Slow & Steady, page 3
part #2 of Alphas Undone Series
“Sorry to disappoint you.”
“You haven’t,” I corrected her. “I just want to help, and if I’m in a position to make your life a little easier, why not let me?”
“Because I don’t accept handouts. I take care of what’s mine,” she said, an air of confidence to her voice.
“So do I.” My tone matched hers and I sensed we were ready to square off, say all the things that had been kept bottled up for almost two years now.
“We’ll never be yours, Greyson. Surely six years in the military under enemy fire didn’t totally warp your brain.”
I leaned in closer, and caught a whiff of vanilla and lavender. “That’s the thing about SEALs – we’re hard headed. And once that bond is formed, it’s like a brotherhood – unbreakable.”
God, were we ever. Marcus and I had been practically attached at the hip.
“So you’re only doing this – looking in on us – to honor some memory?” Finley asked, pulling me from my somber thoughts.
“I didn’t say that. If I didn’t want to be here –I wouldn’t.” That was the absolute truth.
Her gaze studied mine, as if searching for the sincerity in my words, for my true motivation. Changing tactics, I tried for something more complimentary. “Seeing you last night brought up a lot of old memories, and meeting your little girl tonight – well she’s amazing.”
“Thank you.” Finley blushed and lowered her chin again.
After several moments of stiff silence, she shifted on the couch, pulling her legs underneath her. “So what are you proposing?”
I was shocked that her defensiveness had softened so fast. But I squashed my pleasant surprise at the small victory. This couldn't possibly be that easy; I shouldn't let myself get too hopeful. Maybe she was just looking for more concrete ammunition to shoot down my offer. Tread carefully, soldier. “Let me come by. Allow me to help out. Surely there are things around the house that need done, things a man could help with.”
She shook her head, frowning.
Damn stubborn woman.
“I’m sorry, I can’t do that,” she added.
I could see that it was more than that. Determination shined brightly in her eyes. The need to prove herself as a single working mother wasn’t easy and she wanted, no, needed to prove she could make it.
I was going to let it drop. For now.
“I know you don’t approve, but I have my reasons for working at the club.”
I raised one brow. “And those would be …?”
“Dancing allows me to pay my bills, mostly, and still be home with my daughter during the day. Maple already lost her dad; I didn’t want her mom to work fifty hours a week at an office an hour away and see her only at bedtime. She’s all I have. And I’m all she has.”
“I get that.” I nodded.
“Besides that, daycare is expensive. A big chunk of whatever money I made from working days would go right back into a babysitter or daycare.”
“Listen, I understand. You’re providing for your daughter, I’m just saying I didn’t like seeing you up there.”
Finley smirked at me. “I’m sorry for your poor eyes...I know I’m a few years past my expiration date, not to mention I’m a mom now.”
Past her expiration date? She had no fucking clue how wrong she was. I considered letting it go, but the way her eyes drifted down the floor and her fists closed tightly in her lap, I knew I had to set her straight. “That’s not what I meant,” I corrected her. “You were sexy as hell, and before I knew who you were, my cock was standing at attention, giving you a full salute.”
Her cheeks went bright pink.
“Seriously,” I said, “Where the hell did you learn moves like that?” I couldn’t help the touch of respect in my voice.
“I can’t believe you just told me you got hard …” She was still smirking at me and looking at me with a bit of wonder.
I shrugged. “We’ve been through too much to start beating around the bush now.”
Beating. Bush. Those may have been the wrong choice in words. God, what was with me? I definitely didn’t want her to know I’d gone home and jerked myself raw to thoughts of her naked breasts, tanned skin and silky curves.
She took a deep breath and released it slowly, her gaze lifting to mine. “When I’m on stage, it’s the only place where I can really let myself go. The only time I’m free. I’m not a mom, not a grieving widow, I’m someone more fun, casual, and desirable. I guess I don’t really think, I just feel the music and let it move me.”
