StripperwithSpice, page 8
“I’m not,” I reply.
“He just wanted a one-nighter, huh? That’s too bad.”
“No, I did.”
She sets down her drink with a thump. “Are you insane?”
I fold my arms on the table. “He and I are completely different. There’s no future for us.”
“You don’t know that. Why not see where it goes and get all the good sex you can?”
“Where it’ll go is me getting too attached,” I reply. “My job is very demanding and I don’t have time for a relationship. It’s better this way.”
She stares at the umbrella as she twirls it between her fingers. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”
“What about you, Zena? No boyfriend?”
“Not right now. Unfortunately the kind of guys I go for aren’t great in the relationship department.”
“Let me guess, you go for guys like Rolf and Carlos?”
Zena nods. “I really should stop coming to these conferences and torturing myself.”
I dig my nails into my palm, torn between wanting and not wanting to know more.
“So you’ve dated a male stripper before?” I ask.
She gazes at the silent flat-screen TV across the room. “I fell in love with one.”
“What happened?”
“He screwed everything in sight. I tried to act cool about it at first, but I couldn’t take it.”
Something cold and prickly wraps around my insides as I stare at the lemon wedge floating in my glass. Maybe I shouldn’t have stepped inside Carlos’ hotel room after all.
“Are they all that way?” I ask.
“You ought to research the lifestyle sometime,” she tells me. “It’s pretty shocking and it takes a lot to shock me.”
“Such as?”
Damn my analytical mind, always needing the details.
She drains the rest of her drink. “Well, women hit on them everywhere they go because of how good they look. They usually screw at least a couple of them on show nights. Then there’s the afterparties.”
“What’s an afterparty?”
“It happens after the Saturday night show, which makes the most money. The dancers invite the prettiest girls to party with them at someone’s house or a hot nightclub.”
“Sounds depressing.”
“Then there’s the after-afterparties,” Zena continues. “Everybody goes to one of the dancer’s pads to drink, screw—and whatever—until the sun comes up.”
I hold up my hand. “I’ve heard enough.”
Sunrise? Are you kidding me? I’m lucky if I can keep my eyes open until midnight.
“But Carlos is probably different. Some of them actually get into committed relationships.”
Maybe. But I don’t plan on finding out. If I’d known all this before, I never would have slept with the man. Thank goodness it’s over.
“If they’re so bad, Zena, why do you keep coming back to these conventions—especially when the rules don’t allow you to get too close?”
“Rules didn’t stand in your way.”
“True,” I reply as my cheeks flush.
“This is where I fit.” She shrugs. “Ordinary men just don’t cut it for me. They watch TV all day with paunchy bellies, burp, fart and scratch their nads. Romance is a foreign language to them and they don’t know or care what a woman wants.”
I smile in agreement. “You just described my past relationships.”
“I figure one day I’ll get lucky and land a good one. Meanwhile, a fantasy is better than nothing.”
Not me. My walk on the wild side today was incredibly thrilling and maybe even necessary but no more. I’m never attending one of these conventions again. Why tempt myself with something that’s bad for me?
“I’ve got to get going.” I stand and give her a hug. “It was so nice meeting and hanging out with you.”
“You too. We’ll have to keep in touch. With me in Columbia and you in Fairfax, we’re practically neighbors.”
She pulls out her phone and creates a contact record, reminding me of Carlos doing the same thing earlier. This time I enter my number.
“Maybe I’ll see you next year?” she asks.
I don’t think so. “Yeah, maybe.”
* * * * *
The next day at work, I scramble to catch up. After wild sex and the long drive, I didn’t get much done last night. I’m flipping through emails and files faster than a dynamo. The pace here at Trendler Trust isn’t just quick. It travels at the speed of light. One false move and I could find myself unemployed again. Damn this languor in my body that battles with the frantic energy.
It feels strange to wear my old underwear again, and have these beige slacks and blouse always looked so boring?
Hard as I’m trying to forget yesterday’s incredible sex with Carlos, I can’t. When I stood by the copy machine this morning, I pictured the moment when he slid his hard cock out of his pants. Instead of stacks of paper, I touched clingy, black underwear. And when I poured a cup of coffee in the break room, I swore it had a trace of mesquite scent in it.
I want to be in that hotel room again, not here. What’s he doing today? Sleeping in? Having a leisurely breakfast? The muscles in my neck and shoulders have already settled back to their original bowstring tightness. I sigh as I imagine his powerful fingers digging into the muscles and dissolving the knots.
Harriet Crawford, an older woman with man-short hair, drops a file on my desk with the finesse of a drill sergeant.
“I need this by lunchtime. And there’s a meeting in five minutes.”
Blinking in confusion, I focus on the fluorescent light glaring from the large sword pin on her lapel.
“Sure, Harriet. Uh, what meeting?”
“Check your email.”
The lining of her tartan skirt swishes as she marches away. I glance back at the computer to see a ton of new emails and meeting invites. Shuddering, I drink some coffee but it’s cold. The sound of rapid clicks on a nearby keyboard reminds me to pick up the pace. As if I could forget in this place.
My phone rings.
