CHAPTER NINE STRIPPER-GRAMS NOW WITH BUTTERSCOTCH HARD CANDIES
CHAPTER NINE
STRIPPER-GRAMS: NOW WITH BUTTERSCOTCH HARD CANDIES
RHYS
Iopened the door suddenly, and the detective’s movements cut off. She startled, her wide eyes shooting to me as pink spread across her cheeks.
This shit is never gonna work.
My brain thought that.
My dick disagreed.
It liked the way she gasped and how sexy she looked when she arched her neck to look up at me with a small, embarrassed smile curving her fuckable mouth.
It wanted to see her looking up at me like that while she kneeled at my feet.
“What’re you wearing?” I blurted before I could suggest she drop to her knees so I could see if the actual version lived up to the fantasy that dominated my headspace.
Her smile dropped to a glare at my insulting tone and question. “Hi to you, too.”
I stepped aside so she could enter. Her sharp focus scanned the room. I was betting there weren’t a lot of details she missed.
All the more reason to get her out of here sooner rather than later.
My business might’ve been on the legal side of things, but I couldn’t say the same for some of my customers—including the three bikers working in the bar. They were always the good guys, but that didn’t mean they were always law-abiding.
Sometimes, justice wasn’t rotting in a cell.
Sometimes, it was ridding the world of a monster.
Permanently.
What they did was a service to the world, and the last thing I wanted was to put a target on their backs.
To bring another snake into their lives.
“And to answer your oh-so-polite question, I’m wearing interview clothes,” she said. “Because this is an interview.”
“You look like a cop,” I said.
Her dark brown eyes darted to Glitch—who seemed to be settled in to enjoy the show.
“He knows who you are, darlin’.”
I didn’t know someone could double down on a glare, but she did it. “Sharing that with everyone kind of defeats the purpose of me being undercover.”
“So does dressing like a cop.”
“I’m not.”
She’d skipped the suit jacket, but the blouse and dark pants were still more formal than anyone wore to an interview at Rye.
Her dark hair was pulled back in the same bun she’d worn all three times I saw her, which just added to the uptight vibe.
At the very least, she looked like a good girl who wanted to inch onto the wild side.
Like she was about to ask to buy a singular marijuana that she would immediately throw away for fear of being busted.
“You are,” I said.
“I’m dressed up. It’s what normal people do.”
“Not for a job at a dive bar.”
She looked ready to roll her eyes.
I fuckin’ wished she would.
Glitch chose that moment to cut in, offering his hand. “I’m Glitch.”
She took it as she smiled at him. Not a small, embarrassed one. Not the little teasing one I’d gotten when she’d given me shit about my shrunken shirt. It was a real one that hit me in the dick even as my stomach twisted with jealousy. “Lo.”
I wasn’t sure if that was her actual name or just a cover one. Doubted she would tell me if I asked—especially since her smile dropped as soon as she looked back at me.
Fuckin’ ouch.
Before I could stick my foot in my mouth by asking why she looked like I pissed in her Wheaties, the other two decided to join our little huddle. I kept my attention on Lo as I braced for her reaction.
Haze and Glitch wouldn’t raise all the red flags since they were in jeans and t-shirts—though the heavy tattoos might still do it.
But the prospect wore his Court of Mayhem leather cut.
Lotta cops would see that and jump to the conclusion that the random act of violence outside wasn’t so random, after all.
Pinning it on fallout from my motorcycle club connections would be an easy out.
I didn’t see a hint of suspicion or distaste in her expression as they introduced themselves. And I was watching closely for one so I could shut that shit down fast. Or at least make sure their paths never crossed again since I didn’t want her looking too deeply into them.
With my focus on her, I got another clear view of her genuine smile. No judgment. No suspicion. No assumptions that made her wary of the men people labeled violent delinquents after barely a glance.
Just that pretty smile that seemed to suck Haze and the prospect into her gravitational pull.
And also seemed to be for everyone but me.
“I’m Lo. I like your—”
I didn’t want to hear what she liked about any of them, so I cut in. “Weren’t you leaving?” My voice came out harsher than I intended, but I didn’t give a shit. The more I kept them separated, the safer it was.
For them.
’Cause of the cop thing.
“I need to stick around a little longer,” she said, giving me her scowl again.
“Not you. Them.”
“I think we should go through this room one more time,” Haze said. “To be thorough.”
He could say that all he wanted, but the fact he hadn’t pulled his moony eyes from the detective made it easy to guess it wasn’t the room he wanted to thoroughly inspect.
Glitch ran interference before I could issue Haze a permanent ban. “Rhys is right. We’ve got a couple of meetings tomorrow morning, but then we’ll be back to figure this bullshit out.”
“I’ll be here,” I said since I was always there unless I was sleeping.
And even that I did in my office more often than I cared to admit.
They gathered their supplies and walked out, offering Lo extended goodbyes. I, on the other hand, only got a couple chin lifts like I was chopped fuckin’ liver.
Couple, not few, because Haze didn’t even glance my way. He was too busy smiling at Lo.
And turning to take a few steps backward so he could continue doing it.
I hoped he would make a fool of himself by falling on his ass or slamming into a wall so hard he lost his memory of the detective. But with one last flick of the wrist wave, he turned and followed the other two out.
