Chapter 9
By Friday,I’ve grown calluses on my palms from holding a broom and mop. Sweeping a muggy shop all day every day may be worse than having my skin burn from flying pieces of hay. Brody knows that’s exactly how I’m feeling, I’m sure of it. That’s the only reason why he’s forcing me to continue doing such minuscule, pointless tasks.
It’s a miracle that I’ve managed to keep my mouth shut about how unimpressed I am with this arrangement. Maybe I just know that he’s waiting for it and that if I erupt the way he expects me to, there’s something far worse waiting for me outside this shop.
Johnny, the kid with the overly stimulating personality, is lingering in the shop this afternoon, bumbling on about joining Brody and his friends at Peakside tonight. The supposed bar is the only one in Cherry Peak, which is not so surprising. It’s more shocking that they have a bar to begin with, considering their lack of most other places I would consider a necessity. A car wash, for example.
The pile of dust and dirt I’ve swept before me blows half across the shop when one of the open sliding doors bangs and rattles and begins lowering to the ground. My eye twitches at the mess, my grip on the handle of the broom turning punishing.
“Are you coming out with us tonight?” Johnny asks, and it takes a beat to realize he’s speaking to me.
“No.” The word is a slap across the room.
“Think you’re too good for a small-town bar, Garrison?” Brody calls over the boom of the giant metal door hitting the concrete.
I meet his stare across the shop, keeping my emotions well hidden. He doesn’t need to know how downright exhausted I am nor how every day I spend away from Toronto has my anxiety growing tenfold. Nathan has started ignoring my incessant phone calls, informing me that he’ll give me weekly updates on the company as opposed to the daily ones I’ve been demanding. He’s going to pay for that decision once I’m back, that’s for sure.
I’m tense enough I’d crack down the middle like an egg if someone slapped my chest hard enough.
“Me? I’d never think such a thing,” I reply coolly.
He actually smiles at that. “If you want to join, we’re heading over at six. The Beavertails game is on, and my woman wants to watch.”
I inwardly wince. Sports have never been my forte. Not when I was a child, and especially not now. I don’t remember the last time I had a moment to sit down and attempt to watch a sports game.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Don’t tell me you’re not a hockey fan,” Johnny pleads. “I’m really trying to vouch for you here, man.”
“Would you prefer I lie, then?”
Brody unclips his filthy overalls and shimmies them off. “Shit, I knew you were a stick in the mud, but damn. Not even hockey?”
“Not even hockey,” I confirm.
Johnny blows a raspberry. “Damn.”
I lean the broom against the wall, my shoulders curved, my typical perfect posture slacking. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
“I’m gonna be brutally honest here, Garry,” Brody starts, and I mentally prepare myself for his next words. “You look like you could use a drink. And maybe some decent company.”
Oh. “And I suppose you’re referring to yourselves as said decent company?”
“Us and a few others. If you can keep from tearin’ everyone a new asshole for a night, that is.”
I hate that one simple sentence has my interest blazing. Poppy hasn’t been around the ranch since Monday. I’ve been looking for her every time I leave the house and slide into the piece-of-shit truck I’ve been forced to drive. The soft scent of her perfume is long gone, no match for the dust and dirt that’s been rubbed so deep into the seats that it puffs up in clouds when I sit.
“Who else will be there?” I ask before I can stop myself. The casual tone of my voice hides my genuine curiosity. Or so I hope.
“The typical crew,” Brody answers.
Johnny doesn’t bother with the same secrecy as Brody. “Us, Caleb, and the girls. Darren, too, if he’s not on call.”
It’s not worth the effort to tell him that I don’t know who those people are. The only thing I focus on is the girls part. More specifically, the odds that Poppy is included in that grouping.
“Does that look mean you’re in?” Johnny asks, sounding far too excited to spend time with me, considering how little I’ve allowed us to get to know one another.
I glance at Brody, fixing my posture. “You said six?”
“Yeah. Gives us enough time to clean up first. Anna’d kick my ass if I tried takin’ her out lookin’ like this.” He lifts his hands to show off the black stains all over them.
My nod is stiff. “Alright.”
Brody double blinks, his shock so obvious I’d be offended by it had I not understood it. “We’ll swing by the guest house to pick you up on our way. That work?”
“Yes.”
“Hell yeah!” Johnny shouts, moving toward me at a too-quick pace.
I’m unprepared for the slap he lays between my shoulder blades. I stumble forward a step, my eyes flaring wide. Brody howls a laugh at my reaction.
“Oh, boy, is this goin’ to be fun,” he says, grinning wide.
The conviction in his tone is enough to have me worried.
True to his word,Brody showed up at six sharp in a truck far nicer than the one parked outside the guest house with Annalise and Johnny in tow.
