Chapter 20 Chance
TWENTY
CHANCE
“So what do you think are our chances of retaining tonight’s business, Danvers?”
Roman’s joke pulls a half-hearted chuckle from me before I take several long pulls on my beer.
The guys and I decided to go out when our gig at a bachelorette party got cut short.
Apparently the bride-to-be had promised her very religious fiancé there would be no strippers in attendance, but the don’t-give-a-shit maid-of-honor made no such promises and decided to give her sister a last night of freedom she’d never forget.
That, of course, caused some problems when the soon-to-be groom decided he had to see her one last time before the midnight deadline of their wedding day and walked in on O’Donnell thrusting his junk in her face as he braced himself over her on the living room floor.
“I think that despite the high level of customer satisfaction,” I say, “we probably won’t be getting the future Mrs. Carter’s business anytime soon.”
Austin, Roman, and Liam all laugh and clink their beer bottles together in a toast to customer satisfaction.
I signal to a waitress for another round for the table, then drain the rest of my fourth Corona.
If the night goes well, I’ll get a dozen or so under my belt before Austin drops me off at home.
That way I’ll be too drunk to lie awake and think of Jane, a problem I’ve been having every fucking night for the last two weeks, ever since I walked out of her apartment.
“We might not get the new bride’s repeat business, but her sister was smokin’ hot and ready to go.
” Austin holds up his one and only beer and lifts a finger from the bottle to point at no one in particular.
“I would’ve gotten a bonus dance out of that one, for sure.
She practically blew me through my skivvies in the middle of the party.
I think she would’ve been down to let you in on the fun, too, Reeves. ”
“I think you’re right,” Roman says. “Too bad she had to stay and play referee for Big Sis. That dude was furious. I wonder if he’ll call off the wedding.”
Liam slaps the table. “Damn, that means my thrusting game would be the reason a marriage gets called off.” He shakes his head and whistles. “That’s pretty fucking heavy, man, but I guess what they say is true. With great cock comes great responsibility.”
Everyone laughs and makes the obligatory dick jokes at O’Donnell’s expense. Everyone except me. I’m not in a laughing mood lately, and not only that, I can sympathize with the Carter guy 100 percent.
Austin passes around the bottles that the waitress brought over to those of us having another. “It’s a good thing we have our anonymity, because the way that guy was acting, it wouldn’t surprise me if he made a hunting party out of his groomsmen and tracked us down.”
I use the edge of the table to pop off the cap on my beer and take a long pull before finally putting my two cents in.
“Can you honestly blame the man, Massey?” I realize my rhetorical question comes out more like a growl, but I don’t bother checking my attitude.
“How would you have felt in his shoes? I’ll tell you one thing, if that was me walking in on some asshole grinding his junk in Jane’s face, the man’s privates would become his ‘publics’ when I ripped them off and chucked them into the goddamn street. ”
All three of my friends fall silent and stare at me with varied expressions that all communicate the same message: No shit, Sherlock.
That’s when two things dawn on me. One, I’m in love with Jane Wendall. And two, Jane’s reaction the night of her cousin’s party was completely valid. Because she loves me, too.
“Ah, fuck.” I shove my fingers through my hair and pull at the scalp, hoping the physical pain on the outside will somehow alleviate the emotional shit strangling me on the inside.
“It’s about time you caught on, brother.” This from Roman, who claps a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “Now that you have, how do you want to get her back? Massey and I have a couple of ideas, if you want to hear them.”
Austin perks up. “My favorite is the one with you in a banana hammock using a can of whipped cream, sliced bananas, and a monkey.”
I don’t even have the focus to appreciate what a fucking moronic idea that must be because I’m too busy shutting down my newfound hope. “It doesn’t matter how I feel about her. She wants to change me, just like Sandra.”
“For as smart as you are,” Roman says, “you can be such a fucking moron. Sandy never loved you. When you guys met, dating a stripper was the perfect way of rebelling against her father.”
“Yeah, man, she loved using you to pick fights with him,” Austin says, chiming in. “But once she grew out of that phase, then it was all about provin’ Daddy wrong and gettin’ you to fit in with the richy-rich folks at their yacht club. You were like a pet project.”
“Fuck, dude.” Liam shakes his head with a solemn expression. “I didn’t know you back then, so I can’t speak about your ex. But if a chick told me right now to stop working at P4H—to stop the job that I love doing, and that’s building up my savings for when I graduate—I’d tell her to take a hike.”
I slap the table in front of me and sit up straight. “See? That’s what I’m talking about. Thank you, O’Donnell.”
“Don’t thank me, boss. I’m talking about being twenty-three and still loving the life of a college idiot and stripper-for-hire.
You guys all started this business when you were where I’m at now, but that was what, five plus years ago?
Now you’re established in life and the owner of a major construction company.
