Could Be Worse

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Sadie

My nerves were unraveling the closer I got to home. Doom and gloom filled my soul. Nothing had taken my mind off my predicament—or the lies I would have to tell my family, to explain why I was in Minnesota and not Manhattan. Even the pretty fall foliage hadn’t distracted me, and that was saying something, because I loved all things fall.

Okay, cancel that last statement.

I love all things pumpkin. Pumpkin patches. Skinny, pumpkin spice lattes. Pumpkin scented candles, socks and T-shirts with pumpkins and colorful leaves on them. If I wasn’t on a strict diet, I’d add pumpkin waffles and cookies, and pumpkin bars with cream cheese frosting.

Now that I think of it, I was obsessed with pumpkins more than the autumn season.

But I had digressed…

My motorcycle club family had no clue I was coming, and they always knew everything about me. Simply because I would word vomit when I’d talk to my folks, my sister, or my girlfriends. Just showing up without notice would probably freak them out.

Gah! Guilt pummeled me.

After I fled the Big Apple, I drove straight through to Chicago in my loaded-down, cheap rental car, spent the night in a subpar motel, and resumed my travels after I ate the free continental breakfast.

For the last several hours, my knuckles had been white from gripping the steering wheel like it was my lifeline. My parents would be happy to see me but also confused. I should’ve sent a text to give them a heads-up, instead of surprising them. But I couldn’t call; they would hear the devastation in my voice.

No one would ever dream I’d appear out of thin air, with my busy dance schedule for the Nutcracker. Hell, not even I could process being in Minnesota, but then, I could have never predicted what had transpired over the past couple of days…

I squeezed my eyes shut, hating how I could never unsee the pictures. Rage simmered in my veins, each image seared into my memory, and disgust churned my stomach.

My mom in her early twenties, her topless, curvy form wrapped around a pole in a provocative pose… Bright spotlights on stage, illuminating her full breasts and the sparkling G-string she wore… The outfit, or lack of, had been part of her performance when she was a Vegas dancer.

Maybe if I bathed in bleach, it would cleanse my soul and dissolve the anger building in me.

“Why?” I mumbled to myself in a quiet voice. “Why would someone do this?”

My eyes flashed open as a frightening thought hit me.

What if they were hiding somewhere in my bedroom?

I swept my gaze to my closet, where a masked man might be waiting to jump out and kill me. It was the only reasonable hiding place. I had a platform bed, low to the ground. Only a child could fit under it.

Or maybe they were watching me, after hiding a camera in a spot I’d never find.

So many questions bounced off the walls in my head.

How had they gotten into my apartment?

Had someone been watching me, and I hadn’t noticed? There were millions of people in the Big Apple. Of course I had noticed nothing. I lived in my own little ballerina’s world.

I ate, slept, and breathed dancing, especially now that I was the lead in the Nutcracker. I’d finally achieved my childhood dream of being the Sugar Plum Fairy, and now this…

I gulped in a breath and slowly exhaled. Schooling my emotions, I held up the letter I’d found placed neatly on my pillow.

Tremors rolled through my limbs, and tears blurred my vision, both making it difficult to read the thick black ink. But I could make out the gist of their demands.

QUIT THE SHOW

GET OUT OF NYC OR THE PICTURES

WILL BE EVERYWHERE

ON brOADWAY

IN MINNESOTA

ALL OVER THE INTERNET

YOU HAVE 24 HOURS

A sob shot into my throat, and my heart raced so fast, it would surely give out from pumping the devastation flooding my most vital organ.

All that I had talked about… fantasized about achieving in my life. All the endless practicing and manifesting.

Just like that, my entire world pirouetted out of my grasp.

Who would do this to me?

Wait.

Could Rebecca be blackmailing me?

We’d been battling for the lead in every production since our first year at Juilliard. Rebecca and I were equals in skill and talent, but I danced with more heart and passion—or so our instructors had said throughout the years—and Rebecca hated me for it.

But to send incriminating photos of my mom and demand that I quit the musical and get out of New York sounded like a horrible, low-budget movie. Sure, she was my understudy, which was the closest she’d gotten to being the lead. Should something prevent me from performing, Rebecca would step up. But could she be that hateful and evil?

No, not Rebecca. Impossible.

How would she have even found the pictures? She couldn’t possibly know about my mom’s past career in Vegas. No one but certain members of the club knew. I was almost positive none of the kids in my KLMC family had been told about her pole dancing while topless, but if they had, they hadn’t mentioned it.

The culprit had to be someone else, like an enemy of my dad’s club wanting retribution for some offense.

I couldn’t imagine how I fit into the mix. How had they gotten the images? My mom hadn’t performed on stage in almost twenty years.

I snatched my phone off the bed to call my dad, then stopped myself before I set off an unstoppable chain reaction.

If I just did as the letter said, everything would be okay. Right?

