Plan B (23 page)

T
HE
flight from New York to Detroit was uneventful. Just like the trip I’d made the previous week, it wasn’t the traveling that sucked, it was what faced me at the other end that had been the hard part.

Kyle’s eyes had lit up when he’d first seen me in the hallway outside his dressing room. But he’d taken in the flowers in my hand and the expression on my face and his had fallen. He knew before I’d even opened my mouth that I’d come to tell him I wouldn’t be joining him in Chicago. There had been a lot of tears, from both of us, but we also agreed that it was unfair for either of us to give up their dream. He wasn’t willing to move to New York, and I wasn’t willing to move to Chicago. As badly as it had sucked to say good-bye to Kyle, I was glad I had done it face-to-face, that I had chosen to do it at all and not just walk away. It gave us both closure; it still hurt, but the healing began the minute I walked out the door of his apartment and headed back to New York.

The trip to Michigan wouldn’t be so easy.

I’d declined Bo’s offer to stay with him and his parents, electing to rent a hotel in Pontiac not too far from Lapeer, where the wedding ceremony would take place. Bo seemed upset with my decision, but he finally relented when I explained that the club we were going to celebrate his last night of bachelordom was only two blocks away. I damn sure was going to need a drink, probably lots of drinks, since Bo had been obligated to invite Lance. Yeah, I was sure I would be in no shape to drive either of us home.

Before I left New York, I had been prepared to shave my head. I still had a dislike of wigs and I would need the new do. I sat in the chair, cringing and physically sick to my stomach as the hairdresser shaved a swatch of hair from the side of my head. The long blond locks looked obscene against the black cape. When he did the same thing to the other side, the last of the color drained from my face. I must have looked pretty bad because the guy started fanning me with a magazine and screeching,

“Honey, it’s okay. Breathe! It’s just hair, it will grow back.”

I’d been so focused on the hair falling all around me that I hadn’t even looked at my reflection in the mirror. When his screeching voice finally penetrated the fog, I looked up at my reflection and….

“Oh. My. God! I love it!”

The darker sides framed the platinum blond on top, making it appear even whiter. It fell over my left eye and with a little snip at the back, a little sticky spray to spike up the area around the crown, and I’d look like “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! Xandir P. Wifflebottom!”

I was a nerdy game- and adventure-loving cartoon superhero.

The stylist obviously had watched Drawn Together as well because he started pointing and laughing until he had tears rolling down his face. By the time I left the salon, I wasn’t looking much like Charlie Chaplin, but the top could probably be slicked back or hidden under Chaplin’s signature derby, if not, I’d cut it when I got back from my trip.

Standing in front of the large mirror in the bathroom of my hotel room, I took in my wild new haircut, the dramatic smoky eye shadow, smooth skin, and flawlessly lined and painted lips, and I looked nothing like a cartoon. I looked fabulous, if I did say so myself. The clothing I picked for the club was also nothing like that of an animated superhero sidekick.

Teal silk T-shirt that hugged my lean body like a second skin, straight jeans, and a pair of Dr. Martens Drake shoes. I was also accessorized to the T with rhinestone belt, numerous bracelets on both wrists, and a simple silver cross pendant around my neck.

All the confidence I had in my looks plummeted to my knees, along with everything else, when there was a knock on the door. I was literally shaking, forcing my feet to move unsteadily toward the door. My hand perched on the knob, I shuddered when a trickle of perspiration ran down my spine.
C’mon, Danny, this is not about you. This is Bo’s night. Man up, bitch!

I took a deep breath, mentally flipped off the irritating little fucker in my head, and opened the door.

It was only Bo.

“Danny!” Bo hugged me tightly and patted me on the back before stepping into the room. “Damn, you look good!”

“Thanks.” I peered out into the hall but there was no one there. I shut the door, relieved? Disappointed? “Of course I do.” I waved a limp-wristed hand at him. “You say that like it’s a surprise.”

“Whatever,” he said and slumped back in one of the leather club chairs. “God, I need a drink and maybe some coffee. I’m exhausted.”

“Katie running you a little ragged, is she?” I asked and took the other club chair next to him.

“You have no idea! I’ll be glad when this is over. Here.” He held out a folded piece of paper.