“Being a stripper isn’t who you are anymore, man.
It’s just something you still do on the side.
Whether it’s because you enjoy the dancing, the women, or just want to hold on to your misspent youth, I don’t know.
But what I do know, is that if I were in your shoes,” he says with emphasis to call back to my remark earlier, “and I had a girl like Jane who wanted me all to herself, you can bet your ass I’d never be shaking mine for another woman ever again. ”
As though punctuating his monologue, he takes the last drink of his beer and slams his empty on the table. “I’m out, fellas. I’ve got a shit ton of homework this weekend, so I might as well use this time to get a jump on it. Good luck, man, and thanks for the drinks.”
Roman and Austin raise their beers in the kid’s direction and I do the same, though I’m acting on autopilot.
“Well, how ‘bout that?” Austin says after Liam is gone. “Who knew O’Donnell was such a fount of wisdom?”
I don’t answer. I’m trying to process everything the guys said, but this fifth beer is making things move a shit ton slower in the old gray matter.
My friends aren’t wrong about Sandra. I realized after I broke things off that her motivations for being with me weren’t so much about love as they were about her ongoing feud with her father.
Which only solidified my tenet of never letting a woman change me.
But Liam’s little diatribe poses a new question: who, exactly, am I?
Certainly not the same kid who started this venture with his buddies in college.
Not even the same guy who mistook an infatuation with a woman I believed to be out of my league for real love.
Hell, I’m not even the same guy I was a few months ago before I met Jane.
Since finding her, things I used to find pleasure in—partying on the weekends till all hours of the morning, getting mauled by strange women, the random hookups… none of it interests me anymore.
I’m still working the P4H jobs, but if I’m honest with myself, my heart isn’t in it. Even when Jane and I were together, I was anxious to get through the gigs so I could see her.
I make sure to put on a good show and fake my way through it, but every time another woman touches me, I’m picturing Jane; remembering how good it felt when her delicate hands roamed over my body and her nails scored my skin.
Somewhere along the line, being a stripper-for-hire stopped being about getting paid to have fun and became more of a chore. So what the hell am I giving up by staying behind the scenes and not stripping anymore?
The answer? Not a goddamn thing. I’d actually be gaining free time. Time I could be spending with the woman I love…with Jane.
Roman places his forearms on the table and leans in, narrowing his eyes on me like he’s about to cross-examine me on the witness stand. “I’m curious. Did Jane really say that you have to quit?”
“I know what she was getting at. I’m not stupid.”
“That’s debatable,” he counters, “but you’re sidestepping the question. Think back, Danvers, because I’m willing to bet she never actually made a demand on you.”
Roman’s confidence gives me pause. My eyebrows draw together in concentration as I search the memory for the words that will vindicate my actions that night, even if I’ve since decided to give her what she wants for reasons of my own.
Have you ever given any thought to not stripping anymore?
I’m just trying to understand why it’s so important to you.
She’d said a few other things, but those two lines pretty much summed up her half of the conversation.
Jane never intended to give me an ultimatum or wanted to change me.
She’d been bothered by what she’d seen—understandably so, considering I turn murderous at the thought of the situation being reversed—and wanted to talk about it.
But what did I do? I’d jumped to conclusions, said hurtful things I didn’t mean, and ruined everything.
Fuck me. I’m an asshole.
My little aha moment must be showing on my face because Roman takes the opportunity to make his closing statement. “That’s what I thought,” he says, sitting back. “And if that doesn’t tell you what kind of person she is, brother, I don’t know what will.”
The realization lifts the ten-ton weight I’ve been carrying around since walking out of Jane’s apartment that night.
Roman and Austin clink their bottlenecks like a congratulating fist bump for making the town idiot see the light, and I can’t even be offended because they’re right about everything.
What pisses me off is that deep down I knew all of this, but I kept it buried beneath the fear of the past repeating itself, the fear of not being enough for Jane.
But no more. It’s time to step up and be the man she needs me to be. To own up to my mistakes, tell her how much I love her.
Austin’s eyes light up with childlike excitement as he rubs his hands together. “Now we work on getting her back. What’s it gonna be, boys?”
That’s a good question. I’m ready to do whatever it takes to convince her to let me back in, but something tells me talking isn’t going to be enough.
I hurt her. I essentially chose something else over her, just like the fuckwads in her past did.
I need to remind her that what we have together is different—better—from what she’ll have with any other man.
That I know her and love her in ways no other man will ever understand.
Only me.
“Guys,” I say, getting their attention. “I appreciate your offer to help, but you’ll have to save your banana hammock and monkey idea for another time. I know exactly what I have to do.”
By now, she’ll have erected thick walls to protect her heart against further pain. I’ll have to push her mentally to the one place she always listens to me—to the one place I’ve never broken her trust. And to do that, I’ll have to push her physically, and make her body listen to me first.