Fumbled Page 2

  And for two years, it’s held up.

  I walk up the stairs, feeling the strain in my calves that never seems to fade even though I’ve walked up them hundreds of times. I reach the top step and Dane, my favorite security teddy bear, lifts the velvet rope so I’m allowed to share breathing space with these very important people. I see Sadie clearing empty glasses off the table in front of the stage that Ruby (real name: Hannah) is slaying on. The silk is twisted around her ankle and going behind her head as she twirls and flips. I square my shoulders, put a little extra sway in my hips, and plaster a smile on my face. I take comfort in knowing I’m rocking the shit out of my sequined corset and my legs look fab in my sky-high heels and stockings.

  This is my gig. I am Meryl. I am Julia. I am Sandra. I got this.

  I repeat the mantra in my head on a loop until I round the table and take a deep breath to greet my new group of customers.

  Then I see him and everything is forgotten.

  Everything tonight, at least.

  Not the bus ride across town. Not Mrs. Moore staring with disgust at my bloated midsection, telling me he didn’t want me. Not all my dreams going down the drain.

  Not the white-hot burn of rejection.

  No, that’s all crystal clear.

  But where I am and what I’m supposed to be doing? Poof. All gone.

  I grab the tray with my free hand when my shaking causes the drinks to rattle, and I start to back away. I can’t decide on a pace, so it’s an awkward dance of moving too fast and looking like I’m fleeing (accurate) or walking too slow and drawing attention to myself for looking suspicious (also accurate).

  I have tunnel vision on Dane and the velvet rope to freedom when an arm brushes against my shoulder. Every tightened muscle in my body unravels like a jack-in-the-box and I spring forward.

  “Shit!” I screech, throwing my hands in the air trying to stop it, but helpless as I watch my tray and all the drinks go flying in the one direction I need them not to go.

  The liquid drenches the poor man from his too-long, light brown hair and thick beard covering his strong, square jaw to his chocolate leather loafers as the glass tumblers crash to the floor around him. The dark amber liquid dripping down his perfectly straight nose, despite the fact that he broke it in high school, is a vivid contrast to his ivory skin. All his friends manage to jump up—narrowly avoiding smelling like a distillery for the next year.

  “What the fuck?” he roars, rising to his feet faster than someone his size should be able to and attracting the attention of every person on the third floor. Even the DJ scratches the record. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me!”

  I’m frozen in place. Watching with horror and fascination as he shakes out his arms and legs, drying off with the efficiency of a wet dog. A wet dog with biceps straining against his checkered blazer sleeves and quadriceps about to bust the seams on his tailored-to-perfection pants.

  “What was that?” He looks down, clearing the wet hair stuck to his face so he can see the klutzy culprit. And when he does, the change in his demeanor is instant. His green eyes triple in size, his back goes straight, and the almost man bun is long forgotten. “Poppy?”

  “Hey, TK.” I wave with both hands.

  Then I run.

  God.

  I hate my job.

  Two

  I always considered wearing heels one of my weaknesses. After I was hired here, I wore them around the house for hours until I no longer looked like a newborn giraffe. I wasn’t sure if it was worth it, considering the questions I had to dodge about why and how and where I was going to wear them. But as I take the stairs at the Emerald Cabaret two at a time and reach the back door in record time, I know it was probably one of the most useful exercises I’ve ever forced upon myself.

  I hit the metal door running and it flies open and starts to close just as fast. I barely miss it clipping my shoulder before I hear it slam shut.

  Freedom.

  Hands on my fishnet-covered knees, I gulp in the warm Colorado air. Between the sobs threatening to escape and my desperate need for oxygen, it feels like I’m swallowing razors. I’m so hot, I feel like I might pass out at any given moment. My straightened hair is shot to hell, I can already feel the curls forming against my neck. But I still can’t stop shivering. My stilettos wobble against the parking lot pavement, and I know there’s no way I’m making it to my car.

