Seduction (18 page)

When my cousin asked me to meet him at the club, I didn’t know he was bringing five guys along. Off-duty cops with department credit cards are dangerous in a titty bar. Lucas introduces me, then we head inside. Mama Beth takes a look at me and waves us by without asking for the cover charge. Tuesday nights are slow, but there’s a basketball game on tonight, so it’s pretty crowded around the big screens. I choose a couple of tables in VIP, then go to the DJ booth to check out the dance list. Marisela has the number ten slot—she got here early.

Dave and I high-five. “What’s up, bro? Working?” he asks.

“Nope, here with my cousin. Send a few dancers to VIP later,” I say.

There’s a trace of a smile on his lips, but he still looks at me like he can’t figure out why I’m here on my night off. Hanging out at the Den doesn’t happen that often. “Making good on a bet with my cousin,” I explain.

“Should I guess?”

“He thinks our girls can’t compare to Houston dancers—described them like something out of
Deliverance.
”

He laughs and grabs the list. “I know who to pick.”

Before I leave, I take some bills out of my wallet and slap them down on the counter. “Take Marisela off the dance list.”

“Seriously?” He counts five hundred dollars out loud.

“Yeah, I’ll take care of her.” I head back to my seat.

“Marisela to the DJ booth,” Dave calls over the music, wasting no time.

Lucas grabs my arm. “She’s here tonight?”

I bite my lip and look over my shoulder to make sure Marisela isn’t here yet. “Yep,” I say. “Didn’t know she was working before we made our plans.”

“Wanna go somewhere else?”

I shake my head. “I appreciate it, but it’s cool.” I’m pleased to know there’s still a sliver of chivalry left in my family. Lucas is a better man than I’ll ever be. He reminds me of a guy I went to high school with who asked me if he could date my ex-girlfriend after we broke up.

One of the waitresses shows up with a tray of longnecks and shots of tequila. She passes them around; the guys suck down the shots and let loose, caterwauling and slapping the tabletops. I glance at my watch. It’s only eight thirty and they’re already raising hell. None of the girls have even showed up yet. I rub my chin and look at the VIP entrance again. Where is she?

“Work it out,” Lucas advises. “You look as nervous as a groom on his wedding day.”

“Great analogy,” I say.

Suddenly, Lucas looks over my shoulder and goes quiet. I follow his gaze. Marisela is standing a few feet away, wearing a red mesh bodysuit that hugs every curve and matching heels.
Fuck
—she takes my breath away. Crazy curls cascade over her shoulders. I can see her nipple rings. And that tiger tat makes me want to lick her between the thighs.

I stand. “Marisela.”

She purses her ruby-red lips and looks around the table. “What are you doing here, Craig?”

“Remember Lucas?” My cousin stands and offers his hand.

“Sure,” she says politely, shaking it. “Having a party?”

Lucas comes to my defense. “Co-workers. We’re attending a legal conference downtown.”

“Cops?” she whispers.

I nod, then gently pull her aside.

“Hey,” one of the guys calls. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

I ignore him. “Sorry, baby. We made plans before I talked to you on the phone.”

She shrugs and adjusts the strap on her left shoe. “Are you staying in VIP all night?”

“Yeah,” I answer. “So are you.”

The crease that shows up between her eyebrows whenever she gets mad or confused is so freakin’ cute I’m tempted to kiss it. “You’re the mystery guy who paid five hundred dollars to take me off the dance list for the rest of the night?”

I make a sweeping bow. “You’re mine.”

“Seems to be one of your favorite things to say to me,” she says apprehensively.

She’s still upset about last night. “Give me a chance to show you how much I mean it.”

She stares at my lips, then her gaze strays to my crotch. “That’s why I asked you to give me some time. I can’t think straight when you’re around, Craig.”

“Is that a bad thing, baby?”

She throws her hands up. “No, but that’s not my point. I’m overwhelmed.”

I place my hand on her shoulder. The heat from her body makes me shake all over. “I’m really trying here. My money spends as well as anyone else’s.”

She inhales, then a tiny sigh escapes her lips. “I don’t want your money,” she starts, then directs me to the table in the corner. We both sit, facing each other. “I want
you,
Craig, more than anything…” She folds her hands on top of the table.

“Stop running away, Marisela. There’s nothing you can say or do to talk me out of this relationship. Understand?” I lean forward and sweep some stray hairs out of her eyes. “Besides, I can’t possibly let you go. No one bakes apple pie as good as yours.”

That makes her giggle.

“See,” I tease. “See how easy it is for me to make you laugh?”

“Among other things,” she reminds me.