I moved my death glare from his retreating back, expecting to find Lo’s eyes on him.
I’d seen him get enough attention to know women liked what they saw.
But when I turned my head, she was watching me.
For a beat, my brain and my dick teamed up to insist it was because she wanted to look at me rather than the good-looking kid who was far closer to her age.
My luck wasn’t that good. She was nothing but business. “I know this is a fake interview for appearances only, but do you have any questions?”
Shit. What did it say about me that I hadn’t even thought about that?
There were important things I should ask so I could plan, but when I opened my mouth, none of those questions came out. “Your name actually Lo, or is that an alias?”
“My initials are L.O. Lo is a nickname only my family uses, so no one will make the connection. Plus, it’s something easy that I’ll remember to answer to.”
“What’s your first name?”
“I thought we were back to last names,” she said with the barest hint of a smile, referencing my muttered comment from the police station.
“You call me Mr. Walker, might as well hang your badge around your neck.”
“Okay, I’ll make sure to call you Rhys, and you can call me Lo.”
Like when she’d given me shit about my shrunken tee, her ball-busting took me by surprise.
My mouth curved. “It’s like that, is it?”
“Yup.”
It would’ve been far too easy to sink into that back-and-forth if I let myself. I didn’t.
Time to move on.
“Do you have any bartending or serving experience?” I asked.
“I have both.”
“Good. You got any normal clothes?”
That time, she didn’t look like she was about to roll her eyes. She did it, making it slow and extra dramatic. “These are normal clothes.”
“Not for Rye.”
“Like I said, they’re interview clothes. I dressed the part in case someone is watching the building.”
“If they are, they probably pegged you as a cop. Or they think someone sent me a naughty geriatric stripper-gram.”
The insinuation she was a stripper didn’t seem to bother her. The dig at her style did.
Shoulders back, she put her hands on her hips. “I do not look geriatric.”
“Your clothes do.”
“They’re professional.”
“Professionally old as shit.”
She let out a muffled groan, and it would’ve been enough to make me hard if not for the twist of her mouth. She was fighting a smile. Withholding it from me.
I wanted it.
No.
I fuckin’ needed it.
Instead, she smoothed it out to the same blank expression she’d used while searching Rye. “To answer your rude question, yes. I have casual clothes.”
“And we don’t have different opinions on what constitutes casual? ’Cause here, it means jeans and tees.
“Yes, I am aware of what it means. Though if you keep it up, I’ll steal a bunch of regency gowns from one of the museums and work exclusively in those.”
“Got no clue what a regency gown is.”
“The old-timey fluffy ones with all the layers.”
“Be a helluva good time watching you try to navigate through the Saturday night crowds in something like that. That’s if you don’t pass out from heatstroke within the first hour. Either way, I think stealing is frowned upon, darlin’. Seems like something a cop would know.”
“And it seems like a business owner would know not to call his newest employee darlin’.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her that was what I called all women, whether they were a baby or a geriatric.
But something about that rubbed me wrong,
“My bad. Won’t happen again,” I said.
I just left out that I would find something else to call her. Something that was just for her.
Temporarily.
“Good,” she said. “What’re the hours?”
“I got you on the early shift for Friday and Saturday ’cause that’s when Harlow had availability. We’re closed Sunday and Monday. Arrive at four-thirty. Doors open at five. You’d usually be done around ten, but we’ll play it by ear.”
“No lunches?”
“Not anymore. Wasn’t worth the staff for a few customers.”
She nodded. “Think the fake interview has lasted long enough?”
No.
“Yeah,” I forced out instead.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
The plan was for her to return for a training session on Rye’s setup, but it was likely pointless.
If she had experience, she could catch on as she went.
It wasn’t like I was throwing her in the deep end.
Harlow had already agreed to work a couple of shifts so Lo could shadow her.
Even then, I would only give the detective enough work to avoid suspicions while she focused on the real reason she was there.
I got that she had to be in the building to do her job, but she could do it without actually training with me.
And I didn’t need to spend any more time with her than was necessary, considering I was already acting like I didn’t have a brain in my damn head.
I continued that pattern and asked, “In a rush to leave?”
“Kinda, yeah. I have plans.” She seemed to catch what she’d said and shifted back into cop-mode. Or maybe it was good-girl mode. ’Cause even if it wasn’t a real interview, she was quick to make sure she wasn’t in trouble. “But they can wait if there’s more to discuss.”
My mouth opened, and it was on the tip of my tongue to ask a question I had no right to ask.
I wanted to know what her plans were.
And whether they included someone else.
Someone who was waiting in the house two doors down from mine.
I forced a jerking headshake. “Nah, you’re good. See you tomorrow.”
“I’ll be the one in the regency dress.”
“No.”
She paused with her grip on the handle and looked over her shoulder. I could almost see her trying to decide whether to explain the joke or tell me I was an idiot for not understanding it in the first place.
Before she could decide, I said, “We can’t both be wearing the same thing. It’ll look ridiculous.”
I hadn’t gotten the smiles she handed out freely to the Mayhem brothers, but I got something even better.
She laughed as she walked out the door—and fuck, it was just as pretty as the rest of her. Soft. Almost musical.
It took point-five seconds for me to learn from that mistake. I wouldn’t be making her laugh again.
Even if that meant not speaking to her.