  I start to lower myself to the ground, careful not to go face first. I wouldn’t call myself vain, but scraping my face against the pavement doesn’t sound particularly pleasant.

  I’m squatting, my fingers grazing the gravel, when I hear the squeak of the door opening behind me.

  “Sorry, Sades. I don’t even know what happened in there,” I lie. I know exactly what happened. The thing—or more accurately, the person—I’ve been avoiding for the last ten years.

  Instead of a response, a set of familiar hands whose touch I should’ve long forgotten grab my waist. They are stronger than I remember, maybe even bigger, but the jolt of recognition, and the resurrection of butterflies I thought had died years ago, is the same.

  The messed-up part is, I’m not surprised by this turn of events. The eternal-optimist part of me was rooting for Sadie to push through those doors. The realist, been-shit-on-and-present-for-the-last-decade-of-my-life part of me knew it would be TK.

  He lifts me with ease and sets me on my feet before turning me to face him, doing it so slowly, I’m not sure he even wants to be doing this. He always was too curious for his own good, at least some things never change. I keep my eyes closed, trying to prepare for what I thought I could avoid forever.

  For what has now become inevitable.

  “Poppy?” His deep voice disbelieving.

  I screw my eyes closed tighter and take one last deep breath before opening them. Act normal. Act normal. Act normal!

  I don’t know what I’m doing. I just know I have to try to recover from that scene. Shoot the breeze and hope he leaves me alone.

  Leaves us alone. Which shouldn’t be hard; he’s done it already.

  But when I raise my chin to look him in his bright green eyes—the eyes I know so well—I damn near crumple onto the ground beneath me.

  I’m so not ready.

  “What the hell, Poppy?” His gaze travels the length of my body. But he doesn’t look appreciative. He looks pissed. “What is going on? Why are you here?”

  I remember everything about him. I remember the way he mumbles nonsense in his sleep the night before a big game. I remember the way he shies away from praise for anything other than football. I remember the way he dances like nobody is watching him even though he has zero rhythm. Everything.

  But I guess he forgot I don’t take being questioned or talked down to well . . . at all.

  “I work here.” I put my hands on my hips and tilt my head, trying my hardest not to show my nerves. “Obviously.”

  He narrows his eyes and I see his jaw clench under his thick, light brown beard . . . a beard that wasn’t there ten years ago. A beard that only accentuates how his features have changed from teenage boy to very grown man. “You know what I meant. Why are you in Denver? But since you brought it up, why the fuck are you working here?”

  It’s a valid question.

  He went to college thinking everything had been taken care of and my sights were still set on Northwestern University.

  I never made it. I didn’t even send in the application.

  But I can’t tell him why.

  At least not now.

  “I came to live with my aunt for my senior year and never went back.” I shrug my shoulders and look away. It’s not a lie, it’s just not the whole truth either. “I work here because I have bills to pay and I like the hours. Though I doubt I even have my job anymore. Thanks for that, by the way.”

  The
weight of consequences settles on me like a boulder to the gut. Not only did I spill drinks on TK and who I’m assuming are his teammates, but I ran away like a maniac and turned a little scene into a gigantic one.

  Crap.

  I’m going to cry.

  I turn my back to TK, biting down on my bottom lip until the burning behind my eyes starts to fade. Then I start to count to ten.

  “I’m not sure you losing a job at some nightclub is a bad thing,” TK says, interrupting me.

  I spin around on my heel, tears and calming practices long forgotten.

  “I don’t make millions like you! I need this job!” I try to go up on my tippy-toes to get closer to eye level, but my heels already have me at my maximum height. “I have bills to pay and mouths—” I cut myself off. “I have responsibilities, TK. I know this isn’t anyone’s dream job, but it does what I need it to do.”

  “And you’re telling me working at some club, wearing this”—he gestures to my barely concealed cleavage and my lace-covered thighs—“is the only way for you to do it?”