I reach below the table and adjust myself, because thinking about our sex the other night gets me rock hard. “Come home with me tonight.”

“I don’t have anything clean to wear.”

“Really?”

“I don’t want to borrow anything from that secondhand clothing store you call a guest room.”

I arch a brow. She’s jealous. “Secondhand store?”

“What else can I call it?”

“Try asking why I have all those clothes, for starters.”

She scrunches her face. “All right.” She looks all serious now. “Do you take trophies?”

“Like a serial killer?”

She wiggles her hips like she’s uncomfortable. “Never thought about it in those terms. But if the shoe fits…”

“Lucas’s sister stayed with me last year while she finished up her master’s degree at A&M. Part of her dissertation included managing a charitable organization. She started a branch of Mary Magdalene’s Closet, a Catholic charity that provides business attire for former prostitutes so they can find respectable jobs.”

She covers her face with both hands. “I’m so stupid.”

I watch her every move, loving the fact that she’s jealous. “No, you’re not,” I say. “But it does concern me a little that you think I’m the kind of man who needs souvenirs to remember my sexual conquests.”

She props her elbows on the table, still looking embarrassed and ashamed. “What else was I supposed to think?”

I reach over and caress her cheek. “With that fertile imagination, who knows?”

“How many women have you slept with?” she blurts.

I let out a growl. “That’s not a fair question.”

“Yes, it is,” she insists.

“We’re way beyond that, Marisela.”

“Called my bluff on that one.” She folds her arms over her chest. “I’m curious, that’s all.”

“Can we change the subject?”

“Ten?” she asks.

I shake my head.

“Forty?”

Silence.

“A hundred?”

“Marisela.”

“Oh. My. God.” Her hands tremble.

“How many boys have you kissed?”

Her eyes grow wide. “Five or six.”

She’s practically a virgin and I’m a douchebag for sleeping around so much. “Our pasts don’t matter, darlin’. We need to focus on the present and honor whatever commitments we make with each other.”

“Do you mean that?” Her big, blue questioning eyes meet mine.

“I love you, Marisela.” I do—every goddamned inch of her—inside and out.

She threads her fingers through mine, but quickly withdraws when the waitress sets two shot glasses on the table. “From your buddy,” she says, pointing at Lucas.

More tequila? I suck on a slice of lime first, then drink. Marisela sniffs at her glass.

“You shouldn’t be drinking in here anyway,” I say, taking it from her hand. I swallow the shot and grimace afterward. “That crap will burn a hole in your throat.”

A few minutes later, three girls slink into VIP. I smile at Meredith and Sarah, but scowl as soon as I see Desire. She stops and thrusts her hand on her hip, looking totally pissed off that Marisela and I are sitting together.

“Over there,” I gesture with my thumb. As much as I dislike Desire, she remains one of our most popular dancers.

“I’m leaving.” Marisela gets up.

I snag her wrist. “Stay.”

She closes her eyes, obviously thinking. Then Arch Enemy’s new song, “You Will Know My Name” starts. Marisela’s eyes snap open. She mouths the first two lines:
Their judging eyes watching me, it’s all I’ve ever known. When I try to open up my heart, I am ridiculed and torn apart…

The girls strip for Lucas’s friends. I take a long, hard look at Marisela and pat my lap. “Dance, baby.”

Determination burns in her eyes as she positions herself between my thighs. The thrashing beat of the music is a perfect way for her to burn off some anxiety. I know her too well; she thrives on the physical. I remember the day I introduced her to the punching bag. She sparked to life—anger seeping from every pore. That’s what she needs now: to take her frustration out on me. I’m here to catch her if she stumbles.

Lifting her leg, she rests her left foot on my shoulder and arcs backward. My gaze is locked on her stomach at first, then slowly moves to her crotch. She rotates her hips, using her hands to caress herself. I’m gripping the sides of my chair so hard I’m sure my knuckles are white. Our eyes meet as she raises herself. Then she drops to her knees and squeezes her breasts together. I want to slide my shaft between them—lick and stroke until she screams my bloody name. Without breaking eye contact, she pinches her nipples, fingering her hardware. I close my eyes, feeling a change in the rhythm of the song—guitars screaming, drums thundering. When I open my eyes again, she’s on all fours facing away from me, her ass bouncing up and down.

I lean forward, tempted to give her a spanking. Or to grab handfuls of flesh and slam into her.