All I had to do was to quit the show and leave the state. Nothing would happen, and I would nurse my devastated heart in silence.

Calling my dad would be a severe mistake. He’d immediately come to my defense. Rally the Knights. And they’d ride their Harleys into the city like a lawless army and turn Manhattan upside down to find whoever was blackmailing me.

No. I would not be the reason mayhem ensued. Someone could get hurt. Or worse. Many people could perish, including my dad.

Yes. I’d pack up my things and head home to Minnesota, and…

And what?

Pretend like I was okay, like all my dreams hadn’t been stolen from me?

My folks knew I’d gotten the part as the Sugar Plum Fairy. The entire freaking Knight’s Legion MC knew. The whole Upper Midwest knew. My dad was the proudest papa and had told every person he knew and even strangers that his peanut was a ballerina on Broadway and the lead in the Nutcracker.

My heart seized, and the dam broke. Tears cascaded down my face like a waterfall. My dad would be so disappointed, and nothing hurt me more than to crush his dreams for me.

I sobbed like a baby, pain spreading through my graceful limbs.

I had no choice. I needed to do what was necessary for the greater good.

I was a Quinn, and nothing could destroy us unless we allowed it. I needed to pull myself together, go home with my head held high and a smile on my face.

After I cried buckets of tears, of course.

With that thought, I hopped off my bed and packed. My rent was paid up until the spring, thanks to my dad. I couldn’t have afforded to live in the city if he hadn’t taken care of my bills.

I felt a little guilty about him spending so much money on me. I was twenty-three and should be providing for myself, but my dad was the best ever and wanted me to chase my dreams, even though all he wanted was to have his daughter close to home.

Well, his wish was about to come true…

I let out a frustrated scream and tugged myself back to the present. Reliving the day my world was destroyed would do me no good.

But the assholes who stole my chance to be the lead ballerina wouldn’t keep me down. I just had to face my family before I considered my options.

Not yet…

Spotting a sign for the Boulder Tap House, I took the exit. It was a cowardly thing to do, but I needed to calm down before I continued my journey home.

And my stomach was growling.

Cheese curds and a beer would help. Maybe two beers.

It’d been years since I’d eaten at this local chain. Never in Mankato. My dad had taken me to the one near Nova’s home in Fargo. It’d been our thing, when it was just me and him taking a quick road trip to visit my bestie during my childhood.

When I was older, he took me out on his Harley and made the whole day about us. Those were some of the best memories of my life.

Zane and Lexi would get so jealous, but Dad had told them it was our father-daughter date. He had done special things with my younger brother and sister too. He always made time for us and our mom.

My stomach hurt as I got out of the car, the same way it did before an audition. Nerves for sure. Or could it be bad juju, stopping at a place that reminded me of my dad? Maybe, but I was here, and the smell of charbroiled meats and fried foods guided me in.

As I entered the establishment, my excitement deflated. About a dozen other people had the same idea as me. Fantastic.

“How many?” the hostess asked.

“Just me.” I hadn’t noticed it was after five, a prime suppertime in the Upper Midwest.

“It’ll be twenty or so minutes for a table, but there’s room at the bar.” She assessed me. “If you’re twenty-one.”

“I am. Thanks.” I smiled and squeezed past a few people. The bar was packed as well. I shouldn’t have been surprised; it was a Friday evening. But honestly, after everything I’d been through, could this day get any worse?

Hush, Sadie. You don’t want to tempt fate…

Oh! An available spot.

I made a beeline for the stool, then noticed another woman dashing toward my chair as well.

“I saw this seat first,” my opponent said as we came upon the stool at the same time. She appeared to be older than me, maybe in her late twenties or early thirties, and an attractive blonde, dressed professionally. We weren’t each other’s competition beyond the seat at the bar. She eyed the man to our right, who I hadn’t noticed until now…

“I’m sorry, but this is mine. I was just coming back from the bathroom.” I nudged her aside and bumped into the gorgeous gentleman. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry.” I placed my hand on his firm bicep and stroked it softly.

His head whipped toward me, and he hiked a curious brow. “It’s all good.”

We stared at each other for a long second. Wow, he was hot. The corner of his pursed lips twitched, as if trying not to smile. He had the sexist scruff I’d ever seen and the bluest eyes I’d ever wanted to get lost in.

How had I overlooked him?

Just me and my one-track mind.

Until now, all I’d been able to think about was beer and fried cheese curds. I pushed those silly thoughts out of my head. Who could think of food with a gorgeous guy staring at them? Not me.

“Are you together?” The annoyed woman studied us. I would bet all the fried cheese curds I could eat that she’d hoped to hit on Mr. Hottie, but I’d beat her to him.

“Yes, we are. Right, honey?” I smiled at him as I would at the love of my life. To me, I was performing, like I had on stage since I was in kindergarten. But why were butterflies swirling in my once-icky-feeling stomach?

