past the coffee shop window, and my heart beat double-time. She looked so frail as the cold wind whipped her hair around her face. Being a ballet dancer, she was petite, standing at five feet and a couple of inches if she was lucky—certainly small enough for me to hold her above my head with one outstretched arm—but she had always carried herself with confidence. As she pushed open the door, the little bell announcing her arrival, her eyes darted around but her head remained low. She looked broken, nervous, and ready to run, and I hated that I had done that to her.

Our eyes met, and she hesitated before taking her first step toward me.
Keep coming
, I willed as she faltered before sliding into the booth on the opposite side. Something in her had changed. Her eyes no longer smiled, ever threatening to share some secret joke with her lips until her entire face would light up in laughter. Everything about her, from her posture, to her dull green eyes, screamed sadness. It broke my heart.

“So how have you been?” That was a stupid question. I could see how she had been, but I needed to break the ice and start somewhere.

She nodded. “Good. I’ve been good.” He eyes scanned my face. “You?”

Sighing, I decided on complete honesty, something I should have committed to from the beginning. “Lost, Jaz. I’m lost.”

Her eyes misted over as her bottom lip trembled. “Me too.” Her voice was barely a whisper and I could have been forgiven for mishearing her words, but the expression on her downturned face told me everything.

Reaching across the table, I took her hands in mine. “It’s all my fault, and I’m so sorry. I should have been upfront with you from the start, I just …”

“You didn’t think I’d understand? You were right.”

“And deep down, I think I was embarrassed by what my entire dance career had amounted to.” It was humiliating. If I’d been proud of myself then I wouldn’t have kept it a secret when people asked what I did for a living. To be more willing to tell people I washed dishes had to say something about my mindset. I was ashamed.

“Then why, Bax?” Her eyes pleaded for answers, something that she could grasp hold of to explain how I had come to follow this path.

Shrugging, I sat back into the worn red vinyl of the booth, but didn’t let go of her hands. “It was my way of still being in the spotlight and experiencing the love of the audience. You know how it feels to have danced your heart out and to look over the adoring faces —there’s nothing like it.”

“I get it.” She nodded. “I know that feeling. It makes you feel … important. Makes you feel special. Like all the hours and hours of rehearsals and watching what you eat and giving up your life is totally worth it.”

“Yeah, well. I guess I wasn’t ready to give up on that feeling completely, so I had to find it somewhere else.”

A crooked smile graced her lips for a split second. “If that’s the only reason then I do understand.”

I puffed out a sigh of relief and smiled. “That was the only reason, I swear.”

“But I can’t forget what I saw. All those girls screaming for you and touching you—it makes me feel sick just thinking about it.”

My smile faded. “I quit, Jaz.” I looked up at her from under my lashes. “I knew it was a choice I had to make and I choose you. Every time, any day of the week, I choose you.” Leaning forward, I squeezed her hands tighter. “Am I too late?”

Tears misted her eyes again. “Really? You’ve quit stripping?”

I nodded.

“I need to know …”

“Anything.”

She took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. This couldn’t be good. “Tiff said the guys at your club took home a different girl every week. Did you—”

“No,” I interrupted, a little too loudly. “Never, not even before we bumped into each other. I never used the club as a means to get laid. It was my salvation, a place for me to dance, to feel the heat of the spotlight and the music pulsing through my veins, but I never abused it.”

Jaz cupped my hands in hers and lifted them to her lips, the heat scorching my skin. “Do you regret quitting?” She looked at me in earnest. This was an important question, and one we both knew could make or break us.

“Not for one second.” I looked deep into her eyes and hoped she could see my honesty. “I regret not telling you from the beginning and trying to keep it a secret, but you have to know that was more about my shame in what I was doing than trying to be sneaky. You were living your dream, dancing in a New York production, and I was dancing in a seedy strip club. Even from the start, the reality of how far I’d fallen weighed heavily on me. But I’ll never regret quitting if it means you’ll give me another chance.”

The furrow of her brow as she studied our hands that were linked together on the table worried me. The gnawing of her lip made me want to lean over and kiss all her concerns away.

“I’ve missed you,” she finally said with eyes still downcast. “No, not just missed—I’ve never been so miserable in my life. Every part of me ached for you, and it took all my strength not to call you or come see you at the restaurant.” When she raised her eyes, they were welling with tears. “You have no idea how hard it was to be upstairs in the apartment, knowing you were downstairs in the store working. So many times I got halfway down the stairs before catching myself and remembering that we weren’t together anymore.”

“But we could be,” I added hopefully.

Her face lit up. “I think … we should be.”

I couldn’t have stopped the relieved laugh that erupted from my mouth, even if I’d tried. Leaning forward, I pulled her hands toward me and kissed every knuckle. “I love you, Jazzy. You mean everything to me—not dancing, just you.”

“And I love you, too.”

I slid out of the booth and went around to her side so I could sit next to her. It had been too long since I’d felt her lithe body beside mine and I wanted to savor it, even if we were in a coffee shop surrounded by people. “I’ll be at every rehearsal, every performance, and if you have any more fundraisers, I’ll be at those, too. I’m sorry I was an ass about it. I’m proud of you, Jaz, and I want you to succeed.”

The slump of her body told me there was something wrong, something she hadn’t told me.

I turned to face her. “What is it?”

“There may not be a show for you to come to. Pierre’s up to something.”

I scoffed. “What’s he up to now? Trying to get into someone else’s pants?” She didn’t laugh, not even a smile. My heartrate sped up, my pulse drumming in my ears. “Or still trying to get into yours?”

“I was at his condo—”

“You were
what?
” My jaw clenched so tight I thought my teeth might crack. “What? Why, Jaz? Why were you there?”

The squeeze she gave my hand did nothing to reassure me. “I had to go to a ball with him; I had no choice.”

“Sure,” I mumbled under my breath.

“Bax, look at me. I had no choice, but while I was at his condo afterwards … and nothing happened …” She squeezed my hand again. “I saw some papers on his desk.”

“What papers?”

She pulled her phone from her pocket. “I don’t know exactly, but I took photos. They had something to do with the show, and my name was on one of them.”

I flicked through the images, zooming in to read the tiny print. From what I could gather, Pierre had been keeping record of donations and funding, and then syphoning money out to a Swiss bank account and onto multiple credit card bills while claiming the money was going on wages to the dancers.

“What the fuck? That slimy asshole. I knew I didn’t like him from the start. Not only is he the biggest sleaze ever, but he’s stealing funds from the production.”

“That’s what I thought was going on too,” Jaz said, flicking back through the photos. “I don’t understand what they all mean but I know I’m definitely not being paid what these figures say.”

I shook my head. “We need to get this looked at by an accountant just to confirm it’s what we think.” I took her hand, turning my body to face her. “But I don’t like you being around him. He’s bad news in every way.”

“I know.” She nodded. “Lucky I have you to look after me.” A shy smile graced her strawberry lips. “I’ll need a bodyguard, twenty-four/seven. You’ll have to be with me, day and night.” Her cheeks flushed bright pink.

“Well to do that, I’d have to move back in to the apartment. Can I?”

“You’d better come back. I’ve been so lonely without you.” She flung her arms around my neck, pulling me close. I inhaled; the sweet coconut scent of her hair was intoxicating. I closed my eyes and drank it in. “I’m worried, Bax,” she mumbled into my neck. “I’d been thinking the last few days that if the show does go under before opening night, I could go back to Boston, stay with my mom for a while. But I don’t want to—not now. Not when we’ve finally sorted things out.”

Pulling back, I took hold of her shoulders. “No one’s going anywhere, except maybe Pierre. He might go to jail.”