“What is it,” I asked, taking the paper.

“Rules.”

“What! You’re kidding me, right?” I smoothed open the note.

“She made me promise I’d give it to you.” He shrugged. “She’ll ask you about it I’m sure.”

1. Have him in his tux and at the church by two

2. No

I crumbled it into a ball and threw it behind me. “I’ll follow rule one and deliver you to the church on time, but other than that, she don’t get to make no stinking rules until she has that ring on your finger.”

We high-fived and both laughed.

“So umm….” I tapped my finger against the arm of the chair. “Is it going to be just us?”

“He’s waiting in the lobby. He knows we haven’t seen each other in a while and wanted to give us some time to catch up.”

“That’s stupid.”

“I know. I told him it wasn’t necessary, ’cause we’re like two high school girls with new phones with the amount of texting and calling we do. I haven’t seen him look this bad since—”

I held up a hand. “Don’t say it. Tonight is about you. I promise I’ll behave and make him feel comfortable. I don’t plan on bringing up anything from the past. Not tonight.”

Bo looked at me skeptically. “You really think that’s possible?”

No. Lance wasn’t the only one nervous as hell. I was fucking petrified to see him. “Sure!” I said with a confidence I didn’t feel. I went to my feet and held out my hand. “C’mon, let’s go get your future brother-in-law, get you a stiff drink, and find a couple of strippers to give you a stiffie.”

He laughed, allowed me to pull him to his feet, and draped an arm around my shoulders. “That was rule number two.”

“Pfft! Don’t get all pussy-whipped on me now. Save that shit for when she attaches your ball and chain.” I grabbed the key card from the dresser as we walked by and shoved it in my back pocket with my wallet. “Tonight, the only rule we have is we must have fun in whatever we do.” I opened the door and ushered him out with a wave of my arm. I followed him down the hall, hoping like hell I would be able to follow my own rule.

Lance was standing with his back to us when we walked into the lobby, looking out the large front window. My heart recognized him immediately and skipped a beat. He was broader, his black T-shirt stretched tight over his wide back and thick biceps. I remembered he’d always had large, well-developed thighs but now they were like thick tree trunks. Obviously the NFL worked him hard—he was huge.

I hadn’t even realized my feet and my breath had stopped as surely as my heart until Bo nudged me.

“You okay?” he whispered.

My throat had gone dry and constricted, making it impossible to respond, but I nodded.
I can do this
, I chanted over and over in my head, and forced my feet to move. My force of will over my limbs was stripped away when Lance turned, a slight smile on his lips, making me wonder if he’d been watching my approach in the dark glass, and those extraordinary gray eyes met mine.

“Hi, Danny.”

In the blink of an eye I was transported back to the last time I’d seen him. To the moment when I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I loved him and the surety that I’d be devastated when I walked away.

Had it not been for Bo standing next to me, the night before he was to marry, I would have turned around and run like hell. I didn’t want to feel that pain again, yet I could already feel it creeping down my spine, seeping its way into my soul.

But it
was
about Bo, and with an inner strength I had no idea I possessed, I plastered on a warm smile and said, “Hi, Lance, you ready to party?” I didn’t dare extend my hand to shake his or move any closer to him. No way could I touch him. I was a tough bastard, a damn good actor, but there were limits to what I could endure.

I don’t know what Bo was expecting me to say or do, but he visibly slumped in relief next to me. “Hell yeah, I need a drink.”

“Same here,” Lance responded.

I locked my arm in Bo’s—more to hold myself up, my legs were shaking so bad—and led him to the door. I could feel Lance’s eyes on me, boring into my back, and I had to clamp down on my muscles to stop the shiver that threatened.

Although the sun had set, the heat of the late July day hadn’t yet cooled. It was only a short walk to Jamin’s but sweat had broken out on my brow by the time we made it to the club. I was the first to hand the bouncer my ID and waited just inside the door as Bo and Lance followed suit. I got a chance to study Lance without him knowing it. The sweat on his brow and thick neck glistened on his tanned skin. His hair was longer, much the same style it had been during the time we had been snowed in together. I couldn’t help but remember what he looked like that night, the sweat on his skin from the exertion and pleasure, rather than the heat of the day, as we rubbed our bodies together. The way he’d rolled me over, eyes twinkling and a huge smile on his face when he asked if we could do it again.