“This is Janice,” I bark into the phone.
“Hey, sexy. You sound stressed.”
The receiver almost drops onto my keyboard. It can’t be.
“Carlos?”
“Sí, señorita hermosa.”
The gold honey of his voice pours through the phone, making me forget all my deadlines and everything except the incredible afternoon we spent together.
“H-how did you find me?” I demand.
“Since you didn’t give me your number, I had to investigate. Your employer is listed on LinkedIn.”
Damn social networking.
A male stripper calling my workplace and sounding sexy is the last thing I need right now if I want to get any work done today.
“I can’t stop thinking about yesterday, Janice.”
His voice is so calm and warm. He’s probably lying on his bed right now…with no shirt on and those tight, black briefs. Is he hard? My abdomen heats up as if someone turned on an oven switch, but I flip it back off.
“I can’t talk, Carlos. I’m very, very busy.”
“You sound so stressed out. I wish I was there to calm you down.”
So do I.
“Look, you can’t call me here.”
“Then where can I call you? Give me your cell number.”
“Of all the women who must be chasing you—” Remembering where I am, I lower my voice. “Why me when I’m not giving you the time of day?”
I answer my own question. He probably enjoys the thrill of the chase.
Well, I don’t have time to play games!
“Have dinner with me tonight,” he says next. “I’ll come to Fairfax.”
“That’s not part of our agreement.”
A meeting reminder pops up on my computer. I have a million things to do to prepare for it, not to mention the noon deadline I have to meet.
“I’m breaking our agreement,” he declares. “You need me, Janice, and I need you.”
A chord of agreement thrums inside me even though it makes no sense.
I hold the phone in one hand and look up data on the computer with the other. It would be much easier to type if I put the call on speakerphone. Wouldn’t that be entertaining to the rest of the office?
“How can you need me?” I whisper. “We hardly know each other.”
“That’s why I want to get to know you, over dinner,” he says. “I really need to fuck you again, but we can just talk.”
He needs to fuck me again… What he just said and the way he said it sends a zap of electricity straight to my cunt.
Okay, that’s it. Dirty talk on the office phone strays too close to threatening my job. If this particular call is monitored, I’m already toast.
My mouth tightens with restrained fury. “Don’t call here anymore.”
“I won’t if you give me another number.”
“Fine.” To get rid of him immediately without the risk of having him call me back here, I give him my cell number and hang up on him.
What was I thinking getting involved with a younger man? He must believe the entire world revolves around sex. Of course, that’s not necessarily a bad thing…
My fingers tremble on the keyboard and my heart pounds as if I’m running a marathon. Another annoying reminder pops up on my computer screen. The meeting starts now and I’m completely unprepared. I’m not even coherent.
All I can think is Carlos needs to fuck me again and I’m afraid I need it too.
* * * * *
I can’t believe I’m doing this, I think while parking at a nearby restaurant that evening. How did Carlos talk me into this? When he called my cell phone number at the end of the workday, I was so stressed I would probably have agreed to anything.
“Just this once,” I’d told him.
I am not going to end up hurt like Zena.
Over dinner, I’d reason with him and explain why a relationship between us would never work. As soon as we finish eating, we’re leaving the restaurant. No sex. Absolutely no sex. For this reason, I chose to wear a button-down shirt of hazel-colored cotton instead of the black lace. Why give him the wrong idea?
I walk inside the vestibule, wishing the restaurant interior beyond wasn’t so dim and romantic-looking. I’m thankful it doesn’t have tablecloths and candles, but we should’ve met at a fast-food place instead. With enough fluorescent lights beating down on us, we probably wouldn’t even think about sex.
The door opens behind me and I smell mesquite. Without looking, I know he’s here.
“Buenas noches.” He squeezes my arm and kisses me on the cheek before opening the inner door for me.
Punctual and a gentleman. What’s not to like? I need to find something to dislike and fast.
He wears a rust-colored suede jacket, black jeans, boots and a white shirt. I swear he looks sexier dressed than he does naked. An insane urge to watch him strip everything off rips through my body. Just being around him releases champagne bubbles of excitement inside me until I can’t feel the floor anymore. The awful day at work slips off as if it’s an old skin.
“You’re a persistent man,” I tell him after we’re seated at a much-too-intimate wooden booth, waiting for the drinks we ordered.
“I go after what I want. I didn’t cause you any problems at work, did I?”
“Besides distracting me? No.”
“Good. You sounded pretty miserable today. Is your job really that bad?”
“It’s…challenging. If I want to keep it in today’s economy, I have to work my butt off.”
“I can think of much better uses for your beautiful ass, Janice.”
Heat collects under the inside of my blouse and I squirm in my seat. How can I withhold sex from this man? I’m practically ready to unzip his pants and get him inside me right here. If we end up alone tonight, I’m in trouble.
Regardless of sex, we still have to say goodbye again, which was hard enough the first time. Why did I ever agree to this?
I’m grateful when the drinks arrive. Black coffee for him and white wine for me. I order the first thing I see on the menu because my appetite for food is completely gone.