  I’m not one to resort to violence, but the urge to slap him is almost too much for even me to resist.

  “I’m not telling you anything because it’s none of your business what I do,” I snap.

  The parking lot isn’t the best-lit one on the block, but that doesn’t stop me from seeing TK’s face go red and his shoulders square up. Something else about him I remember, his confrontation position.

  “Look.” I gentle my voice, ready for this entire exchange to be finished. “I’m glad I got to see you, and I’m so happy you’re doing well and living your dreams. Really. I couldn’t be more thrilled for you.”

  I reach out and take his hands in mine, ignoring the way this single touch wakes up my body from its years-long hibernation.

  “But you aren’t part of my life and I don’t need judgment from you when I get enough of it from everyone else. We haven’t seen each other in ten years. We used to be close; now we aren’t. I’m sorry this meeting happened like this, but we aren’t teenagers anymore. We lost touch. That’s okay. You don’t need to worry about me or what I’m doing. I have it all covered.”

  I thought this would do the trick. Placate him and he’d go on with his fairy-tale life and forget all about the teenage girlfriend he left behind to pursue his glory.

  However, when I try to pull my hands away and make a semi-dignified exit, his hands tighten around my wrists and he’s full-on glaring at me.

  “We used to be close?” His voice is almost a whisper.

  “Yes, used to be. We were young and thought it was more than it was.” I know it’s not the right answer as soon as the words slip from my lips.

  TK drops my wrists like they’re made of fire and takes three giant steps away from me. I’m not sure if it’s for my protection or his.

  “I fucking loved you!” His voice echoes off the brick buildings surrounding us. “You disappeared! You changed your number, left without telling a single person where you were going, and your asshole parents refused to say a word. It was like you never existed. And now I see you and you’ve been living in the same fucking city as me for the last six years? What the hell, Poppy?”

  He rakes his hands through his thick, long hair and rests them on top of his head, staring at me. Expecting an answer I don’t have. I don’t know if his outburst pissed me off or confused me. The TK I remember was the calm to my storm. Always thinking things through before giving anyone the satisfaction of getting a rise out of him.

  Hell, I’m going to need at least a week to sort through everything he just said.

  After who knows how long, he closes the distance he just put between us. I try to move back, really, I beg my feet to move, but I can’t. I’m frozen in place watching his chest rising and falling as he approaches. My brain is telling me to run like hell, but my body is already crying out for him.

  Traitor.

  “There was no reason for me to reach out. I’m not the same girl you knew.” I force out the understatement of the century.

  “Bullshit.”

  He keeps coming toward me, and it takes every last bit of my restraint not to retreat.

  “It isn’t.” I hate the way my voice wavers, the way my insides clench at his proximity.

  “I’ve fucking missed you. I don’t know why you ran from me up there, but seeing you is the best thing to happen to me in months.” He seems like he’s back to calm, but his emerald eyes have turned to onyx. One of his hands moves to the back of my neck while the other one falls to the base of my back. “But if you don’t feel the same way, if you really don’t want to see me, say so. I’ll go back inside, pretend this never happened, and we’ll go our separate ways.”

  Just say those simple words and this will be over. I’ve spent so many years being angry at him, this should be a relief. But I open my mouth and the words won’t come. Because, dammit, I’ve missed him so much. He was my person and then he was gone. And ever since, I’ve been walking around with an ache in my heart so deep, I’ve become numb.

  Maybe this is what I needed. Some sort of closure. A validation of what we had.

  “I hate you.” I say the words on an exhale and watch with avid fascination as confusion clouds his features. I know I should stop, but instead, I keep going. Rushing the words out before I convince myself otherwise. “But I’ve missed you.”

  “Fucking hell, Poppy.” His voice is heavy with something I don’t recognize and his fingers flinch against my neck.

  Then before I have a chance to react, his mouth is on mine.

