Offensive Behavior (Sidelined #1) Page 2

  “You’re furious, I get it.” Owen slid to the end of the bench seat and stood. “The idea of revenge must seem sweet.”

  The music changed, some female rapper singing about a man who was trouble. Revenge was a bastard act. Lux stepped out on the stage dressed as a slutty cheerleader, in the tiniest red shorts known to mankind, paired with a cropped top that showed every lean muscle in her incredible torso. Now that was sweet. She had two pom-poms which she used to dust over her body before flinging them at men crowding the stage, and then she attacked the pole as though her life depended on being wrapped around and suspended from it six feet above the ground.

  Lux held her body away from the pole with straight arms, feet pointed to the ground and made it undulate as if she was a fish, then she turned herself upside down and fireman-slid toward the floor stopping short of cracking her skull. Reid had seen this move again and again and every time he tensed for blood. But every one of the pole dancers was smarter, sharper, faster and more flexible than he’d been. He’d met his limitations, crashed into his own success and it’d beaten him raw.

  “I sucked, Owen. I fucked it all up.”

  Owen’s hand came down on his shoulder. “No, you—”

  “Am always right.”

  Owen squeezed his shoulder once then took his hand away. “You didn’t used to be so hard to get along with. Driven, an exacting pain in the neck, but not impossible.”

  “Kind, but not true.” He’d always found it difficult to understand other people’s points of view, especially when they were wrong, when their logic was faulty or their reasoning clouded, and he wasn’t good at soft-soaping, couldn’t see the point of lying.

  “Once upon a time you had a sense of humor. I’m sure there were even entire moments when you smiled. I think I remember laughter, Reid, lots of inspired laughter. I think I remember having the time of my life working with you.”

  He shot a look at Owen who was watching Lux, but not seeing her.

  In the early days it hadn’t mattered that Reid had been a hardass, because no one took offense, no one judged his behavior, and his arrogance was part of the package for success. But as CEO of a company on every serious investor’s watch list he had to be above reproach. Instead he’d been a bully, a workplace terrorist and Plus’ biggest liability.

  On stage, Lux held herself in a full split as the pole rotated her and the lighting washed across the finely wrought muscles in her legs. She was a gladiator, strong, focused and steady, but able to be lithe, gentle and playful too. She had the kind of versatility Reid lacked.

  Beside him Owen sighed. “Do something with your life, Reid. How long has it been since you played a game, went to a movie, rode your bike till your head cleared? How long has it been since you’ve had a date? You need to learn how to just be, and not like this.”

  He grunted. A date. He had more money than he knew what to do with. He had continuing income from his Plus shareholding. He could travel for pleasure, he could have a life, and maybe he could work out how to trust himself like Lux did, not to grip too hard or too soft and break things. It was at least a year before he could start a new venture without Kuch suing him under a non-compete clause, so unless he wanted to change industries, in the short term he had nothing better to do than learn how to be a nicer person.

  If only he knew how to do that. If there was a program or an app or even a book he could read that would teach him how not to be somehow too much.

  “I’ll be all right. I’ll regroup. I’ll take some time to smell the roses.” He tried to sound upbeat. It wasn’t like he was dying, he had a first world problem, the kind most people would never have, but it came out flat and resigned.

  “The last rose you smelled was probably in a kid’s picture book. Having a normal life is going to be difficult for you. Don’t spend too much time here trying to avoid the hard stuff.”

  “You knew I never touched that woman and you know I’m drunk and lusting after second-rate pole dancers because I’m terrified. I never meant to be a monster and without Plus I don’t know who I am.”

  Owen pointed at Lux, now on her knees in front of the pole. In a second she’d invert herself and defy the natural laws of the way a body can move. “There is nothing second-rate about that woman.”

  That was for sure. It was probably the only thing Reid was sure of. He smiled into his bourbon.

  Owen quirked his head. “Except perhaps the fact she doesn’t know you’re obsessed with her, and when Reid McGrath is obsessed, the future holds its breath.”