I hadn’t ever experienced such a strong attraction to a stranger, like I could jump onto his lap and kiss him until our clothes melted away and we were doing naked, naughty activities.

“Right, sunshine,” he replied without hesitation and lightly pinched my chin. Those blue, blue eyes bore into mine and possessed me like a drug-induced haze.

Sunshine? Swoon!

“Fine.” The woman huffed and stormed to the other side of the bar, where a seat was vacant. She’d have a perfect view of us. Wonderful. But still. My hero. He saved me from the wicked woman out to steal my stool… and him.

Not that I want to meet a man, fall in love, and have a family. Absolutely not. I was a professional dancer. I had goals. Dreams to achieve. Marriage and babies were at the very bottom of my to-do list.

I was also still reeling over being forced to quit the Nutcracker. A man and kids would be a huge distraction and hindrance from my career. It wasn’t like I would never dance professionally again. I most certainly would, even if I had to go to Vegas or California, though my dad would hate me moving out west.

“Are you just going to stare at me, sunshine? Or are you going to snag the stool you fought so hard to claim?” His question shook me out of my thoughts.

“Oh, um. Yes.” I smiled, my cheeks heating up. “Thank you for playing along. The restaurant is packed, and I’m starving.”

“Is that all it was? I’m not the man of your dreams?”

Okay. Wow. “It’s too early to tell.”

“Fair enough. What’ll you have?” He raised his hand for the bartender.

“Cheese curds and a dark stout.” I pressed my hand to my stomach and tried to not exhale a deep breath. I was totally being swept away by his handsome good looks and easygoing attitude, and I didn’t want him to know how he was affecting me.

He ordered my food and beer, getting another for himself. It seemed like he was finished eating but planned to linger a bit longer. Yay me! I didn’t like to eat alone.

“So, do you live in Mankato?” he asked. “I mean, I should know more about you if I’m your boyfriend.”

“I didn’t say you were my boyfriend. I just said we were together.”

He nodded. “Right. My mistake.”

“But no. I’m just passing through. What about you?”

“I’m here on business.” He didn’t take his eyes off me. There was a strong something between us, but I wasn’t sure if it was a good thing.

I shifted on my stool and observed the room. The professional woman from earlier was glaring at me—shooting daggers at me. “Honestly, is she for real?” Clearly, she was unconvinced we were together. She wouldn’t be wrong, but... “Play along,” I told him as I curled my arm around his and put my head on his shoulder.

“Do you play this game regularly?” His smooth-as-velvet voice wrapped around me, pulling me closer to him.

“No, never.” I smelled his woodsy cologne and rubbed my cheek against his denim button-down shirt. He was warm and oh so cozy to curl up against.

“Aren’t I the lucky guy?” His words melted my insides, and I relaxed against him.

“You are.” I lifted my face toward his, to check his expression and found his heated blue eyes, which were on me.

He assessed me leisurely, our faces a mere breath apart. “What are the rules?”

“To look convincing so that woman will stop staring at us.”

“Hmm. Let’s give her a show.” He shocked the hell out of me when his lips descended on mine.

I didn’t flinch or jerk away. No, I responded in an instant, kissing him back. Like, what was happening?

He gently yet deeply kneaded my lips, as if we’d been doing this for years together. So natural. So confident and unabashed. It was like he didn’t give a damn who might be watching us.

I totally melted into the best kiss of my life. Everything around us faded away. I looped my arm around his neck to pull him in closer. I didn’t feel the move was too forward. After all, he’d initiated the kiss.

“Fuck,” he muttered, spreading my lips apart, and plunged his tongue into my mouth.

I met him halfway, exploring him like he was me. Hints of a hoppy beer and smokey barbeque sauce tempted my palate.

“This is the best game I’ve ever played with a stranger.”

I smiled victoriously.

As our tongues twisted and teased each other, a zing shot between my legs, nearly making me moan into his hot, ravenous mouth.

It’d been over a year since I’d had sex. He’d been a fellow dancer, and we’d had a little too much wine one night. I couldn’t even remember if I’d enjoyed myself.

I could sure go for an orgasm, one that would release the stress and tension of my imploding life. I bet this guy was spectacular in bed. But I’d never suggest we get a room. I knew nothing about him, other than he was an amazing kisser.

“Here we are, lovebirds.” The bartender set our beers and my cheese curds on the bar, rudely interrupting our make-out session. “Let me know if I can get you anything else.”

“Thanks,” we said in unison and pulled apart.

“I guess our performance was believable.” He jerked his chin at the gaping woman across from us.

“I think so. And the bartender called us lovebirds.” I inhaled a deep breath and blew it out, fanning myself. “You’re very good at this game.”

“So are you.” He lifted his beer toward me. “Cheers to a stimulating performance.”

“Cheers to you too.” I clinked my mug to his and gulped the refreshing liquid. Phew! I was so turned on, my panties were wet. Stimulating indeed…