Surrender (9 page)

“Yeah,” he answers. “I reviewed
all
the employee profiles.”

That emphasis on
all
is telling.

“Craig used to be a cop,” he says.

Is he changing the subject? “For three and a half years. He got caught having sex in his squad car while he was on duty at Cole Park.” I’ll indulge this line of conversation.

Garrick shakes his head. “What an idiot.”

“Yeah, he was on a power trip. The department kept it hush-hush and let him resign. He’s been at the Den ever since.”

“And now I have to work with him.” Garrick’s body tenses. I know he’s pissed at Craig already. “I won’t put up with anything,” he warns. “I’m patient, but I have my limits. Understand?”

I’ve read about similar love triangles in gossip magazines—watched episodes of
Snapped
on television. I can see it now. Stripper gunned down onstage by spurned, would-be lover . . . I’m terribly superstitious and susceptible to premonitions.

“You didn’t say anything, Robyn.”

“I know.” What can I say? I don’t keep Craig on a leash. And I most certainly don’t encourage his affection. I loathe it. He’s everything in a guy I don’t want—all wrapped in one big and gorgeous body with shit for brains and morals. “Maybe it’s best we keep this a secret for now. Slowly introduce ourselves as a couple.”

He pulls away from me. “I don’t like games. We’re grown-ups, Robyn. I’m not going to lie if someone asks me who you are. Will you?”

I don’t think Garrick understands club culture. If customers know we’re dating, it could hurt my bottom line. I can’t afford to lose money. “Garrick,” I say. “Working at a strip club is stressful. There’s . . .”

He waves a hand at me. “I worked as a bouncer while I went to school. I know the games dancers and customers play.”

At least I can connect the dots now. I racked my brain trying to figure out why he went from mechanical engineer for a corporation like BP to head of security at the Devil’s Den. “Really? Where?”

“Ten’s Show Club in Salisbury, Massachusetts.”

“I’ve heard of that place.”

“It’s a hot spot, similar to the Den, only classier.”

I pout. “What are you saying?”

“Things are different back east. There’s no touching.
None.
”

Damn.
It usually takes a few dates before a guy starts making negative comments about my club. I sigh. “I have to earn a living.”

“I’m not judging you.” He caresses my cheek. “Hell, I start work on Thursday. Remember? However,” he says, “I
will
protect you. And if I’m uncomfortable with anything, I’ll tell you up front. Agreed?”

I can’t ask for a better arrangement. Open communication is the key to success in any relationship, right? And I kinda want this guy. Bad. “Agreed.” I shake his hand vigorously.

He grabs a pillow and smacks me upside the head. I laugh and smack his arm.

“Breakfast?” he asks.

I’m famished. “Sure. I think I have eggs and turkey bacon. Maybe English muffins.”

He scoffs. “A
man
breakfast, girl, not
bird
food.”

I chuckle. “Where are we going?”

“My favorite diner, the C & C Restaurant.”

Of all the cafés in town, he has to pick the one place I never want to see again. We walk through the front doors. I scan the tables. It’s pretty busy. I’m wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses, hoping I won’t attract any attention.

“Isabella Mastrioni . . .” I cringe at the uttering of that name.

I refuse to acknowledge the owner, Grigor Borbokis, hoping he’ll think he mistook me for someone else.

“Isabella.”

I shut my eyes and pray.

“Robyn . . .” Garrick taps me on the shoulder.

I open my eyes. Grigor is standing in front of us. “Isabella,” he says again. “How many years has it been?”

I force a smile. “Four years,” I say.

He looks at Garrick. “Isabella used to work for me. She was very young, but a hard worker.”

Garrick grins and shakes the owner’s hand. Grigor takes us to a booth in the back and leaves two menus on the table. I slide in and hunch over, hoping no one else will see me.

“Isabella Mastrioni?” Garrick asks with a gleam in his eyes. “You’re Italian?”

I fold my arms over my chest and sigh. “My mother is,” I say.

“Why the alias? Are you on the FBI’s Most Wanted list?”

“No,” I huff. “I was just a fifteen-year-old trying to pay my rent.”

Garrick’s smile fades instantly. “Fifteen? Serving alcohol?”

I really don’t want to relive my sordid past right now. But I can’t stop the same memory that always haunts me, of when I was kicked out of the house . . .