  FOUR

  “Hit me again.” Kathryn made a come at me gesture and Zarley eyed the list looking for a question she’d not already used to test the wannabe chiropractor.

  “A fracture in which the radius is bent but not displaced and the skin is intact is known as what?” She knew this one herself without flicking to the back of the test guide for the answers.

  “Too easy.” Kathryn eye-rolled and then peeled off her false lashes. “Is that question really on the list? A closed greenstick fracture.”

  “You’re ready,” Zarley said. At least it wasn’t fractures that would stop Kathryn passing. “You’re going to ace it.”

  Kathryn bent forward to undo the ankle clasp on her seven-inch clear Perspex platform Pleaser Sky sandal, with the red flashing lights in the toes. “I’d better. If I fail again, I have to repeat the subject and I don’t think I can take that much more of being Cinnamon the stripper.”

  “You’re an exotic dancer, not a stripper.”

  “Do you think the fact we keep our bits covered here is a distinction that matters to anyone?”

  “Matters to Gerry,” said Melinda. She pushed her wedding ring back on her finger and shook out her curly hair. “He tolerates Missy because otherwise we’re never going to get out from under hospital bills, which if you ask me is pure evil in the first place, given the whole I’m a nurse thing.”

  Melinda yawned. Gerry was the reason Missy performed dressed like she’d walked off the set of Flashdance instead of sexing it up. “God, I’m tired. It’s nights like this I wish I was game enough to steal something fortifying from the dispensary.”

  “I wish I could steal a pass mark,” said Kathryn. “I’m not greedy, a lousy pass will do.”

  “You girls have no ambition,” said Lizabeth. She’d already ditched her sex kitten Lavinia lingerie for jeans and a 49ers sweatshirt. “I’d steal me a new car and a bank vault full of gold.”

  “A fistful of diamonds,” said Melinda. “A holiday house in Key West.”

  “A stock portfolio,” said Kathryn. “And a job I loved.”

  Lizabeth said, “A man who—”

  “Cooked and cleaned,” said Kathryn to laughter while she nudged Zarley. “Go on.”

  Zarley played with the zip on her hoodie. Stalling. She’d steal time, the one thing in all those dreams and wishes that was a real world impossibility. She’d go back to that last trip home before the team shipped out and she’d . . . it wasn’t worth thinking about. Being an Olympic team gymnast, a medal hopeful, was a long dead dream, but having a man in her life again was at least a possibility. “I’d go the man who cooked and cleaned so long as he was clever and funny and—”

  “A sex god,” said Lizabeth.

  Kathryn laughed. Melinda giggled.

  “I was going to say, he respected me.” Because there’d been an indecent share of men, but precious little appreciation for anything other than the athletics of her body.

  “Hot damn, Zar, is that even a real thing?” said Kathryn. She dangled a flashing shoe from her finger and a wry expression from her lips.

  Melinda looked up from stuffing gear in her bag and met their eyes in the mirror. “Yes, it is.”

  Zarley sighed. “Seriously Mel, if Gerry respected you he’d be the one with the second job.” It was Gerry’s mother’s hospital bill the couple was burdened with.

  “He works har—”

  “And you don’t. I know you love him,
but the least he could do is come pick you up at the end of your shift so you didn’t have to run the gauntlet getting home on your own.”

  Melinda zipped her bag. It was the sound of cats hissing before the fur flew, and hearing it that way Zarley should’ve known to back off.

  “There’s no point both of us being sleep deprived,” Melinda snapped.

  Backing off had never been Zarley’s thing. “I think since—”

  “I don’t need to know what you think.” Melinda picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder, glaring at Zarley.

  “I’m sorry, but I—” The door to the dressing room slammed. Melinda was gone. Zarley grunted. She wasn’t sorry at all. “Her husband is a lazy son of a bitch.”

