CHAPTER TWELVE
SEVEN
The days dragged on, the awkwardness between Jordan and me fermenting into something new, something sour, like the most disgusting kombucha.
Every second she was unoccupied and safe at the apartment, I busied myself in my work. I had plenty to do. I’d gotten a few leads from the ad I’d posted last week, and I’d already met with three potential new hires, each with their own strong, unique background.
I couldn’t keep this shit up much longer, though. I needed Jordan out of my sight, at least for the majority of the day. Being around her only reminded me of all the things I liked about her. Of the things I wanted to do to her. The banter between us—when we allowed it—was too gratifying. The easy way we could co-exist—when we weren’t stewing in our awkward-as-fuck juices—was the type of thing that reminded me of the old days, back when I’d been engaged to Olivia. The glimpse at the sexual connection between us—I couldn’t even fucking think about it. Dangerously gratifying. Everything about Jordan promised to be a minefield of pleasure. I needed her under someone else’s care as of last week.
My phone vibrated on my bed next to me as I responded to the latest email with a job applicant in his late twenties named Chico. That wasn’t his nickname either. He’d won the hiring race—motivated, punctual, with a military background and complete flexibility. I extended the job offer, and now we were wrapping up the final contractual details. My head spun. My biggest dream was officially off the ground—my own bodyguard business. I was almost the boss. Only a few steps remained between me and my goal of CEO.
It took me a few minutes to remember my phone had buzzed. When I checked it, a text from Trojan waited. “You ready for this jelly?”
I smiled as I wrote back. “Must mean you’ve arrived in NYC.”
“Knife at the ready. And yes, that’s a fucking metaphor.”
I laughed, excitement replacing some of my existential dread. Trojan’s trip to Manhattan had worked out—and not a second too soon. I needed my best buddy to get my head straight. To replace it entirely with a brain that functioned on logic and reason again.
“Metaphor for your dick, right?”
“No, meatwad. A butter knife. To spread your sweet jelly.”
I laughed and sent him the address of the hotel I booked him. We were buddies, but we weren’t share-the-same-bed level of buddies. I booked him a stay at the Hyatt, because I was fucking nice and I missed him. Plus, I had a big favor to ask of him.
There had been one thought knocking around in my brain since Jordan’s surprise performance in the VIP room: she wanted more, just as much as I did. But my logical side accepted Jordan’s explanation. It was easy to tell myself I was the one who made things weird. That the sparks and feelings between us were one-sided. I couldn’t get past this until I knew, without a doubt, that Jordan had fucking lied to me about that “new routine.”
I needed to know that what happened between us wasn’t going to be happening for a few lucky guys on the side, like she’d claimed.
And the only person who could test this theory was my good buddy Trojan.
This was a big ask—go into a VIP lounge, provoke a stripper, swear to not touch her lest she take things further, and then give me every sordid detail afterward, no matter how tight my fists got.
I needed to get him nice and buttered up.
Jordan’s shift at the club started at seven that evening. I knew the drill. At five, I set my work aside and went to the kitchen for a protein shake. She was already there, packing her backpack. Without looking at me, she asked, “Feel like some rice noodles?”
The least surprising thing she’d ever asked me. I got this question at least three times a week. “If you insist.”
She shoved her heels in her bag, followed by a scrap of fabric I assumed she’d be putting on her body in mere hours. I gritted my teeth, trying not to imagine too much of what I’d be seeing that night. Every ounce of my energy was dedicated to keeping my thoughts off Jordan’s body, the way she felt in my arms, and the memory of her damp inner thighs against my fingertips. Those thoughts were forbidden.
Until I was alone in the shower each morning, when those thoughts slunk out of the shadows.
She still insisted on taking the subway every day, despite the fact that she had a fleet of private cars at her disposal. But who was I to complain? This was her show, and I was just a transfixed member of her audience. We headed for the door, turning off lights as I went. Our footsteps fell quietly in the hallway as we speedwalked to the stairwell. I knew what lay ahead. It was more than routine by this point; it was something I almost needed for my day to feel complete.