Christ, it was going to be a long night if every movement he made, even sweat on his brow, reminded me of the past.

I forced myself to turn away and take in the club around me.

Jamin’s was hopping, but it wasn’t packed—only about three-fourths of the tables had patrons sitting at them. The bar against the far wall had a few open stools and no one in line waiting for a drink. The multicolored lights on the ceiling flickered and blinked in time to the techno dance mix blasting from hidden speakers.

Jamin’s didn’t have a dance floor—tables filled every open surface of floor—but there was a small stage on the opposite wall from the bar designed for dancing of the provocative kind. A pretty girl with long, brunette wavy hair danced seductively in nothing but black, spiked-heel, knee-high boots, black lace thong, and black lace push-up bra.

It wasn’t my kind of show, wrong plumbing, but Bo would love it. I spotted a free table and beckoned them to follow me. I figured while Lance and Bo stuck crumpled dollar bills in the stripper’s G-strings, I could dampen my senses with hard liquor.

After an hour, I was on my second Jack and Coke and Lance was quietly sipping on his beer, the both of us both trying to discreetly look at the other. Bo was sitting stiffly, nursing his original screwdriver. I knew I had to do something or Bo’s bachelor party was going to be a bust.

I excused myself and made my way to the bar.

“What can I get you?”

“Three shots of tequila, three Miller drafts, and a lap dance for my buddy who is saying ‘I do’ tomorrow.”

“I can get you the drinks but you have to talk to Miss Melanie about the dance.” He pointed toward the end of the bar to a heavyset, middle-aged woman with a high blonde wig, heavy makeup smeared on her wrinkled face, and her large breasts practically spilling out of her corset.
Lovely
, I thought sarcastically.

“Be right back,” I told him with a smile and headed to the end of the bar.

“Miss Melanie,” I said, holding out my hand.

She took my hand and I brought her pudgy paw to my mouth and kissed it. “I’d like to hire one of your beautiful girls to entertain my friend.”

“Well, ain’t you just a sweet talker.” Her eyes roamed down my body, leisurely making my skin crawl.
Eww!
“Quite the looker too. You ever do any stripping?”

“Only in private.” I winked at her and she laughed.

“For you, twenty bucks for a public show, a hundred if you want one of those ‘only in private’ shows.”

“Public is fine.” I pulled a twenty out of my wallet and handed it to her. Miss Melanie didn’t take it but jiggled her boobs. Good God. The things I had to do for a friend. I tucked the twenty in her cleavage and pointed out Bo, thanked her, and picked up our drinks before heading back to the table.

B
O
SAT
on a straight-back chair in the middle of the stage, legs sprawled out as a tall, lean blonde straddled his thighs, gyrating and grinding against his crotch. Even from where I was sitting, I could see the sweat rolling down his temples as he gritted his teeth and did his damnedest not to grind back. He was so going to kill me.

Was Lance getting off on the show? Was he remembering his first stripper experience or was that fantasy behind him? I stole a glance in his direction, eyes landing on his crotch and the thick bulge in his jeans. Definitely enjoying the show. When I looked up, he wasn’t watching the show but staring intently at me.

The crowd around us was screaming and hooting as the show continued, the music blaring, making it impossible to hear each other. Lance leaned in, my breath hitched when his warm breath tickled my ear.

“Life has been good to you. You look amazing.”

I shuddered at his heat and scent surrounding me. “I could say the same to you.”

He chuckled but it sounded kind of sad. “You have no idea.”

What did he mean? Had life been good to him the past three years? He had achieved his goals. He looked amazing, better than I remembered. How could he not think life was good?

We sat there close, and I swore I could hear him inhaling deeply. Maybe I only felt it, but his nearness was doing something to me none of these half-naked women could do. My mouth felt like the Sahara, tongue dry and throat gritty. He still could affect me like no one ever had. I picked up my beer and took a sip, my hand shaking so badly the contents sloshed over the sides and landed on my thighs as I set it back on the table. I wiped at it absently, cheeks heating.