  Lizabeth took Melinda’s place at the mirror and began unclipping the feathers from the thick bun made from her cornrows. “Don’t sweat it, honey. Each to their own, right?”

  Zarley removed her tongue from between her teeth. Who was she to judge Melinda? The woman was a hero, two jobs and ambition to burn. “I wish Jasmina was still here.”

  Jasmina didn’t brook any arguing between the girls. They were sisters as far as she’d been concerned, and sisters supported each other, no matter what. Zarley had liked that version of family, it was one she’d once known well.

  “Jas was such a great dancer.” Lizabeth gave up on a stuck feather and Kathryn stepped in behind her to remove it. “Damn that woman had moves to groove.”

  “She got the fairy tale,” said Kathryn. “The whole Pretty Woman thing.”

  Except Jasmina’s Edward was a woman called Eva and she didn’t just take Jasmina shopping, she paid for her surgery and now Jasmina was on billboards and bus sides and had a whole new career as a model.

  It was Jasmina who’d told Zarley about Madame Amour. The world’s most exclusive burlesque club, owned and run by an exotic dancer who’d stripped to fund her medical degree and gone on to become a famous surgeon.

  Anything is possible for a girl with ambition who was willing to work hard, Jasmina had said. The poster for the annual Madame Amour Scholarship she’d stuck to the dressing room wall was still there. Zarley pressed a curling corner of it back into a blob of Blu Tack. In her experience, all the hard work in the world didn’t make up for poor decision-making, bad timing and worse luck. Madam Amour was a legend, and her scholarship a gold medal and Zarley wasn’t a golden girl anymore.

  She left the club by the rear alleyway with the others, but when Zarley remembered she’d left her book behind, she waved them off and went back for it. It took all of five minutes to return to the dressing room, say goodnight to Lou for the second time and exit alone by the alley door.

  The alley wasn’t empty.

  He was big in a too much drink and fast food, lifted cars for a living way that’d stretched his arms so his hands hung near his shins, gorilla style. There was very little chance he was here for a selfie.

  “Heya, sexy.”

  After her initial inventory, Zarley didn’t make eye contact. He was probably high on something from the way he bounced on the balls of his feet.

  “I’m speaking to you,” he said.

  He was blocking the exit to the street.

  “I like you better when you’re not wearing jeans, baby.”

  He was a whole shelf of pepper spray, even if she could get it near his eyes before he had her against the wall.

  He didn’t deserve the benefit of doubt but she gave it to him anyway. You could take the girl out of Nice, Lake County, California, population two thousand, nine hundred and four, but try as she might, she’d never been entirely able to shake it out of the girl.

  “Please let me pass.” She should go inside and hang out with Ahmed while he cleared up, till big wheels here got bored and left, but she was desperately tired and wanted her bed and he pissed her off.

  “Ah Lux, babe, I just want to spend some quality time with you. Fuck you nice and hard. Know you’d like that, a flexy little cock-tease like you. It won’t take long.”

  He said that last part as if it was a recommendation for his services. Unwanted sex done fast. Rape in three minutes flat, or your money back.

  She looked him in the eyes. He scared her, but she refused to be afraid. “You need to step aside and let me through.”

  “That’s not what you need.” He put both hands to his dick and thrust. “I’ve got what you need.”

  She flicked her chin up. “You’ve got a hot bath and a plate of mac and cheese in your pants. Color me impressed.”

  He blinked, a frown crumpling his forehead. The guy was truly confused about things not going his way.

  “You don’t know anything about me.” She gestured back to the entrance. “What you saw in there is dancing. It’s not an invitation to have sex. Please step aside.”

  A robust shake of his head. “Not happening till I get what I want.”

  What he got was less what he wanted than a fuckwit like him deserved.

  She stepped into him and brought her knee up hard on a fast hop, connecting with his undercarriage. Surprise forced his mouth into the shape of an Edvard Munch scream, and he folded forward and fell on his side, his breath forced out in a long stuttering wheeze.