“Trust me, you’re still very desirable.” My throat felt tight, but I forced the words out. “You must do very well with tips,” I added in an attempt to turn this conversation back to her profession and not her knockout body.
“No.” She shook her head at the compliment. “I do okay. The location just off the highway makes for some cheap clientele – people just passing through. Especially the weeknight shifts, those are really slow.”
My resolution to back off for now weakened. At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I took one last gamble. “I could help, Finley. You and Maple. I’m earning a good living, and with my retirement from the US Navy…”
I trailed off at the dead look in her lovely eyes. A dark, empty space carved out by grief, an anger so deep it had become a kind of exhaustion. It scared me what I saw there. I knew from personal experience the dark places your mind could go in those lowest moments.
“You can’t buy forgiveness, Greyson,” she said quietly, steadily. Too steady to be anything but holding back tears.
Her words sank between my ribs like cold, sharp steel. For a second, I couldn't remember how to breathe. So this is what she really thinks of me...a murderer.
It was nothing I hadn't yelled at myself every night for the past two years. The part that really felt like a kick in the balls was the idea that I was trying to pay off my guilt. Like all I wanted was permission to forget Marcus. When she put it that way, my offer sounded so...sleazy.
Before now, all her refusals had been grounded in her own pride. I can handle my own damn life my own damn way, she'd insisted. And while I respected the hell out of that strength, I could still negotiate with it. Her real, unfiltered opinion of me...now that was entirely different. Nothing I said could ever change her feelings. She probably wouldn't even believe me if I tried.
.
“I know the damage is done.” Resigned, I rose to my feet. This visit was long over. “I’m sorry it has to be this way. Let me know if you change your mind.”
“I won’t,” she whispered as she closed the door behind me.
Chapter Four
Finley
“Ugh, he’s out there again.” I stood backstage, peeking from behind the velvet curtain and cursed under my breath.
“Who is, dear?” Ginger asked shuffling by me with a stack of freshly laundered towels.
Ginger was in her sixties, and was the unofficial House Mom of the club. She was the manager’s stepmother and had a knack for looking after the girls. Her role was varied. Therapist, referee, makeup artist, hair stylist, schedule keeper, emergency seamstress, you name it, Ginger was on top of it.
But she was always here, and could always be counted on. She’d quickly become one of my favorite parts about working at the club.
“Brant freaking Rockwall.” I made a grumbled sigh.
“That man has no life,” Ginger remarked, setting a still-warm hand towel onto each girl’s vanity.
“Yeah he does, it’s called Watch Finley Like a Hawk.” Layla said beside me.
“Gross,” I muttered.
“Come back here and take a break. You don’t have to go out there right now,” Ginger said, patting the tufted chair in front of her desk.
“I do if I want to make some money tonight.” As tempting as her idea sounded, I couldn’t afford a break.
“Nonsense, you’ll make plenty tonight. Let’s just wait him out. Layla, go out there and tell him Stormy is gone for the night.”
Stormy was my stage name. It wasn’t something I’d put a lot of thought in to. When the manager asked me after my audition what I wanted to be called – I blurted the first word that popped into my head – and Stormy fit my mood exactly.
As Layla strutted out from backstage, obviously intent on telling Brant I was gone, I plopped down in the comfy chair in front of Ginger’s desk. “Thanks for that.” I guess I could sit for a few minutes while Layla got rid of Brant. Plus it was almost closing time, and I only had a few more songs to dance anyway.
She nodded. “Why don’t you tell me what’s really going on?”
For a moment, her question confused me. Then I realized she was talking about Grey, not Brant. How the hell does she do that? Ginger could always tell when one of her girls had trouble. Sometimes her spooky mind-reading ability was annoying, but her heart was in the right place, and her advice often helped.
I shrugged as nonchalantly as I could. “My husband’s former combat partner, Greyson Archer came into the club the other day.”
Her eyes widened. “And?”
“And he almost pulled me down off the stage.”