Once the door swung open, the race began. Our feet clattered down the metal steps and a delighted sound squeaked out of her. She elbowed me. I pulled ahead.
“Fuck you!” Her voice echoed in the stairwell as I bolted down the next few flights a few steps at a time.
I won with seconds to spare. I held the door open for her, my chest heaving.
“Sucks to lose,” I said as she walked past. I made sure to keep my win-loss ratio at about fifty-fifty. Couldn’t have her thinking she was hot shit. Even though plenty of those times, she’d beaten me fair and square.
The clamor of the street distracted us from needing to talk too much. The less interaction, the better. That’s what my logical mind knew, even though it felt disjointed and wrong. We walked a few blocks to her newest favorite rice noodle spot in my neighborhood, cramming into the bustling little storefront and joining the winding line to order. I knew what she was getting without needing to hear—beef slice rice noodle—while I got my own personal favorite…beef slice rice noodle.
I wasn’t trying to copy; the woman knew what tasted good.
Once we got our steaming bowls, we retired to a bar-height table with two stools. We slid into place, her eyes practically shooting stars as we laid out our silverware.
“I’ve been waiting for this moment,” she whispered.
“Since two days ago, when we were here last?”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “Don’t sass me. I don’t want your sass ruining my rice noodles.”
“That wasn’t sass, it was fact.”
I could see her trying to fight a smile. “Zip your lips.” She shifted in her seat, our knees knocking beneath the table. I fought to ignore the warmth that shot through me. She didn’t even seem to notice as she dug into her food; so I did the same, ignoring the way her knee settled against mine and stayed there.
It was like the buzzing of an electric fence. A dangerous, fatal current below the surface. Everything would be fine if we just left it alone. Obeyed the safety procedures. Followed protocol.
I hated how much I had to remind myself of this.
We inhaled our food in record time. When she got up to dump her empty bowl, an icy breeze whooshed past where our legs had been touching. I tried not to notice. She offered to take my empty bowl, and I nodded, yanking my gaze off her receding frame and to my phone.
Trojan had been texting during our dinner. He was at the Hyatt and ready for the next move.
I typed out a quick response.
SEVEN: I’ll call you in an hour and explain the agenda.
TROJAN: Sounds like you’ve got something saucy in store.
SEVEN: Hope you brought a ladle for that sauce in addition to the butter knife.
The trip to Gemstones passed quickly, thanks to the pitstops along the way and at the park nearby to hunt Pokémon, followed by an overstuffed train and the fact that there was a man in a full Easter Bunny suit—despite it being early October—taking nips from a flask and shouting out bad advice whenever someone dared give him a side-eye.
Once Jordan was safely inside the club, I slipped into the quiet alcove near the bathrooms and called Trojan.
He picked up immediately, his coarse voice prompting a smile before I’d even digested his words. “Is this the call where you finally explain why you put me up in a swank ass hotel like I’m your secret lover?”
“Some things don’t need to be explained by anything other than you’re my friend. And you deserve the best.”
He snorted. “Bullshit. The last time you footed the bill for our hotel it was a Super Eight.”
“Times are different. I’m a businessman now.” I could feel the grin blooming across my face. Trojan likely earned at the same level as me. He’d had just as many high-profile protection jobs and had been employed by a Fairchild or two in his life. People like them weren’t afraid to pay a premium for the best.
“I guess that means drinks are on you tonight, huh?”
“Of course. Whatever you want, Trojie.”
“Don’t start with the stupid fucking nicknames,” he warned. “Unless you really plan to take me as your secret lover.”
“Not a chance in hell.”
“That’s right, because you’ve got a hard-on for your client.”
I cleared my throat, wishing he was in front of me so I could punch him in the gut for that comment. “Listen, I’m going to send you an address—”
“Oh, I love it when you get all CIA operative on me.”
“—and I need you to show up and act like you don’t know me.”
His cackle prompted a laugh on my end, too. “Fine. Go on.”