The couple in the front two seats weren’t much for group discussion. Instead, they spoke in tones too hushed for me to hear if I had wanted to. Johnny, on the other hand, was all for conversation. My ears are still ringing from his pointless chitchat as Brody pulls the truck along the curb outside the fire station.
Only a sleek SUV sits outside the building, parked beside a fire truck that looks as though it’s seen much better days. I figure it’s only fitting that the truck looks as old and worn down as the ramshackle station.
“Who are we picking up here?” I ask Johnny.
Eager to talk some more, he answers quickly. “Caleb. Brody’s best friend.”
“He’s a firefighter?”
“Yep. The fire chief.”
I nod, attention drifting down the street toward the building next door to the station. Bright pink light streams from the open window, and inside?—
My head empties, only the echo of the pulse in my ears left behind.
The woman twirling around the pole in little more than a pair of shorts crawling between her ass cheeks and a lavender sports bra cupping her heavy chest is too familiar to mistake for anyone else. My gut clenches, warmth igniting there a beat later.
Even with the long, caramel-brown hair gone, swapped out for something warmer and brighter and held up with a small white clip, I recognize Poppy. After spending the entire week thinking about her despite my best efforts, I’d be ashamed of myself had I not.
I attempt to swallow, but my throat is too dry. She’s snared me with little effort. I’ve never watched . . . this before. This dance of passion. A grand performance in front of no one but herself.
The way Poppy moves up and down and side to side on the pole is mesmerizing. Such grace and power radiates from the way she curls her thigh around the pole and dips backward, letting her one arm fall behind her head as she sways. I grip my knees, the crisp, wrinkle-free slacks beneath my fingers a soothing feeling. A reminder of who I am, not where.
“That’s Poppy. You remember her, right?” Johnny asks, his voice a sledgehammer to the mirage I’ve slipped into.
I relax my fingers, smoothing the new creases in my slacks before turning my head to stare at the guy. He’s leaning across the middle seat between us to get a better view out my window, eyes wide and focused on Poppy.
Rolling my jaw, I manage to find words. “I remember Poppy. Does she always do this so openly? Where anyone can stare at her?”
“You mean like you just were?” He laughs, tossing himself back in his seat. “It’s her job. I doubt she’s shy about it.”
I reel back. “What do you mean it’s her job?”
Apparently, I didn’t ask the question quietly enough. It’s not Johnny who replies to me but Anna, the warning in her tone one I’m not used to hearing from her.
“Yes, her job. And I won’t have you judging her for it when she gets to the bar tonight.”
I scowl, even as I clasp my hands in my lap and focus on the confirmation that I’ll be seeing her later. “I wasn’t judging her for anything. Am I not allowed to be curious?”
“That depends on why you’re curious,” Brody tosses back.
“It’s okay, G-man. Poppy is the free-spirit type, right, Anna? She runs Beautifully Bold, the pole studio,” Johnny explains.
“I wouldn’t exactly call her a free spirit, but she’s not shy. Not about this. And she has no reason to be. She’s a beautiful dancer with a beautiful soul,” Anna says.
I curl and uncurl my thumbs, fidgeting in a way I haven’t since grade school. “I’ve never heard of a pole studio before.”
“I hadn’t either before I got here. It’s becoming more mainstream now, though, I think. Beautifully Bold is a place for anyone to learn to pole dance, but it’s about far more than that. It’s about strength and confidence and somewhere safe to go when and if we need it. She’s worked really, really hard on her business, which I’d assume a guy like you would appreciate. But Poppy would be better equipped to explain all this to you, if you were ever actually interested in learning more,” Anna says, softer this time.
Silence fills the cab as we all digest her words. Even Johnny doesn’t have a joke to toss in. If I were simply attracted to Poppy before, hearing that she may be even half as driven as I am threatens to crank the dial of desire up to a near dangerous level.
I’m grateful when a man I’ve never met comes jogging out of the fire station and toward the truck dressed in simple jeans and a sweatshirt. Anna rolls down her window and shouts for him to hop in behind Brody, where Johnny is scooting right up beside me, now seated in the centre seat. I close my legs as much as I can in an attempt to keep my personal space, but the moment this Caleb man takes the now empty seat, his large frame has the three of us shoulder to shoulder.
“Hey, guys,” Caleb greets us as Brody pulls back onto the road. “You must be Garrison. I’m Caleb.”
“Hello, Caleb,” I reply stiffly, trying to fold in my frame as much as possible.
“You look a bit uncomfortable back there, Garrison,” Brody teases.
If only he had any idea just how uncomfortable I am. It has less to do with the overbearing scent of cologne wafting from Johnny as his shoulder jostles into mine and more to do with the erection I’ve been fighting off since I caught a glance at Poppy in that window.
I have a feeling tonight is going to be a very, very uncomfortable one. Yet, I can’t help but feel a seedling of excitement as well.
If one week in this place already has me this out of my mind, then I’m terrified to see what two months does to me.