Quarantales: The Complete Contemporary Romance Box Set, page 29
He has ink black hair, dark brown eyes, and tanned skin that makes me think he’s either dark Italian or Latino.
Other than their taller-than-average height, the two new arrivals look nothing alike. However, they are both gaping at me. Probably because I’m naked as the day I was born. I used to be a stripper, so I should be comfortable with my body and being in front of guys naked. But my stint as an exotic dancer was years ago. I’m also aware of how crazy vulnerable I am without a bouncer to back me up.
And to think I’d been so grateful to the higher power earlier tonight. Now I’m wondering if this has all been some kind of set up to ensure maximum embarrassment.
I stare at them. And two of the three guys stare back at me.
I have a feeling all of us are too shocked to speak.
The blond guy recovers first. “What the hell are you doing in our cabin, Goldilocks?”
“I’m sorry,” I say, holding out both hands. “My car broke down. And I tried to walk somewhere to find a tow—”
“You tried to walk?” says the possibly Latino guy. His expression is much softer than the sandy blond’s. “But there isn’t anything for at least twenty miles on either side of us.”
“Yeah, I figured that out the hard way,” I admit with a grimace. “And by the time I got back, my car had disappeared.”
“You mean that piece of shit we found on our property line belonged to you?” the guy with his hand still over his eyes asks. His voice is so low and growly, it doesn’t feel like I was wrong at all to mistake him for a bear.
“I’m sorry for leaving it there without a note,” I tell him. “I wasn’t aware I broke down on private property.”
“Still don’t explain why you’re buck naked in our cabin,” Bear Man replies.
I’d call his tone grumpy, but I have a bad feeling that’s just how he talks.
“Well, without a car, I didn’t know what else to do. The thing is that car is kind of my home for the time being. So I broke into your house.”
The dark-haired man’s expression instantly goes from confused to sympathetic. “You were living in your car? It’s freezing in here. Here take my coat.”
He strips out of his coat and comes forward to hold it out to me.
I accept it gratefully. He’s right, it is cold, and his jacket feels amazing. The material inside is soft and still warm from his body heat. Plus, it smells like expensive cologne.
“I was only planning on staying the night,” I tell the kind stranger as I zip up the jacket. “And I was going to send you money for the window after I got to where I was going and found a job.”
“And where is that exactly?” the blond asks. His tone isn’t mean, like Bear Man’s, but it’s suspicious.
“I’d rather not say,” I answer.
“Why? Because the plan was to rob us all along?” Bear Man asks, lowering his hand to glare at me.
He’s actually more handsome than he appeared when he was waving his gun. He’s way over six feet, and the beard seems to be covering a strong and angular jaw. If you squinted just right, you could easily spot the hottie hanging out underneath all the scruff.
But his words are ugly. I draw back, offended, even though I know I have no right to be, considering the situation.
The dark haired nice guy throws me an apologetic look. “Ignore Jeb. He’s not good with strangers.”
“Especially when they break into our house,” Jeb says between clenched teeth.
“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry,” I say again. “If you can just give me a ride to whatever auto shop you took my car to, I’ll get right on out of your hair.”
“We hauled it to the junkyard,” Jeb answers, without any remorse whatsoever.
What? My stomach collapses at his announcement. “But that was my car!”
“Your engine was toast,” the blond one tells me, his tone gentling a little.
“Also, it’s a shitty little Chevy Nova,” Jeb adds. “Fixing it will cost more than the damn thing’s worth.”
“Okay, but I’ve got to fix it,” I answer. “It’s all I have. So when you say more than it’s worth…how much are we talking?”
“We’d ask Craig over at the closest auto shop to give you a discount, of course,” the friendly dark-haired one answers. “But even with that, you’re looking at two to three thousand dollars if you want to get it drivable again.”
“Which you shouldn’t,” Jeb says. “The only thing that car’s good for is scrap.”
“Two to three thousand dollars?” I repeat, trying not to throw up. Even if it was safe to use my debit card, that’s twice as much as what was in our shared bank account. Tommy made good money as a police sergeant. But he spent a lot of his paycheck on going out to eat, his mortgage, and a bunch of other expenses I’d learned to stop asking about.
I consider some alternatives, like asking for a ride to Duluth. Maybe I could get a bus from there. But who would agree to drive a stranger who’d broken into their house that far? And who even knows if there’s an international bus station there? And say there is, then how will I get to my aunt’s house without a car?
I don’t have a phone. I know nothing about Ontario’s public transportation system, and I’m not even sure my aunt lives in Thunder Bay anymore. I haven’t heard from her in years. Not since she came down for my mother’s funeral. And when I tried to call the only number I had for her to let her know I was coming for a visit, it wasn’t in service.
But I took a chance. Tommy didn’t know about her like he knew about my best friends and fellow former state princesses, Cynda and Billie. So I hoped she might be a safe haven I could run to, then take the time to plan for the future.
No, I can’t take my chances. I’m so close to Canada. “I need that car.”
I don’t realize I’ve said that out loud until the possible Latino guy answers. “So you want us to tow it to Craig’s? We can do that. But can you guarantee that you have the money to fix it?”