“Start a tab if you want. I’ll pay it. I’m also going to pay for a special…visit, while you’re here.”
Trojan groaned. “Seven, promise me what we’re getting into tonight is legal.”
“Of course it is,” I assured him, stepping aside as a man entered the bathroom. “I would never lead you astray.”
“I’ll determine that when I see where your mystery address takes me.”
“You’ll love it. I promise. But I need something in return: a full report of what happens during your special visit.” My heart hammered, not that Trojan would know. I was desperate to be proven right that Jordan disguised the same feelings I had via that flimsy excuse about “trying out a new routine.” It shouldn’t have even fucking mattered, but I was dying to know if I was the only one feeling the burn of this attraction. I had to know. For science.
He cleared his throat. “Listen, is your fucking phone tapped or are you just being cryptic to piss me off?”
This time, I was the one who cackled. “Maybe a little of both. Truthfully, I just don’t want to be able to hear you judging me once you realize what I have planned for you.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“I’ll see you here, okay?”
Trojan heaved a dramatic sigh, and I hung up on him then sent him the address. He’d give me shit about what I planned for him, but the sheer amount of buttcheeks and tits in this place would quiet him down. There wasn’t much that a neat whiskey and a lap dance couldn’t solve for most men. As long as they weren’t head over heels for a stripper ten years their junior that happened to also be their client’s little sister. Even a lap dance couldn’t help that.
By the time I returned to the main area, Jordan’s show was just beginning. She stepped onto the stage accompanied by a thumping beat, her eyeliner winged, her pouty lips painted a deep burgundy. As expected, the scrap of fabric I’d seen her stuff into her backpack was now stretched across those perfect palm-sized breasts and down over her toned and tiny waist. She wore a black thong bodysuit that looked more like a one-piece bathing suit had lost a fight with a paper shredder. Strips of tasseled fabric splayed out across her muscular ass as she strutted the stage. Once again—as always—I was rooted. Along with every other human with a set of eyes in the building.
I tried to keep to the back wall and scan my surroundings instead of watching the show. After all, I needed to be on the lookout for Trojan. But I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. Not when she was sharing the same airspace as me.
Trojan knew it. I knew it. And I prayed to God Jordan didn’t know it.
I did have a hard-on for this woman. And it wasn’t because she wore outfits that looked like they came pre-shredded or she specialized in wearing floss between her ass cheeks. Those were the last things about her that mattered.
I didn’t want to think about this anymore. I tried to distract myself with thoughts about my business and what came next now that I’d sent the contract to Chico. Once he sent me back the signed contract, we’d start immediately with the first assignment. Something safe—a “babysitting” session in my apartment or similar.
Until I could determine when it was safe to fully hand over her protection to someone else, I’d remain on the job. Dustin hadn’t dared show up recently, but it didn’t mean he wouldn’t. And Jordan’s brothers still wanted full-time protection for at least an additional month once she found her own place, until the threat could be reassessed from her new apartment.
Jordan whipped herself around the pole, and the dollar bills rained down. Every time my gaze slid back to her routine and settled there, I forced myself to check my phone or focus on something else.
Trojan showed up just after she cleared the stage. He and I were the same height—six four—but he looked like the burly woodsman to my clean-cut vibe. Since leaving the military, he’d rocked a beard in various stages of growth and even had a whole flannel collection. Tonight, he wore dark jeans and a gray button-up, striking the balance between off-duty bodyguard and out-of-place lumberjack in the city with his full, dark beard.
Our gazes met across the room, and he shook his head at me with narrowed eyes. I fought back my smile. He headed to the bar immediately, and as he leaned against it, I got a text message from him.
TROJAN: A fucking strip club.
SEVEN: I told you I didn’t want you judging me.
TROJAN: Because you’re about to send me on some wild-goose chase for your stripper girlfriend, aren’t you?
SEVEN: She’s not my girlfriend.
TROJAN: So that sounds a lot like a yes to what my mission is. I’m getting a double and tipping 200%. Enjoy the tab later.