Our waitress, a blonde twentysomething, bats her lashes at Carlos as if she wants him on the menu. My leg twitches with the urge to kick her rear end, sending her back to the kitchen. Even though I have no intention of having a relationship with this man, my gut instinct snarls, “He’s mine!”
Ignoring her until she leaves, he takes my hand across the table and strokes his thumb in circles on my palm. Each touch sends a fiery dart up my arm.
“You don’t have anyone to take care of you, do you?”
I shake my head and his dark eyes tug at me. So compassionate, so haunted…
“It’s a rough world out there. You’ve had a hard time.”
“How do you know?” I ask.
He shrugs out of his jacket and tosses it beside him, releasing the scent of suede and mesquite. I take the opportunity to pull my hand back so he’ll stop touching me.
“I can read people pretty well,” he replies. “That’s an entertainer’s job.”
Well, I don’t want to be read. To escape his scrutiny, I gaze at the picture of horses overlooking our table.
“I was unemployed for a while,” I admit. “The job market is not so great for people my age.”
Much as I hate to do it, I hope to turn him off with our age difference. Stick to the analysis, I remind myself. By dessert, he needs to be totally convinced it’ll never work between us.
He rolls up his cotton shirtsleeves. Maybe he’s as hot as I am. Even the chilled wine doesn’t cool me off. Seeing the tattoos makes me grip the edge of the table. The last time I saw them he was supporting his weight on the bed while he fucked me. The dark figures moved while the muscles beneath them rippled.
The crotch of my panties—the old cotton ones this time—grows damp with need. Because I’m shaved, I feel every drop of my own arousal.
“Are you all right, Janice?”
I clear my throat and take a gulp of wine before touching the eagle claw on his arm. “You never told me the story about this.”
“Right. El águila.” He looks down at the seat and I can almost see difficult memories pass across his face as if they’re clouds. “Well, when I was a boy, my father left us.
“It was so bad I wanted to run away too. Mom worked two jobs and was tired and angry all the time. I had a younger brother and sister too to take care of. One day I skipped out without telling her and took a really long walk.”
I lean forward, pulled headfirst into his story. There’s obviously more to this guy than sex. Every sound around me—the conversation behind us, a fretful child across the room and the clink of silverware as a table gets bussed—fades until I hear only his voice.
“I sat on a rock to rest and weighed my options,” he continued. “I could run off like my dad or I could be the man of the family.”
“How old were you?”
“Fourteen.”
I wince. So young to be burdened with such responsibility. The solemnity in his dark eyes makes sense now.
“What did you choose?”
But I’m pretty sure I already know the answer. This isn’t Rolf, swinging his blond hair with a devil-may-care attitude. No, the guy sitting across from me is responsible. I don’t think I would have had sex with him otherwise. It was as though I’d known him without really realizing what I knew.
The layers of this mysterious man are unfolding before me. How thrilling it would be to discover them all, but if would have to stop after tonight.
“At that moment, an eagle swooped down from the sky.” He smiles, melting me inside. “It was so close I could feel the air stirred up by its wings. Then it landed on a nearby tree and just sat there a long time, watching me.”
Chills go down both my arms.
“It was as if he was determined to stay there until I made up my mind.” He looks down. “When the decision came to me, it was easy. I had to go home. I wanted to go home.”
“I knew it,” I say quietly.
“I wanted to drop out of school and get a full-time job, but mom wouldn’t let me. I worked part-time at nights as a dishwasher instead.” He wiggles his fingers. “I probably still have dishpan hands.”
I shake my head in amazement.
“So that’s why I got this tattoo on my right arm. To remind me to step up and be a man.”
When he traces the image with his finger, I lay my hand over it. “My God, Carlos. That’s beautiful.”
For a moment, he looks at me without saying a word. Leaving him after tonight will be much harder than I thought. What binds us? Chemistry or the hard times we experienced? Maybe that is the chemistry.
The food arrives, breaking the spell. I concentrate on cutting my grilled chicken breast while he dives into a steak. If nothing else, I’ll get a nourishing meal this evening. Since I never have time to cook, maybe I should eat out more often.
For the first time all evening, awkwardness settles around us. I clang my fork against the plate accidentally and even drop it in my lap.
“Relax, Janice,” he tells me. “It’s just dinner.”
“Sorry. This reversal is new for me. I usually get to know a man first before—”
Before I screw his brains out.
After I’ve eaten enough chicken to give me sustenance, I slip a small piece of paper out of my back pocket, hoping he won’t notice.
His fork freezes in midair. “What’s that? A love note, I hope.”
“Nothing.” I glance over it, trying to commit it to memory, but my capacity for short-term memory has vanished.
I’m not about to tell him this, but it’s a list of all the reasons why a relationship with him won’t work.
“I bet it’s something analítca,” he says.
“Analytical? It is.” I decide to tell him after all. “It’s a list of all the reasons we’re incompatible.”
He takes a sip of coffee. “Seriously? Let’s hear it.”
A blush steals across my face. “Okay. Number one, we don’t live in the same town.”
He stabs a green bean with his fork. “One hour by car. Big deal.”
“Number two, you probably meet lots of women who are prettier than me.”