  It’s not a gentle kiss. His soft, full lips press hard against mine, and his full beard scratches my face. My stomach flips and I get so light-headed I reach out and grab his shirt for support.

  He bites my bottom lip and tugs, just like he used to. I’m not sure if it’s the gentle pain of his teeth grazing against my lip that makes everything even more intense or if it’s knowing that he still remembers what I like, but I gasp and he takes advantage of my open mouth, thrusting his tongue inside. Our tongues tangle, exploring and tasting . . . remembering.

  I feel like I’m floating, the only thing tethering me to the earth beneath me are his hands. Electricity flows from his fingertips, burning his movements into my skin. It’s painful and exciting and wonderful.

  I don’t know how long we stand here, him in his expensive suit, me in a sequined corset, tangled together, because it feels like time has stopped. After a while, our kiss becomes less wild and his soft lips touch mine once more. A sweet ending.

  I wrap my arms around him and rest my head against his chest. His rapid heartbeat pounds under my cheek as he draws circles against the exposed skin of my back and I feel a sense of peace settle over me.

  I’ve not been an angel since we parted ways. I mean, I’m grown and I have needs. I’ve had relationships and wild nights. But this? This kiss? It was better than anything I’ve had over the years.

  “I like your suit,” I whisper. “Sorry I threw booze on it.”

  “S’all right.” He squeezes his arms around me. “I like your outfit too.”

  “It’s too small. I almost broke a rib putting it on.”

  He starts to shake beneath me, and when I look up at him, he’s laughing, his perfect lips, his deep Cupid’s bow that I still dream about sometimes, are pulled up at the corners. His eyes, back to the bright green I adore, are creased at the corners, one slightly hidden by his long, silky locks. And it’s all so much better than the anger he had directed at me only moments ago.

  “Missed you,” he whispers.

  “Missed you too, Ace.”

  As soon as the little nickname I had for him in high school falls from my lips, the mirage around me crumbles to my feet. My back goes straight and I push away from him with a quickness not even I am prepared for. I stumble backward, swatting awa
y his hands as they try to steady me.

  “This is a mistake.” My voice doesn’t waver even though my insides are knotted and my hands are shaking. Most likely because, as much as I hate to say it, I mean every single word I’m saying. “You need to leave.”

  “What? What just happ—”

  I cut him off. “Nothing. Nothing happened. I need to go. You need to go.” I’m rambling. Panic courses through my veins, the slight breeze in the air causes goose bumps to break out up my arms and legs. “We can’t do this.”

  “Like hell we can’t.” His deep voice rumbles with frustration.

  He starts to walk toward me again, but as he does, the back door opens and Phil’s glare finds me in a split second.

  “You comin’ back to work or what?” His tone indicates I don’t actually have an option.

  Not that I need one. I don’t run again. I take a deep breath and ignore TK. I walk through the door with my head held high and TK’s eyes burning a hole through the back of my head.

  But I still have my secret.

  One neither one of us is ready to talk about.

  One that will stay where it’s supposed to if he listens to me and leaves me alone.

  But like I said, my luck is crap and I need to prepare. TK isn’t the only one in for a shock.

  Ace is going to be pissed.

  Three

  I didn’t go back to work.

  I took a detour to my purse and told Rochelle that VIP was all hers. Then I got the hell out.

  “I can’t believe you just left!” Sadie is still scolding me through the phone.

  “My uniform got ruined. My replacement was small. Then I poured drinks all over the Mustang players Phil’s been dying to get into the club.” I recount the events she’s already aware of, leaving out my parking-lot tryst. “I know when to call it quits. Nothing good was going to come from last night.”

  “Phil was pissed. Like more pissed than I’ve ever seen him. And you told Rochelle to cover for you?” Her voice goes up ten decimals. She hates Rochelle almost as much as Rochelle hates me. “You know that miserable bitch is the worst. She tried to steal my tips!”