Jordan lingered near the front of the stage, playing coy with a few different men. I needed to get Trojan on her schedule before it filled up. I spotted the owner, Eddie, heading to the main lounge area in front of the stage with the tablet in his hand. I flagged him down before he got lost in the crowd.
“Hey, man. Any chance I could book a VIP slot on Sapphire’s schedule?” I almost let it slip that it was for my friend but thought better of it. I didn’t want Jordan to find out I’d sent someone to test her. I wasn’t even supposed to care, much less crave her the way I did.
“Yeah, you get first pick. When you want in?”
“Just put it under Troy,” I said, giving Trojan’s legal name. “Next available is fine.”
Eddie filled in the slot on the tablet, then I slipped him the bills needed to finalize the reservation.
“Don’t mention it to Sapphire, if you can help it,” I added. Her finding out I’d sent a friend would be the worst-case scenario; but her finding out I’d snagged a slot in the first place would raise too many question marks. “It’s kind of a surprise.”
“No problem. Happy to do business with you.” He clapped me on the back, then strode into the lounge area where the men prowled like sharks, though he probably only saw them as dollar signs. I brought my phone out again, sending the next batch of instructions to Trojan.
SEVEN: You’ve got a special appointment in ten minutes. Head to the VIP room, you get a half hour with Jordan. In here, she’s called Sapphire.
Trojan turned around to stare at me with one squinted eye from across the room.
TROJAN: If you guys are into threesomes, I hate to tell you, but that’s not my style.
SEVEN: I’ll be outside, standing guard
TROJAN: Even creepier. What the fuck?
How to explain myself as much as possible without giving away the truth? I couldn’t admit that I was desperate for Jordan. Almost as desperate as I was to be rid of these feelings.
SEVEN: I just need you to see what happens in there. Ask for her special move. See if there’s anything new or exciting she can show you. Push as much as you can. Offer extra money. But do not even think about touching her. I need to know something and you’re going to find out for me.
I scanned the room between texts. Jordan dragged her finger along the bottom of an old man’s chin, saying something I couldn’t make out.
TROJAN: This is weird dude.
SEVEN: You’re getting a half hour with Manhattan’s best stripper. I think you’ll survive.
TROJAN: You promise you won’t hurt me when I come out of there?
SEVEN: Promise. Because we both know you won’t enjoy it when I’m waiting out here to break your jaw if you so much as touch her.
TROJAN: So let’s recap. Get lured to a strip club by my best friend, forced into a VIP room with the best stripper on the planet with the strict instructions to not enjoy it or touch her, then come out and tattle about what happened. Is that right?
SEVEN: Spot on.
TROJAN: Jesus fucking Christ, you’ve got it bad for this one.
I pocketed my phone without answering. I was almost entirely sure that Jordan had made up the story about trying out a new routine, even if she purportedly planned to use it only with exclusive customers. But for now, I just needed to test the theory and prove myself right, or I would internally combust.
His head tipped back as he downed his shot. Then he headed my way, shouldering into me on his way past.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, kind stranger, I didn’t see you there.”
I stifled a grin. “Move along. If you’re looking for the VIP rooms, they’re right over there.” I tipped my head in the direction he needed to go. “The first one. Your time slot starts in two minutes.”
“So gracious.” The sarcasm leaked out of his words. Jordan was headed this way, which meant I didn’t give him the shove he deserved. She clomped over in her sky-high heels, adjusting the strap of her bodysuit along the way. She glanced at me briefly, lifting her brows before heading for the VIP room. She greeted Trojan, then took him by the hand and led him inside.
Now all I could do was stand beside the door and watch the clock.
Time moved at a glacial pace. My stomach twisted into knots. I tried to imagine what I’d do if Trojan came out of there and told me she offered to use the vibrator with him, like she told me. Seriously, what the fuck did you just do? Tell him to ask for the special move, but then he can’t touch her if she goes there. But if she does the special move and grinds on his cock like she did with you, it doesn’t matter if he gives in, because you can’t move forward with her. Even though there’s no forward to be had with Jordan. So none of this matters. This is pointless. Just give it up.