  She stepped around his bulky form, watching that he didn’t try to grab her ankles, and when she looked up, there he was, Mr. Brooding Back Booth. He stood at the end of the alley, one hand braced on the brick wall.

  “Are you okay?” he said.

  For a guy who could barely stay upright he had a commanding tone. She didn’t realize how tall he was; he was always seated in that booth. “I’m fine.”

  “He didn’t hurt you?”

  “I got in first.”

  “That’s what I saw, you bringing him down. You shouldn’t be here.”

  Fantastic. It must be two for one maniac night. “Oh, so it’s my fault, I get accosted, propositioned and threatened.”

  “What you do isn’t safe.”

  “So totally my fault then.”

  “Not what I said.”

  Behind her maniac one started cursing. And now this guy was going to lecture her. He was too tanked to have come to her aid, not that she’d needed him to, but he still thought it was appropriate to share his holier than thou opinion. He wasn’t a threat, she could probably push him over, but he was a dick all the same.

  “What I do isn’t safe from sprains and breaks, but I should be perfectly safe from abuse leaving my job.”

  “But you’re not.”

  Why was she trying to reason with him? “Go home, you’re drunk.”

  “I’d think the same if I was sober.”

  She jogged her duffel bag on her shoulder and glared at him. She was so out of here.

  “Reid.”

  Zarley startled when another man blocked the light source from the street front. Three on one, this was superhero territory and she was only a tired pole dancer who had a paper due and needed a back massage.

  This new man threw an arm around Back Booth. “Is he being a dickhead?” His eyes widened when he saw the downed man, he looked from Zarley to booth guy. “Did he? Reid, did you? When I said you needed to loosen up I didn’t mean . . . my God.”

  “Your pal, Reid, is a drunk. He couldn’t hit a stationary train with a car if his foot was tied to the pedal.”

  Reid pushed his friend away and glared at Zarley. “I didn’t touch anyone.”

  The friend ignored Reid and focused on her too. “You’re okay? Do you want the police? We’ll wait with you, in case . . .” he tipped his chin at the hulk in the alley.

  That was a point. Did she? No, screw it. She just wanted to go home. “If you’re any kind of real friend you’d get Reid,” she said his name with as much disdain as she could manage, “straightened out.”

  “I’m drunk, I’m not unconscious,” Reid said, and it sounded like an order, not a correction.

  Zarley rounded on him. She’d had enough of this night. It made having the love of a man like Gerry,
who didn’t seem to mind if his wife whored herself out to fund expenses, seem like a prize. “You’re a dickhead.”

  Reid turned to his friend. “She called me a dickhead.” He threw his head back and roared with laughter and Zarley made her escape, stepping out of the shadows onto the curb and flagging a passing cab.

  She showered in extra-hot water and scrubbed herself all over as if she’d been rolling in filth, and dragged her sorry self to bed where she stayed until it was time to repeat the pattern all over again, this time hopefully without the need for violence and debate.

  The next night, she ditched her themed dress-up costumes for more traditional stripper attire. It’s not like it mattered that she’d tried to style herself as a dancer and an entertainer and not a free shot for sex.

  “What’s with the all you can eat look?” Lizabeth asked. She was a vision in purple, a thong bikini and lace-up platform boots. There was nothing snack-like about her, she was the full banquet.

  Zarley adjusted the ass-grazing black cotton mini-dress. It was more a suggestion of clothing than an actual dress. It was slashed across the front, side seam to side seam in ribbons from under her breasts to the hem. She wore black bikini pants underneath. It was a dirty hot look so unlike her usual fun and glamor, but Cara liked making this kind of stripper outfit as much as she liked hunting down vintage pieces and concocting themed looks.

  How to explain the switch in looks? “I’ll get more tips.”

  Lizabeth retied the lace in her boot. “You get plenty without showing so much skin.”

  It was a fuck you to every man who thought they could have anything they saw whenever they wanted it. “I want them all to see what they can’t have.”