Trick (16 page)

“What did he say?” Jilly asks.

“I’d rather not discuss it before performing,” I whisper back.

Suddenly the moves I could have down backwards in my sleep are slipping out of my head, and I feel the worst case of stage fright I can imagine settling in.

We take our positions and a man who sounds so much like Gunner it’s actually a little eerie thanks the people who came for their hard work and tells them to enjoy the show.

The curtain goes up and the lights in the bar dim while we get the focus of small spotlights. When the first notes ring out, it’s a relief that my eyes haven’t adjusted yet, because I can focus on the dance, on moving my body in time to the music. The crowd is enthusiastic and claps along, cheering now and then when we hit a particularly hard move in unison. It’s loud, sure, but no one is being anything more than excited.

And I’m thankful, because my eyes do adjust just as I’m shimmying down a pole upside down, and Gunner is staring, arms crossed, mouth a tight, flat line. I can feel the aggression radiating off of him, and I know that if anyone makes any move that’s less than okay, he’s going to come out, fists flying.

I’m so nervous, I almost misstep. As hard as it is, I have to tear my eyes away from him, tall, muscled, and pissed as hell, glowering from his corner.

Bad as it is to see Gunner, it’s worse to catch sight of Rochelle rolling her eyes and throwing back shots. She looks so beautiful and polished, a little piece of my self-esteem shakes hard. There would be plenty of guys who would probably pick Rochelle over me in a side-by-side comparison. I know it doesn’t matter as long as Gunner isn’t one of those guys.

And he isn’t. But I’m not sure Rochelle knows that, and that may spell trouble for tonight.

I tell myself over and over that he isn’t in love with Rochelle, no matter how at home she looks in this bar, tough but gorgeous, confident and sexy.

It rattles my nerves, but I turn back to the dance.

I focus on the way my body moves, the way the music pulls me in, the sound of the other girls’ claps, stomps, and slaps. The routine is meant to be sensual and beautiful, with an edge of sexy. It also spans three songs straight with no more than a pause in between.

By the time the last chords play, we’re all panting and sweaty. I would murder with my bare hands for a glass of water, and I need to adjust my fishnets.

We wait a tense second, mid bow, before the entire bar erupts with screams of and claps that are true music to our ears. We worked our asses off to learn these steps in no time, and it feels so good to have people actually appreciate them.

We come off the stage and Jarred has a line of ice water glasses with lemons waiting, along with cool damp towels. The girls cheer, and I press the towel to my neck, careful not to muss my makeup. I take a long sip and am surprised to see a guy who looks so much like Gunner, I almost reached out to him.

“You must be Harlow,” he says, his smile not entirely nice. Like he’s maybe laughing at me behind it. “I’m Ryker, Gunner’s brother.”

I hold my hand out and he shakes, holding on a little too long and a little too tight. “It’s nice to meet you,” I say, looking over his shoulder for Gunner, who’s headed my way at lightning speed. I catch sight of Rochelle trying to pull him back and talk. I guess she’s the reason he wasn’t waiting for me as soon as I finished.

“So, I know my brother has your name tattooed on his arm, but seeing as he’s with Rochelle now, I was wondering if I might be able to buy you dinner sometime? I know a great Mexican place with margaritas so good they’ll make you wanna take your clothes off.”

I raise my eyebrows. “I’m sorry, Ryker. Was that supposed to be a come on? Because it just sounded like you being a walking asshole.”

Instead of being offended, Ryker just laughs. “I like your attitude, Harlow. And I can’t take my eyes off of you when you dance.”

“Girls, curtain in five!” June calls.

I take a last long sip of water, and Gunner makes it over just as I hop down from the stool. “What’s going on over here?” he demands.

“Your sexy little ex was just trying to resist my charms. Not very successfully, of course.” He grins my way and Gunner grabs him by the shirt roughly. “What the hell, man! It was three damn years ago! I didn’t realize you held a candle!”