She flips around, her face just below mine. She licks her bottom lip seductively and raises herself high enough to kiss me.
That’s it.
I cup the back of her head with one of my hands and steal a kiss, only this time it’s animalistic. My head feels like it’s going to implode. Our tongues swirl together, but I seize control, holding her so she can’t break away. I’m in fucking paradise—wedged between her sweet sensuality and the wild things I fantasize about doing to her. Both her arms encircle my neck and she nearly pulls me off the chair. I deepen the kiss, sucking all the air from her lungs.

Seconds later, we both retreat, shocked and amazed.

She rolls back on her heels, tracing her kiss-swollen lips with her tongue. “Wh-what just happened?”

Kismet, baby—pure, unadulterated, meant-to-be-together-forever shit.
How am I supposed to give her space when she’s kneeling between my legs, looking up at me with those fuck-me eyes? I let out a frustrated growl, scrambling to find some way to explain. To change her mind. The music ends and we’re suspended in silence. We don’t move. Another song starts.

“Am I dreaming?” she whispers, sounding so vulnerable.

I raise my palm and she quickly threads her fingers through mine. “Want me to show you how real this is?”

“I—I…” She looks up and frowns.

“Think the song ended already,” Desire calls from over my shoulder.

Marisela lets go, then climbs to her feet. I twist around. “What’s going on, Desire?”

“Sam McKay bought you a table dance from
me,
” she says, looking triumphant. “As for Marisela, Sam’s waiting for
her.
”

I don’t want another man fantasizing about her—looking at her—touching her. I start to protest, but Marisela grabs her costume off the floor and gives me a stiff look.

“Here to work,” she says. “Remember?”

I clench my fists after Marisela walks away. “I’ll sit this one out.”

“Really?” Desire throws her head back and chuckles, proving how shallow she really is. “Pussy-whipped already?” She straddles me and starts grinding. “Give me five minutes—I’ll change your mind.”

I grab her arms. “Not interested.”

“No?” She cocks her head. “Think she’s so perfect? Your little princess got an abortion a few months ago.”

I go rigid. My heart sinks into my stomach, all the passion sucked out of my body. “Get off,
now.
” I let go of her arms.

She slides from my lap, hugging herself. “Don’t believe me? Ask.”

One thing I know about Desire: she’s not a liar. Doesn’t need to be; the bitch in her runs deep. “Who told you?”

“Estevan,” she says proudly. “After Marisela made her grand exit from the Water Street Oyster Bar, I split a bottle of wine with him.”

Rage swells inside me. “He abused her,” I growl.

“I know. He admitted it,” she says. “But from what I hear, she deserved it.”

Disgusted beyond expression, I eyeball her. Why do some dancers act subhuman? “Who else knows?”

She reaches over, circling my shoulder with her fingers. “You’re the only one who matters.”

I escort my cousin and his friends outside and watch them zip away in their rented minivan. I gaze at my watch—midnight. I’ll wait in the parking lot for Marisela. She should be tipping out now. I’m not sure how to approach the abortion subject. I’m pretty tolerant after working the club circuit. Women make bad choices sometimes. But terminating a pregnancy because you just don’t want to have a baby—kills me. There’s no way I can stay with a woman, even Marisela, if she’s willing to do that.

And now I have to know.

The door opens and Sam, the bouncer, sticks his head outside, looking my way.

“Marisela?” I ask.

“Right behind me.”

She’s slouching, walking slower than she usually does. “Craig.”

“Bad night, baby?” I grab her dance bag off her shoulder.

She shrugs. “Good money, but I’m not in the best of moods.”

I know the feeling. “Want to grab a cup of coffee?”

She uses the tip of her tennis shoe to obliterate some gravel. “Actually, if you’d just give me a ride home, I’d appreciate it.”

“Where’s Macey?”

“Staying the night with her boyfriend.”

We get in my car and head to Ocean Drive in relative silence. I glance in my rearview mirror, stare out my windshield, then let out an exaggerated sigh, but nothing seems to catch her attention. “You alive over there?”

She glares at me with annoyance. “Did you and Desire enjoy your time together?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Love the way she perched on your lap.”

I blow out a breath. “You know better.”

“Do I?”

“I think you just want to argue with me because you’re pissed off at everyone else.”

“I’m drained.”

“You’re only nineteen, Marisela—how can you be?” I thrum my fingers on the steering wheel, using my other hand to flick my directional on before I turn into her driveway. Then I kill the engine and slam my palms on the dashboard. “Happy one minute—down the next. What’s going on?” I slant my body so I can see her.

“I asked you to give me some space, remember?”

“Are you running away?”

“No!” She rarely raises her voice. Then she opens the car door. “Walking.”

I jump out and stalk to the passenger side. “Hey!”

We face off.