I sneak my cellphone out of the house by packing it between my clothes in the garbage bags my mother gave me. My parents’ home is located on a large corner lot, fully fenced and lined by tall chinaberry trees in full bloom. I can stash my bags there if I need to. I drag my stuff around the side of the house, then dig my cell out. I immediately call my only girlfriend in Corpus. Valerie answers the phone.

I’m crying. “Val,” I sniff, “I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“What happened?” she asks.

I tell her.

“My God,” she says. “I can’t believe your mom did that to you. What about your boyfriend or friends in Odem?”

“I can’t stay here,” I inform her. I broke up with John a week ago. “You know how bad gossip is in this place. The minute it gets out . . . Please,” I beg, “can you pick me up?” Odem is nearly thirty miles from the city. It’s my only option. Val’s family moved away a year ago. She knows her way around Corpus.

She doesn’t hesitate. “Sure. It’ll take me an hour or so. Where can we meet?”

I look around. Our next-door neighbor, Mrs. Pratt, is home. The Deleon family lives across the street.
No.
If I knock on their doors, they’ll ask questions. By the time Val gets here it will be dark. “I’ll hide in the trees on the side of my house.”

“Are you sure?” she asks.

“Yes. Thank you.” Val hangs up. I should call my little sister, Marisela. But she’s spending the night with her best friend, and I don’t want to ruin her night. I’m too ashamed to call my dad. I don’t know how he would react to what my mother accused me of. It doesn’t matter; he’d never defy my mother, ever. My brothers and elder sister live out of state. And they’d never help me. I’m alone.

“Didn’t you hear me, darlin’?” Garrick asks. If he stares any harder, he’ll bore holes in me. “Why were you working here underage?”

Oh, I heard him just fine. I don’t want to tell him. I’m secretive about my unhappy past. People treat me like I have leprosy when they find out my family basically disowned me. They unfairly assume I did something wrong. Drugs. Prostitution. Teenage pregnancy. “Yeah, I heard you,” I say. He’s waiting patiently for an answer. I give in. “My mom kicked me out of the house. I needed a job. Bad. My girlfriend suggested this place because her cousin worked here as a cook. I applied for the job, then invented this whole new identity for a couple of years.”

He shakes his head. I count to myself, wondering how long it will take for this guy to run and never look back. Instead, he gives me a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry that happened to you. I wish I’d been around.” He means it.

“Shit happens.” I grab a menu.

“How’d you get away with it for so long? Cash your paychecks? Rent an apartment?”

“Please.” I’m growing more irritable by the second. Not at Garrick directly, just the awkwardness of the situation. I feel like I’m an amoeba on a slide in my biology class about to be probed under a microscope. I sigh, not hiding my frustration. “I purchased a fake ID. I cashed all my checks here. The job didn’t pay much.”

He takes my hand. “You don’t have to hide your feelings from me, Robyn. We’re alike, have suffered the same kind of loss.”

I massage his knuckles. He’s right. Although his parents are dead, half the time I feel like my family is gone—it amounts to the same thing. “Thank you.” I mean it. “The only other person who knows my dark secrets is Macey. It will take some getting used to—opening up when I’ve spent all these years shutting myself in.”

“Let the light in, darlin’,” he says with an affectionate grin. “I’ll melt that heart, trust me.”

If he only knew . . .

“Now,” he says. “Where did you live when you worked here?”

I throw him
the
look. The same one my mother slapped off my face when I was a kid. Telling him everything at once makes my insides squirm. “I rented a hotel room on Leopard Street.”

“What about your father? You’ve never mentioned him. Didn’t he . . .”

Another sore subject. “Once I started dancing, it killed any hope of resurrecting our relationship.”

My unfortunate history tugs on his heartstrings; I can see it on his face. “You’re amazing, Robyn Gonzalez.” That’s all he says. He grabs the second menu and opens it. “What are we having?”

My blood boils at the thought of Robyn living in some roach-infested hotel on Leopard Street surrounded by pimps and drug dealers. I’m amazed and pissed. She’s tenacious and smart. Underneath her tough-girl façade is a layer of vulnerability she tries to hide. If I get too close too fast, she’ll run. But I’m sure I can help her overcome some of her fears. If she gives me the chance. I’m up against some pretty formidable foes. Ghosts from her former life. Parents who obviously don’t give a shit about their beautiful daughter. Her life reads like a tragic bestseller.