I cringe inwardly at the note of skepticism in his voice. But I understand. Considering how they found me, I wouldn’t believe that I could pay either.
“No, I don’t have much money,” I admit with a sigh and a heavy heart. “But…”
A new answer to my problem comes through bright and clear. I got into Emory, the elite “Harvard of the South,” yes. But, technically, I’ve only been successful at one thing. Being a beautiful object that men like to look at. And if working at Magic Peaches taught me anything, it was that men were always willing to spend money to have a beautiful woman treat them like a king.
I didn’t do floor or lap dances while I was there. I’d been a headliner. The former Princess Georgia beauty queen, now willing to show you everything. But I’d seen and heard about what went on with the dancers who had to work a lot harder for their money.
From what they’d told me, half the job was cajoling more cash out of customers, thirty percent was actually dancing, and a good percent was turning down offers from men who wanted to take it further. Most often, the other dancers answered with a no. But it was so heavily disguised, many of their clients didn’t know that their potential bed partner had declined their offer until she snuck out the back door and never came back. But occasionally, if the price was right, or if the dancer needed more money fast.
Could one of these guys make the price right?
I swallow. Then swallow again, until I’m able to say, “I…um…used to be a stripper. If one of you wanted me to dance or do something more, I could do that for you. And in exchange, maybe you could give me enough money to pay for my car.”
I keep my voice brave and tough. But inside my head, Tommy’s screaming.
“See, that’s why I hit you. You’re nothing but a slut. I never should have gotten mixed up with you. I knew what you were from the start, what you’re always going to be.”
That’s what Tommy said to me the last time I tried to initiate sex. He loved that I made all his friends jealous. At the same time, he hated that men looked at me the way most men look at beautiful women with stripper curves. He wanted me to dress like a dirty girl but then freaked out if I so much as glanced at one of his friends.
And as for sex—apparently, good, and faithful girlfriends didn’t ever ask for that. I’d learned the hard way to wait until Tommy initiated sex with me. Never the other way around.
I drop my eyes and brace myself, not sure how the three men standing in front of me will respond to my offer. Possibly with disgust.
“When you say something more, what do you mean exactly?” a voice asks. “And for how long?”
Those questions bring my head up. It was the blond who asked. He’s standing with his hands on his hips in a way that reminds me of a businessman. Or a king.
“If one of you wanted company in bed for…” Swallowing the tiny bit of pride I had left, I do a quick calculation of what some of the Magic Peaches girls considered the right amount of money for something more than a lap job in VIP, then lower the price even further. “Say a week, then I’d be willing to do that.”
All three men have gone completely quiet, but they’re exchanging looks. Like they’re having some kind of conversation that doesn’t require words.
“Are you serious?” Jeb suddenly growls out loud.
I’m not sure if he’s talking to the other men or me until he says, “You really think this smokeshow accidentally ended up in a cabin owned by three pro football players? For all we know, she’s some batshit crazy fan, who marked us from the beginning. We take her up on this offer, and nine months from now, she’s going to be hitting one of us up for child support for the next eighteen years. And I tell ya, that’s going to cost a helluva lot more than a busted engine.”
I know I don’t have any right to feel offended, considering what I just offered them. “I had no idea you guys were professional football players. And as for getting pregnant, that’s not going to happen, because I already am. I’m about a month along, and if you don’t believe me, I’ll take a pregnancy test.”
This time all three of them go quiet and still.
Then the blond one says, “Conference. Outside.”
Chapter Four
On that command, all three men leave, closing the door behind them.
And I’m left there in the nice one’s big red coat, shivering even though it’s warm.
What if they don’t take my offer?
Or even worse—what if they report me to the police?
Tommy’s a cop and a police sergeant at that. If I show up on some station’s arrest report, he’ll track me down and then….
I flinch, remembering the closed fist he slammed into my chest after he found the birth control pills I’d kept hidden in my tampon box.
Tommy had hit me for no real reason before, but this time he had the right to be mad. We’d been living together for almost two years, and I’d never gone off birth control like I said I would when he proposed.
I hadn’t meant to lie to him for so long. I guess I’d been waiting to feel more certain about our relationship. Waiting, as if that warm, secure feeling I’d always dreamed of was a train, due any day now into my station.
But that train had never arrived. And when Tommy found out I had only been pretending to be off birth control, he completely lost it.
He always made sure not to touch my face when he hit me, but he must have done something to knock me unconscious this time. Or maybe I’d just passed out from the pain. Whatever the reason, I’d woken up the next morning battered and bruised. And though nothing was broken, I found it hard to breathe.
Bruised ribs, I figured out later via the internet.
Tommy had come home from his shift that night, his eyes full of tears and apologies. He’d tended to me and ordered us Chinese food, even though he didn’t like it. After dinner, he put me in a bath and helped me get dressed in one of the lacy camisoles he’d brought me.
Then he kissed me gently and…I guess you could call what happened after that, making love. It had been so long since we had sex, it was hard to tell what was love and what was apology.