“She’s not my ex,” Gunner snarls. Rochelle comes behind him at this second, her low, skintight black dress making my outfit look demure. “She’s mine. Always will be. So back the hell off, Ryker.”

“Shit, I got the message,” his brother snaps, yanking away from Gunner. “You don’t have to piss on her leg.”

Gunner lunges and I catch his arm. “What is wrong with you?” I hiss. “He didn’t know we were together.”

“That’s my damn fault,” Gunner says. “Get your stuff. We’re going to find you a goddamn engagement ring tonight.”

Rochelle’s face goes pure white and she grips the bar behind her.

“W-w-what? Wait a minute. Was that my proposal?” My head spins and I feel nauseous. “That’s not how I imagined it going.”

“Well, I’m so sorry it’s not what you wanted, Harlow, but I never asked you to get on a stage in front of a bunch of horny assholes and shake your ass. Maybe I could have given you the kind of proposal fit for a princess, like you
imagined
, but you’re not leaving me many options here.” His voice is so mean, it’s just this side of a sneer.

“Are you being serious?” I ask, blinking to keep back tears. I have a clear view of Rochelle, who’s eavesdropping without trying to hide it, and her face shows a triumph I want to punch away.

“Serious as a fucking heart attack, babe. You want to be with me? You need to get that my girl is mine and mine alone. I’m not putting up with all this bullshit. I feel like beating the shit out of every guy looking at you.”

“You better get yourself under control,” I snap. “This is my job, I’m doing what I love, and I’m not letting you ruin it. And to think I thought it’d be my daddy who’d stop me from following my dreams.”

I turn to walk away from me and he lets out a groan of frustration. “Really? Your dream is dancing in next to nothing on a makeshift stage in some shitty bar?”

I face him and get control over my voice before I speak. “My dream is to do what I love and have the people I love support me. That’s my dream, Gunner.” I stomp up the steps just in time to take my place before curtain.

This time there’s no holding back, no nervous fear. I dance my heart out, and let my body channel every frustration, every bit of anger and disappointment I feel. I have never moved this way, never felt this electric jolt on my skin.

CHAPTER 12

GUNNER

“What the fuck is going on, Gunner?” Rochelle seethes in my face.

“Not now,” I say. I start toward my office, unable to watch anymore of this shit, and Rochelle is right on my damn heels. “You don’t need to follow me, Rochelle.”

She doesn’t listen.

“Haven’t I told you before that desperation isn’t a good luck on you?” I ask as I stop in the doorway and turn toward her so quick that she jumps back, making me pause, because it’s so not like her to be startled.

I must be really fucking out of control.

“You either,” Rochelle spits back. She’s right. I’m fucking desperate. Desperately in love with Harlow. Desperate to do things the right way this time.

Except, I seem to be fucking them up worse with every passing second.

“What the hell was that back there?” She pushes past me into my office and plops down onto the raggedy leather sofa. “I thought you were done with her.”

I stare up at the ceiling and rake my hands through my hair. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.

“I thought it was going to be a good night for us, and then I come here and that brat is sashaying all over the place and you’re too busy marking your territory around her to even notice me. Or this new dress I bought.” Rochelle pushes her bottom lip out into her best pout and loops her fingers through the tie holding her entire get-up closed. “If you were paying more attention, you would have noticed by now that I’m not wearing anything under this. And it’s all for you.”

“Rochelle—” I start, but she stands up and yanks on the strings, letting the thin, black dress split at the front and fall to the floor. She wasn’t kidding about not wearing anything underneath. I kick the door closed because now my office is full of smooth, bronzed skin and amazing curves. I swallow hard before speaking.

I’m a fool, but not a big enough one that I don’t realize that a body like Rochelle’s is a thing of fucking beauty. “Rochelle, get dressed.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t want me, Gunner.” She traces a slow circle with her index finger around her belly button. She’s so damn confident in herself, in us as a couple, in the life that we could have together.