I think about my own childhood. I’m fortunate to have a sister who adores me and memories of parents who loved me, unconditionally. I can’t imagine what she’s feeling. How she felt back then.

We order pancakes and eggs. The owner serves us.

After we finish eating, I pay the bill and then we head outside. She’s still quiet. “Wanna work out?”

She stares at me. “At a gym?”

“Yeah,” I say. “That’s the general idea.”

She swats my ass.
Good.
There’s the smile I want to see.

We drive to Gold’s Gym. I buy her a T-shirt and sweats with the Gold’s Gym insignia on them to work out in. She disappears into the women’s locker room and I grab shorts from my locker and change. As I wait for Robyn up front, Wesley creeps behind me and blows in my ear.

“Asshole.” I laugh.

“Is that the one?” he asks, pointing toward the locker room.

“Leave it alone,” I warn.

He sniffs the air. “You smell different,” he claims.

I know where he’s headed with this conversation and I don’t like it. “Shut the fuck up.”

He holds his hands up. “I surrender.”

My overprotectiveness of Robyn gives away my feelings. “I’ll introduce you.”

Robyn joins us by the reception desk and shakes hands with Wesley.

He eyeballs her and whistles. “Where’d you two meet?” he asks.

I’m pissed. “Downtown,” I lie. I’m giving him the evil eye and he knows it.

He smartly changes the subject. “Your boy played quarterback for Carroll.”

“Really?” Robyn stares at me. “He never told me about his fledgling football career.”

“I’d call it more than fledgling,” Winston brags. “He turned down a full scholarship to Purdue to go to engineering school.”

“MIT,” I say.

“That’s what I said,” Wesley chaffs. “You traded pigskin for a pocket protector.”

Robyn laughs. “Did you play ball?” she asks Wesley.

“Yes ma’am.” He’s such a redneck. “Center. I bent over in front of this bitch every week, praying he wouldn’t shove something up my ass.”

I give him a solid push. He stumbles backward, laughing. “I’ve gotta go,” he announces.

We fist bump and he shakes Robyn’s hand again. “See you soon, sweetheart.” He leaves.

“Ready to do some bench presses?” I ask, half joking.

She looks around, finding the dumbbells and benches in the back corner. “Over there?”

I nod, knowing she’s going to try and impress me. “Yep.”

“Let’s go.” She saunters ahead, my eyes fixed on her ass, which looks edible in those tight sweats I bought her.

She runs her fingers across the dumbbells, reading the weights out loud. When she selects thirty-pounders, I chuckle. “Ever done this?”

“No.” She shrugs.

“Better start with something a little lighter.” I choose a set of tens, then offer them to her.

She rolls her eyes. “Think I’m a weakling?”

Far from it. I nibble her neck. “Let’s do inclines.” I adjust the bench and she sits down. “Let me spot you until you’re comfortable. Just remember, to get the most out of this, form is everything.”

She purses her lips. “You just want an excuse to touch me.”

I waggle my eyebrows. Who needs an excuse? She’s beautiful. Standing behind her, I position her arms. “Don’t lock your elbows,” I say as she dips, then raises the weights to the starting position again. After ten more reps she’s tired. I lean over, my chin brushing against her breasts. I take custody of the dumbbells, dropping them on the floor mat. When I look down, our faces are perfectly aligned. She chews on her bottom lip, fluttering her eyelashes.

I’ve never considered alternate uses for an incline bench until now. Not caring who’s around, I slant my mouth over hers, our tongues rolling together in a lazy kiss. She tastes like spearmint. Then I grip her shoulders, lifting her so I get deeper penetration.
Fuck the workout. I know another way to burn calories and alleviate stress.
My hands slide down her arms.

When she breaks the kiss I sigh. “What’s wrong?”

Her gaze zigzags around the large, open space. “People are watching.”

“Who?” I ask, taking inventory of who’s nearby. I catch a couple of snorts from the guys next to us, but there’s no one else. I nuzzle against her ear and whisper, “Ever make love in public?”

She squirms, averting her eyes. “No.”

“We can rent a tanning booth or take a shower together . . .” I run my finger between her breasts. “Or here.”

“Garrick.” She slaps my arm.

That’s when I round the bench and straddle her. I quickly pin her arms above her head, leaning in for another deep kiss. She shifts underneath me, trying to escape. I can’t help laughing and release her, hoping she’ll ask to leave. Instead, she jumps up, a sexy frown on her perfect lips.