Tommy was too stressed out a lot of times to make love. Unlike me, he had a job. He was usually drained by the end of the worked day, and on weekends, he just wanted to veg and watch sports. If I pressed him too much for sex, he’d turned me down. Or say things like, “That’s what I get for proposing to such a slut.”
I hated it when he called me that.
Sometimes Tommy acted like I was the greatest thing that ever happened to him. He loved taking me to parties and dinners and pretty much anywhere he could show me off to his friends. In public, he kept an arm around my waist, made sure my drink cup was always full and played the part of the devoted boyfriend. In public, he said and did all the right things.
That was why I’d been so excited when he dropped down to one knee and held out a ring two Christmases ago, right after I gave into his ultimatum about quitting my job at Magic Peaches.
Tommy had a steady career and an eye toward the future. When we met, he already owned a three-bedroom house in a great school district. And he’d told me on our first date that he wanted to fill it with a large family Just like the one he had growing up.
“You ain’t real Boston Catholic unless you got at least two people living in every bedroom of the house,” he’d joked.
It had just been my Canadian mom and me after my dad abandoned us, so Tommy’s childhood had been the exact opposite of mine. And I loved the idea of becoming a mother to a squad of at least four kids. Family…somehow I came to treasure Tommy’s vision even more than my own dream of becoming an interior designer.
So, it had felt like a fairytale ending when Tommy proposed to me. And yeah, sure, a lot of angry fights had preceded that moment. Tommy yelled a lot and whined even more when he didn’t get his way. Cynda had called him “controlling as a big dog” in that direct Missouri accent of hers on more than one occasion. To the point that I stopped telling her and my other best friend Billie Tommy stories.
They hadn’t understood why he was always getting upset with me. I thought Cynda, who didn’t really do boyfriends for longer than a month or two, was just being judgmental. He only yelled and became enraged on a dime because he was passionate and insecure when it came to me. That’s what I told myself. That’s what he told me.
“I don’t know what I did to have a beautiful angel like you fall into my lap,” he admitted to me when he was apologizing for one of our earlier fights. “I mean, you were a state beauty queen. You got all these guys panting over you. Sometimes I just find it too hard to believe you’d be faithful to a tool like me.”
During the time we were together, I was either an angel or a slut in Tommy’s book. There was never any in-between. So I worked hard to always be the beautiful angel he wanted me to be.
I hadn’t pressed him for sex, even when months went by. I dressed like a stripper to make his friends jealous. But I never acted like the stereotype behind closed doors. I was the opposite of the chorus of “Nasty Girl,” that Ludacris song I used to dance to at Magic Peaches. I was a freak in the streets and a lady between the sheets.
I sashayed past Tommy’s buddies, but I never mentioned or even looked at another guy. Ever. And I kept my mouth closed as the weeks between sex sometimes became months. I quietly graduated from Emory, and I didn’t even try to float the idea of applying to interior design firms.
I pushed my dreams into a mental Someday/Maybe folder. And I pretended that I didn’t need or want a career outside of planning for our wedding and preparing to become the mother to his brood that he’d always envisioned.
But it wasn’t enough. Tommy always found something wrong with me, some reason to fly off the handle. He just yelled and screamed at me at first. But then, eventually, he started hitting me. I should have left the first time he laid hands on me. But I didn’t.
I still can’t explain why. I guess I was so beaten down by his words by the time he started hitting me, I didn’t know how to defend myself against his blows—the verbal or the physical ones.
But the abuse escalated, and the one time I’d suggested we break up, he pulled out his service revolver.
“You think I won’t blow a hole in your head if you ever try to leave me? After everything I sacrificed to be with you? After everything I gave you? You think I’d let you leave me to be with some other schmuck who couldn’t see past your beautiful face? Nah, babe, if you break up with me, I’m not going to take it. I will kill you and whoever you try to hook up with next. I will kill the both of you and burn down this house with you inside it.”
That had been a year ago. And I’d been so confused about what to do after that…
Until those two lines appeared.
Then suddenly, I wasn’t confused at all. I knew Tommy would be ecstatic when I told him. At least at first.
But then would come the accusations. Was the baby his? How did he know? Who had I been speaking to, flirting with behind his back?
The answer was no one. I’d dropped my Magic Peaches friends one by one because Tommy didn’t approve of them. How am I supposed to believe you aren’t cheating on me when you’re hanging out with strippers, huh? And even talking to Cynda and Billie had become too hard.
After accusing me of complaining about him behind his back, he’d insisted on sitting in on every three-way FaceTime call, in the background where they couldn’t see him. It had been so hard to act natural while Billie and Cynda talked about their normal lives. And I guess I didn’t do a good enough job. Even though my two best friends couldn’t see Tommy, sitting off camera, they kept asking me if I was all right and saying I seemed a little off.
Eventually, it just became easier to make last-minute excuses about why I couldn’t join the monthly call. Guilt washed over me every time I did it, but it felt even worse trying to pretend I was alright when I wasn’t.
I might still be dodging their calls if I hadn’t missed my period after Tommy flushed my birth control pills. But after I found out I was pregnant, I knew no matter what I’d been trying to tell myself, my life wasn’t alright. My baby’s life wouldn’t be alright. It couldn’t be if I stayed with Tommy.