“There’s a pile of people out there, Rochelle. And we’re not doing this. Get dressed.”

This time, I reach down and grab her dress. I walk toward her, close enough that I can smell the heavy perfume she always wears, see the familiar way her brown hair rests on her shoulders and falls down over her tits. I can’t help but think of all of the times I pushed her hair aside and sucked on her neck.

Being with Rochelle wasn’t all bad, but a future with her just isn’t what I want. My heart is out there dancing for a crowd of assholes.

I hand over the dress, and instead of reaching for it, Rochelle cocks a smile and reaches for my zipper.

“Come on Gunner, let me remind you how good it is.” She walks her long fingernails up my arm and God, I love Harlow, but fuck me if I don’t have to suck in a deep breath and will myself to tell her to stop. “I can make Little Miss Goodie Two-Shoes dance right out of your mind, forever.”

I push her hair back away from her ear and lean in close.

“We had a great time, Rochelle. But it’s over. Now get dressed. Please.” I say.

She exhales sharply, grabs the dress from my hand and steps into it quickly.

“Are you kidding me, Gunner? You’re seriously walking away from me? For that?”

“Don’t make this a big thing, Chelle. Let’s just accept that we aren’t a good fit and should go our separate ways, okay?”

She looks up from the knot she’s tying to close her dress and glares at me.

“Is this for real? You honestly think that we—
we—
aren’t a good fit? But you and Harlow make sense? Give me a break, Gunner. You’re going to break her—or her heart—faster than you can down a bottle of Jack. And don’t think Ryker, and guys like him won’t be lining up to try to get a piece of her, knowing she’s all wounded and hurt by the great Gunner Hunt. You really want to put her through that? You know damn well it’s true.”

She slips her feet back into her high-as-hell heels. “You and I have a connection, whether you want to admit it or not. And if it wasn’t for
Blondie showing back up in town, we’d be on our way to become a Mr. and Mrs.”

“We weren’t quite there,” I say. “We’ve had problems before. And you know I’ve never been one to settle down, you knew that from the first night we met. I never made you any promises, Rochelle.”

“But you’d settle down for her,” she says.

Her voice isn’t accusatory or angry this time. It’s calm and laced with a little hurt. And it dawns on me, like it should have forever ago, that Rochelle wants this thing to work with me like I do with Harlow. And she may annoy the piss out of me some days, but she isn’t a bad person, and she fucking deserves someone who really cares about her, not some asshole who screws her, but only to try to calm the aching in his chest caused by the girl he really does love.

“You’d be settling to be with me,” I say.

“I don’t think so,” Rochelle says, smoothing her tiny dress down and avoiding my eyes. “I’m crazy about you, even if you drive me insane most days.”

I let out a low chuckle. I’m trying really hard to keep this low-key.

“You’re right, we do make sense. We have the same story from growing up, you get me, Rochelle, you really do. And I care about you—”

“But?” she says. Like she doesn’t already know the “but.”

“I’m in love with someone else. Someone who doesn’t fit neatly into my world, but she challenges the shit out of me. I want that for you, doll. I don’t want you to give away the chance to have you really deserve for some low-life like me.”

“You’re going to hurt her,” Rochelle warns, her voice trembling.

“God, I hope you’re wrong about that.” I rub my hand over my face.

“I just...I don’t understand really why I’m not good enough. I look the other way when it comes to all your asshole habits, I’m hot, I give amazing head—”

“All worthy qualities,” I laugh. “And someday you’re going to make some man very, very happy with those traits.”

She stares down at the floor, her lips twisted in a frown. “Just not you, is what you’re saying.”

I exhale a huge sigh of relief. She’s getting it. Without yelling at me, or punching me, or tossing aside those long, dangly earrings to go try to attack Harlow.

“I sorta like the thing your brother’s got going on. Gone for a week or two at a time? Sounds like there’s lots of time for earth-shattering homecomings,” Rochelle says, a single dark eyebrow raised.