“Go home,
please.
”

I don’t know what’s come over me, but I can’t let this go anymore. I’ve been tolerant and patient, kept my emotions in check. But once she lied to me it opened up Pandora’s box. She’s a mess. So am I.

“I don’t like secrets.”

“And you think I do?” She gazes up at me.

“What happened with Estevan?” I demand.

She clicks her tongue. “I already told you.”

“Not at dinner,” I clarify. “Why’d you leave Austin? Why didn’t you call your family? Ask for help?”

“That’s none of your business,” she assures me, spinning on her heels.

“Marisela Gonzalez.”
I sound like a father. “Don’t walk away from me.”

She keeps moving.

I scramble after her, grabbing her by the hips. “Look at me.” I spin her around.

She lifts an eyebrow, studying my face. “Leave. Me. Alone.”

Goddamn this torture and the expanding hole in my heart. We’re on the brink of breaking up. I sense it. “I deserve the truth.”

“What, need some real-life entertainment? More information about how Estevan smacked me around? Where I slept and what I ate when I was in hiding? How many guys propositioned me when I was stuck wandering the streets in Austin? Want a playlist of the songs I performed at nightclubs so I could afford to eat? How about a blow-by-blow on what topless bars I did guests dances at for tips? Am I leaving anything out?” She’s silent for a minute. “Some things are better left unsaid.”

“Not this time.”

“I may regret this later, but I’m absolutely not interested in answering to anybody but myself. If you can’t live with that, go back to Desire.”

My fingernails dig into her flesh. “What about the baby?”

Her eyes grow wide with surprise. “You son of a bitch.” She slaps my chest with both hands. I recoil. “Where’d you dig that up at? A background check?”

“You’re not denying it?” My stomach lurches.

“I’m not saying anything.”

“Do you know what it’s like being on the receiving end?” I ask.

That calms her down momentarily. “What do you mean?”

“Amy allegedly got pregnant and had an abortion without discussing it with me first.”

“I’m sorry.” She gazes into my eyes. “I don’t know what else to say…But I’m not Amy.”

“I never said you were.”

“Good.” She takes a deep breath. “Then just leave it alone,
please.
”

“I can’t. I need to know what you believe, where you stand on certain issues.”

“I believe in privacy.”

“That could be construed as an admission of guilt.”

She laughs, a little too maniacally for comfort. “Why don’t you go fuck something?”

I step back a few feet, a jumble of morbid thoughts whipping through my mind. My hands are shaking. “Careful what you wish for.”

She tips her chin at me, her eyes flashing. “We’re done.”

I give the gas pedal an extra stomp as I race out of the driveway. A few minutes later I pull into Divas. I don’t shit where I sleep, but if I want to get hammered, this is the right kind of place. As soon as I’m through the door, dancers flock around me, girls who used to work at the Den. The doorman waves me by and I let a couple of them drag me to a table in the back. I look around. Three girls are dancing on the long, L-shaped stage. I shake my head. “Down with the Sickness” by Disturbed is playing. What better song to feed my rage?

The bar is on the far side, near the entrance. There’s a big screen hanging on the wall behind it, and VIP is little more than a raised floor surrounded on three sides by a Plexiglas half wall. I nearly gag from the acrid urine stench wafting from the nearby men’s room. The carpet is fire-engine red and the tables are old. Hell, I’m sitting on a plastic patio chair, the three-dollar model from Walmart. But the place is fucking packed. With no cover charge and two-dollar longnecks, I’m not surprised. Even the table dances are half price tonight.

Chastity and Diamond stand in front of me and start shimmying out of their dresses. I lean back and spread my legs. I get a face full of titties and ass, but it doesn’t do anything for me. As soon as the song ends, two girls switch places with them. I don’t know the blonde, but she faces away from me and grinds her ass into my crotch so hard it hurts. I growl, but she doesn’t stop. Someone starts massaging my shoulders from behind. I close my eyes, picturing Marisela. Wondering what in the hell I’m going to do.

After the third table dance, I signal for a time-out. I can handle only so much cheap perfume and getting my dick rubbed raw. “Order a round of drinks. I’ll take a rum and Coke,” I tell Chastity.

She smiles and takes off for the bar, where I see Sargent waiting. He’s dressed in jeans and a button-down long-sleeved shirt and is wearing a tie. He looks my way and smiles. A few minutes later he arrives with the waitress. We shake hands.

“Someone die?” he asks.

“You could say that.”

I reach for my wallet, but he stops me. “Comp the drinks, Shelia,” he tells the waitress, then sits down. “How’s business at the Den?”

“Steady,” I say, uninterested in pursuing a conversation. “I recognize a few faces here.”

