Chapter 19 Chance
NINETEEN
CHANCE
I can’t wait to see her tonight. She said she had to go to her aunt’s house for her cousin’s birthday.
We figured out our schedules, and she’ll probably be back about an hour after me, so she gave me her spare key to let myself in.
I’ll have plenty of time to shower and set things up for our S’mores ‘n’ Statham night.
I grab the bag of food supplies from the passenger seat of my truck and bound up her apartment building’s stairs two at a time. I use the key to let myself in and I’m locking up behind me when I hear noises coming from the kitchen. Loud noises.
Rounding the corner, I’m surprised to find Jane opening up cabinet doors and slamming them shut. She’s obviously looking for something and is getting frustrated at not finding it. Not wanting to scare the shit out of her, I rustle the plastic bag as a subtle warning, then say, “Hey, sweetness.”
She jumps and spins, white-knuckling the edge of the counter behind her. “Fuck, Chance, don’t do that!”
So much for not scaring the shit out of her. I chuckle and set the bag on the counter. “Sorry, baby, I tried not to startle you. What are you doing in here, anyway? You look upset.”
Sighing she brings her hands up and pushes her hair back from her face. “I can’t find my chamomile tea. I used to drink it when I needed to relax, and I’d really like to relax right now, but I can’t fricking find it. It used to be in this cabinet, but now I don’t know where it is.”
When she opens the cabinet door, I spot the box of tea immediately.
It’s on the top shelf, pushed all the way to the back where the short-stack can’t see it.
“Found it,” I say, easily retrieving it for her.
She mumbles a thanks and moves to fill the kettle with water.
“Have a bad day, babe? Did you not go to your cousin’s thing? ”
Jane sets the kettle on the stove a little harder than seems necessary and turns the burner on high. “No, I went, but I didn’t stay long. Wasn’t my scene.”
I want to wrap my arms around her, comfort her until whatever’s bothering her goes away, but I really need to bathe before that because I’m gross. “Not your scene?” I ask. “I thought you said it was at your aunt’s house.”
“It was,” she says, turning to face me. “But my aunt isn’t your typical parent who invites the family over for cake and ice cream and gives her daughters nice sweater sets.”
I arch a brow in question and start taking the ingredients I’d picked up for s’mores out of the bag. “Then what type of parent is she?”
“The type who turns her suburban Elmhurst home into a night club with enough alcohol to warrant a liquor license, invites a sex toy rep to bring samples of her latest and greatest, and hires male entertainers who cover themselves in whipped cream as the highlight of the evening.”
I freeze, the bag of marshmallows mid-transfer, and look over at Jane, who’s leaning back on the counter with her arms hugging her middle as she chews on her lower lip. Ah, fuck me, this isn’t good.
“Julia is your cousin.” She nods. “And you saw me dance for her?”
She snorts. “I think you mean on her.”
Shitdamnfuck. “Baby, you know that doesn’t mean anything. It’s all an act.”
Again she nods. “I know that. I mean, logically I know, but it really sucked actually seeing it. I love my cousin, but I wanted to rip her hair out by the roots every time she touched you.”
Part of me likes how jealous she is, and that part of me wants to smile and laugh at how cute she looks as she tries not to pout about another woman touching me.
“I’m sorry it sucked, but it’s just a job.
You’re the one I’m coming home to at night, as evidenced by my presence right now.
I’m here with you, Jane, not anyone else. ”
Her teeth are still worrying her lip, which has me worried. If she doesn’t stop, she might break the skin. Fuck the state of my hygiene; I need to kiss her.
Closing the small distance, I hold her face in my hands and spare her lip by molding mine around it. For a second, she melts into me, just as she always does, but then I feel her hands on my chest, and she pushes me away.
“Sorry, but you smell like her,” she says, wiping her mouth with the back of her wrist. “My cousin has worn Escape by Calvin Klein since the tenth grade, and I can smell it on you.”
Shit, I was so worried about the sweat and whipped cream that I forgot about the female scents I come away with after having rubbed up against them.
Slick move, asshole. I apologize and take a couple of steps back, ready to tell her I’ll be back in five minutes, after I’ve showered, when she says the one thing I never wanted to hear her ask.
“Have you ever given any thought to not stripping anymore?”
Jesus Christ, this is like Sandra all over again. It’s the question that marks the beginning of the end. Sandra had given me an ultimatum. Either I stop stripping, or she was stopping the engagement. I didn’t stop stripping.
“Nope,” I say, trying to tamp down the flames of aggravation. “I haven’t.”
“Okay,” she draws out slowly. “Well, is it something you’d consider giving thought to?”
Planting my feet, I cross my arms over my chest. “I gotta say, I honestly didn’t expect this from you. I thought it didn’t bother you, that you were more mature than this.”
She folds her arms, too, and narrows her eyes slightly. “Chance, don’t be an ass, and don’t make this about me.”
“What do you mean don’t make this about you? You couldn’t handle watching me dance for other women, so now you want me to stop. But I’ll tell you how we fix that. We make sure I’m never working any party you’re attending. Problem solved.”
Jane throws her hands up and lets them drop to slap on her legs.
“Yes, fine. The part about me hating to see other women paw at you is about me. But this is deeper than that. I mean, what is it about stripping that’s so important to you?
It’s not like you need the money anymore.
Do you get a rush from being a sex symbol, being objectified by strange women? What?”
“Don’t start shrinking me with your social worker thesis shit, Jane,” I say angrily. “I’m not one of your case studies, and I don’t have any issues from my childhood driving my behavior.”
“I didn’t say that. I’m just trying to understand why it’s so important to you. Am I not enough for you?”
“Now who’s making this about you?” I say, seething and turning her own words against her.
See? All women want to change the man they’re with.
It’s a fact of life. Inevitable. Women are inherent fixers of the “broken boy.” But I’m not.
Fucking. Broken. “Bottom line, I don’t have one damn reason to stop.
I was doing this long before you came along, and I’ll still be doing it after we’re done. ”
Jane rears her head back like I just slapped her.
Subconsciously—or, hell, maybe even consciously—I chose those words to deliberately hurt her, because she was damn sure hurting me.
I was so stupid for thinking this time would be different.
That she was different. But in the end, she wants me to be someone I’m not, and that doesn’t wash with me.
“I see.” She wraps her arms around her middle again, hugging herself against the pain swimming in her eyes. “Then I guess there’s also no reason to prolong our inevitable split. Please leave, Chance.”
I force my hand to get her key from my pocket. I slap it onto the counter, causing her to flinch. “Thanks for the reminder of why I enjoy being single, Jane.”
I stride out of the kitchen toward the front door. I hear the tea kettle start to scream, much like the voice in my head is screaming at me to go back and figure out a way to fix this. But there’s no point. I can’t.
As good as I am, this is one situation that not even this handyman can fix.