Ginger smiled knowingly. “So he has a thing for you.”
“No, of course not. Not like that. It’s just his guilty conscience getting the best of him. He was the one with Marcus when …” I didn’t continue, but I didn’t need to. Ginger knew all the gory details. You couldn’t keep much from her, and honestly I didn’t even want to. She was a good listener, and often had insightful advice.
“Finley, dear, I hate to break this to you, but you’re a very desirable woman. I’m not sure if you’ve thought about the future, but you can’t stay single forever.”
I held up one hand, stopping her.
“I’m not saying now is the time,” she continued, her tone soft and coaxing, “I just think it’d be wise of you to consider that perhaps the man is interested.”
I shook my head, and played with the gold bangles on my wrist. A nervous habit that I'd never managed to break. “For once, you’re off the mark, Ginger. Grey’s not interested in me like that …”
Then I remembered what he said. That he’d been excited watching me dance. I quickly decided to ignore that. Men got excited watching strippers dance period. It was normal. It wasn’t because it was me. In fact, Grey said that his cock had only stood at attention until he realized who I was. Ouch.
I frowned. Why was that thought so disappointing? It was never fun to hear that I'd killed someone's boner, but normally I wouldn't care about one single customer's opinion of my body.
Ginger held up her palms in a non-threatening gesture. I liked that she still wore her wedding ring so long after losing her husband. That was another thing we had in common. My own wedding band was now worn on my right ring finger instead of my left. My diamond solitaire I’d had to pawn months ago when my car broke down, but nothing would ever cause me to part with the simple gold band Marcus had slipped onto my finger that day in the church when he promised me forever.
“I’m just saying it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to let yourself start having a little fun again. Explore the possibility of dating. Hell, even just sex might be nice.” She smiled at me, her warm blue eyes crinkling in the corners.
“You did not just suggest I have a one-night stand with the man I told you is on my last nerve, did you?”
She reached over and patted my hand. “Just think about it.”
Had the world gone entirely fucking crazy? First Greyson was expecting me to just take a handout, and now grandmotherly Ginger was telling me I needed to get laid? What was next? Afraid to find out, I rose to my feet and peeked out from the curtain. Seeing that Brant was now gone from the seat near the stage he generally commandeered, I headed over toward the DJ booth to request my song and prepare for my next dance.
* * *
An hour later, I was worn out and more than ready to get home to my little girl and warm bed. Rising up from my vanity stool on bare feet, I slipped on a hooded sweatshirt and my sneakers. My feet were sore from the stiletto heels I’d danced in all night and I almost moaned when my instep met the cushioned sole. Thank God for small pleasures. Most of the girls sat counting out their money at the end of the night, but I merely shoved mine in my purse.
Tonight had been a disaster – between Brant hanging around half my shift, and then my bra clasp deciding to stick mid-striptease, I was off my game tonight. Big time. I was sure it had nothing to do with Ginger telling me I needed to get laid. Yeah right. That wasn’t on my agenda any time soon.
I was so glad when Layla stepped up to save me from anymore of Brant’s unwelcome advances. My evening had gone a little smoother after that.
The club was now dark and quiet, and there were only a few of us left in the building. I grabbed my oversized purse, which often doubled as a diaper bag, and headed for the back exit. Our bouncer was waiting by the door, his beefy arms folded, watching as each girl filtered out in the darkened night.
“Night, Bruce,” I said as I headed outside.
He gave me a nod and grunt, letting me know that nothing would happen to me where he could see it.
But the club's outdoor lights only reached so far. I was only three steps from my old beat-up Honda when Brant stepped out of the shadows.
Shit.
Glancing back toward the building, Bruce was nowhere in sight and the big steel door was already shut tight.
“Hey Finley.”
I whipped around as a cold shiver raced through me. Blinking at him, I remained speechless as I tried to figure out how in the hell he found out my real name.
He let out a deep chuckle. “Your friend the other night, he called you that. It is your name, right?”