My thoughts were folded up into origami. None of this made any fucking sense.
I tortured myself with thoughts like these until Trojan’s time was up. The door swung open. Jordan’s giggles reached me first, then Trojan stumbled out a moment later.
“Had a blast, thank yooou,” Jordan cooed.
Her next booking had been lurking outside the VIP room for the last ten minutes at least. When Trojan cleared out, Jordan welcomed in the next guy, wiggling her fingers at him. After the door shut behind them, I whistled to snag Trojan’s wandering attention and tipped my head toward the back hallway.
“Holy shit,” was the first thing he said once we were stationed in front of the men’s room.
“I need to know what happened.”
He blinked a few times, still dazed. “Have you seen her dance before?”
“Of course.”
“Holy shit. She’s like…good.” His mind was blown. “The shit she does on that pole? Dude, you could have warned me.”
“I told you she’s the best stripper there is. So did she rub on you?”
The question seemed to confuse him. “Wh—”
“Did you ask for the special move?”
“I did.”
“So did she grind on your lap? Take your pants off? Bring out a vibrator?”
Trojan lifted his palms, laughing a little. “Whoa, man. Are you telling me all of that was supposed to be part of the package?”
I raked a hand through my hair. “It’s what happened when she invited me in there last week. She claimed it was a new routine for exclusive clients, but I think it’s bullshit. That’s why I needed you to go test it.”
“I asked for the special move like you asked. I pushed it a few times—she just kept brushing it off, saying I’d be perfectly happy with her regular routine, because it was all special. When I offered her extra money for a little something extra physical, she just laughed. She didn’t even touch me.”
I crossed my arms, stewing over this information. All of my vital organs unclenched. I could breathe easily now. Yet somehow, this was all so much more complicated now.
Because Jordan had lied about testing out a new move.
“To be honest, I could have gotten off without her even touching me,” Trojan continued.
I pressed my forearm against his chest, backing him up against the wall. “That’s enough.”
A shit-eating grin spread across his face. He lifted his palms in submission. “Just doing my job, buddy. The one you sent me in there to do. Remember?”
I grunted, standing down. He straightened his shirt, adding, “So is this the proof you needed? You’re officially in love with her. And it sounds like she’s in love with you too. Great. They have another term for this, and it’s career suicide.”
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. I didn’t have it in me to correct him about his use of the L-word. I didn’t even know what I’d say to defend myself at this point. Jordan had already consumed me; now I was roping in my friends to prove something I didn’t fully want to acknowledge.
“I told you to get laid,” Trojan said. “You clearly did not listen to instructions.”
“I haven’t had time.”
“Well, I’m in town now. You’ll make time.”
I wanted to fuck someone’s brains out, that much was true. But it wasn’t a random girl.
“I’ll be here with Jordan until at least one in the morning,” I told him. “You’re welcome to stay. Like I said, drinks are on me. I appreciate you doing my dirty work.”
He clapped me on the shoulder. “Any time, brother.”
“I’ll hit you up tomorrow,” I told him. “We can figure out the plan.”
“I already know the plan. Rib eyes and a fuck-ton of alcohol. And then I’m getting you under some sweet little thang. I’ll start crawling the dating apps now.”
“Do not catfish some poor girl in the name of my dick,” I pleaded.
“It won’t be catfishing,” he assured me. “I have your pretty mug on my camera roll, and I know you well enough to pose as you. I could fool your own mother.”
“Not fair. She’s got dementia and lives in a nursing home.”
“You know what I mean.”
I gave him the shove I’d been holding back, sending him on his way, then I headed back to my post outside the VIP room.
Trojan was certain that my fucking a random girl would be the solution to my problems. But I knew the truth. The only possible solutions were either getting Jordan out of my sight or getting her back into my arms, where she fucking belonged.
I knew how to fall in line, to follow commands, but when it came to Jordan, I wasn’t sure how much longer I could convince both my heart and my cock to stick to the rules.