“We’re growing,” he observes, looking pleased. “There’s an arm-wrestling competition next week. A thousand dollars up for grabs.”

“I’ll spread the word,” I say sarcastically. Then I take a long swig of my drink, hoping I get so wasted I won’t remember my own name.

He laughs. “How’s my sweetie doing?”

I slam my glass down.

He rubs his hands together. “Bad subject, bro?”

I don’t answer. The last thing I want to do is reveal my relationship status to Sargent. The minute he finds out Marisela is single, he’ll be all over her. “Thanks for the drink.”
Now leave the table.
Thirty seconds later, he does.

I dig out my wallet, grab a fifty, and head to the DJ booth. “Three Days Grace and Tool.” I fling the bill at him. “And if you’re into classics, a little Sabbath.”

He gives me a thumbs-up and I return to my seat. There’s a fresh rum and Coke and two Alabama Slammers waiting for me. I smile at Chastity, who’s waiting for me, and down all three. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and wonder how much money I’ve spent. “Get me another drink, darlin’.”

“Never seen you drink this much, Craig.”

“I know when to stop.”

She reaches under the table, squeezing my thigh. “You never used to.”

I look down, watching her hand work my leg. I crack a smile, the kind meant to heat her insides. But I know if I let this go any further I’ll lose Marisela forever.

Craig has been gone for over two hours and I still haven’t moved from the spot on the floor in my bedroom. I’m desperately assessing everything, wondering why Estevan told Desire I’d been pregnant. If he wanted to make things hard, he could have posted something on all our social networks. But if he did, that would mess his life up, too. Why not tell Craig directly? I crawl to my nightstand and grab my cellphone. My thumb hovers over the dial button. I haven’t initiated a conversation with my ex in months. It rings.

“Marisela?” Estevan asks, sounding surprised.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“Did you change your mind? Ready to go back to Austin with me?”

“That’s never happening, Estevan.
Never.
I’d sooner get diced into a thousand pieces like you often threaten to do.”

There’s a brief pause. “That can be arranged.”

Usually that kind of talk frightens me, but for some reason, this time it makes me laugh. I get up and start pacing next to my bed. “This isn’t a friendly call,” I say. “Why did you tell Desire about my pregnancy?”

“Couldn’t figure that out on your own?” He snorts. “See what happens when you drop out of school? Your IQ drops exponentially. Stupid bitch—she wants your boyfriend.”

What did I ever see in this guy? “Stay out of my life, Estevan.”

“Can’t do that,” he says. “But I’m sure that white boy already dropped your ass—so half of my plan is done.”

I hang up. He’s an elitist and a racist. I see people for what they are inside—not for the size of their bank accounts or the color of their skin. I moved to Corpus to get away. But my nightmare follows me wherever I go.

Shaking my head, I open the closet door and grab my backpack. I sit on the edge of the bed, unzipping one of the outside pockets. There’s a handful of college pamphlets inside. I’m most impressed with the University of North Texas College of Music in Denton. A senseless dream, but one worth keeping. I gaze at the majors—composition is one of my areas of interest. I play guitar and piano, but no one really knows I can sing. With the exception of the people who saw me perform in Austin. I did so well, the owner of one of the little jazz clubs offered me a full-time job as a house singer. I turned him down.

Next, I count my money. Thanks to Craig buying me offstage and all the table dances, I made eight hundred dollars tonight. I walk to my closet and stash the funds in a shoe box. I’ve saved six thousand dollars to date. Not a bad start, and most definitely enough to fund a move to any city in Texas I choose.

My cell vibrates—text message.

It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.

Fancy quotes? Should I ignore him, or text something witty in return? I answer.

This above all: to thine own self be true.

If he wants to sling quotes, I can play that game, too. He comes back with…

It takes less time to do a thing right, than it does to explain why you did it wrong.

He’s stuck on my having lied. Technically I did, but not maliciously. I only wanted to protect the people I love. I swallow, hard. I love him. But thank God I never confessed. There’s no way I’m going to crawl back to him, begging and explaining my past, any more than he’s willing to discuss his own history. At least a hundred lovers—that number probably rivals Tiger Woods or Bill Clinton.

I’ll rely on a biblical principle this time.

Judge not, lest ye be judged.

His response…

Be no flatterer; neither play with any that delights not to be played with.

Oh really?
He’s drunk—I know it. Now he’s accusing me of playing with him. I don’t recognize this quote and punch it in on Google. George Washington? Wow, I’m impressed.

All right. Try this one, Craig!

If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.

Thirty minutes later, my phone is still silent.