I swallowed hard. Damn Greyson. When he spotted me that night he must have said my name loud enough for the few people sitting nearby to hear.
“Uh....” I couldn’t get my mouth and brain to cooperate.
He watched me with that creepy quiet smirk of his.
I didn’t like him seeing this me. The real me. I’d scrubbed off most of my makeup with a wet wipe, and my hair was in a messy bun on the top of my head. It was one thing for him to be into me when I was in scene –I was every man’s fantasy up on the stage, but it was something altogether different to have him standing here talking to me, not as a stripper and customer sharing an interaction, but as a man and woman. Panic prickled at the back of my neck, the skin raising up in goose bumps.
“They told me you went home, but your car was still here.”
“So you waited,” I deadpanned.
“Yeah, of course I did. Are you okay?”
I was avoiding you, you fuckwit.
“I’m fine. If you’ll excuse me, it’s been a long day, and I’m ready to get going.”
“Of course, I understand.” He smiled at me kindly and I thought maybe, just maybe it would be that easy to get rid of him. But then he stepped closer, and brought his hand up to my hairline. I backed away, taking two big steps back from my car. “Sorry.” He smiled again. “It’s just … you look younger with your hair up like that.”
I didn’t have it in me to be polite to him tonight. I wasn’t working, wasn’t trying to earn any tips. So even though he was smiling at me, I wasn’t about to bat my eyelashes at the compliment. He didn’t seem like the dangerous type, just lonely and a little weird, but I wasn’t about to let my guard down now. I held my keys protectively in front of me, ready to strike out if necessary.
“I’m sorry for bothering you … I just wasn’t ready to go home yet,” he said, his voice softer.
He wore a wedding ring, for fuck's sake. Go home to your wife. If I was still married, I’d never be at a place like this looking to make a connection with a stranger.
Staring wistfully at my car, I was startled at the sound of Layla’s voice.
“Is he bugging you again?” she asked, approaching us. I saw her car idling a few rows down and was so thankful she hadn’t left yet.
“I’ve got it handled.”
Brant chuckled and took a step back. “I don’t mean any harm, ladies. I’ll be on my way.” He pulled a set of keys from his pocket. “Good night, Finley.”
I didn’t return his sentiment and he turned and headed to a silver sedan.
I heaved a sigh of sweet relief. “Thank God,” I muttered into my hands.
Layla put a reassuring arm around me. “Listen, this has gone on long enough, we need to fix this.”
“And what do you propose exactly?” If I complained to the management, I’d only get moved to the less desirable shifts or have my hours cut back even more than they already were. The club could only afford so many bouncers and if certain girls became targets for odd customers, I’d seen it handled that way before. I couldn’t let that happen.
She leaned closer, her eyes narrowing. “I know a lady. She can put a curse on him. Make his small pecker shrivel up and fall off. You just have to bring her a chicken.”
I almost laughed, until I saw in her eyes that she was completely serious. “No, it's okay, I’ll be fine,” I assured her. Somehow. It would have to be. I needed this job.
I said goodbye to Layla and got inside my car, watching her taillights fade into the distance. I sat there in the darkened interior, hands resting on the steering wheel, reflecting on the crazy last couple of days I’d had. As soon as Layla’s car was gone from sight, a big black SUV pulled into the parking lot and came to a stop beside my car.
What now?
Greyson climbed out, looking upset about something.
I rolled down my window as he approached. I was still sore from our disastrous dinner, so I could have just driven off, but that would only give him an excuse to show up on my doorstep to check on me.
“Are you okay?” he asked, placing his hands on the door frame and leaning in.
“I’m fine,” I lied. I didn’t want him of all people knowing that a customer had just left me rattled.
Apparently his grief and guilt over Marcus made him want to play the role of white knight. It was so annoying how he always seemed to catch me at my worst. And of course, tonight was no different. I was exhausted, frustrated, and pretty sure there was black makeup smeared under my eyes. “What are you doing here?” I asked.
