Chapter 8 Apple Fritters & Foreplay
The smell of fresh coffee crashes into me like a runaway freight train.
It’s exactly what I needed to wake me up after a restless sleep.
The warm notes of creamy pumpkin, sweet praline, and sugared pecans coming from the coffee pot dance around my kitchen.
I barely slept at all last night. Blood, teeth, and dank attics full of dead bodies marked my dreams. Thinking about it now gives me goosebumps.
After Gray left, I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about who he might have been eating for a midnight snack.
At some point, though, I fell asleep and never had the chance to ask.
Unfortunately, any questions I have for him will have to wait.
It’s eight in the morning, and sunlight is peeking through the windows in the house.
He won’t be awake for a long time yet, and while I wish I could say the same for myself, I know sleep is out of the question.
Must be nice. He gets to gorge himself on blood and sleep the day away.
The coffee pot beeps, and I pour myself a generous mug, then add my favorite fixings. Leaning against the counter, I sip and take in the silence of the house where I grew up. I’ve gotten so used to being on my own these last six months that I’m acutely aware there is another person here.
“Person, vampire.” My voice is the only one in the room, and it sounds silly to say it out loud. Secretly, I hope he can hear me. “Tall, broody, and kind of an ass, vampire-person.”
But at least he didn’t kill me. Small wins over big victories. I’ll take it.
Once the caffeine burst hits, I head to my room and trade out my hoodie and shorts for a thick sweater and leggings.
Once I’m dressed, with coat in hand, I call for a Zippy.
Granny’s old car, which she gifted to me, is still in the shop.
It’s a pain to wait, but I knew it would be gone for a few days. It needed some major work.
After my Zippy arrives, I climb in and direct the driver to the bakery down the road.
It’s a quick drive, and I’m in-and-out faster than usual.
They didn’t have as many donuts as I would have liked for Dax, so I settled on the big, heavily glazed apple fritters instead.
Back in the car with my driver, we head for String Theory—my true destination.
Eight in the morning is the perfect time for pastries and make-up sex.
No time like the present.
Besides, I could have died last night. I deserve a good dicking down.
Twenty-minutes later, we pull up to the front of String Theory.
My favorite thing about the club is its innocuous presence.
It’s a two-story industrial building with modern modifications, so it blends in with pretty much everything else on this street.
Looking at it head-on, no one would guess it was a strip club, though.
The glass is tinted all to hell, ensuring maximum privacy, and the front doors are a turnstile, which leads into the vestibule for coat-check and cover fees.
It’s pretty swanky. My favorite part, though, is the sign above the door.
At night, it lights up teal and red neon—String Theory with a stiletto in place of the ‘n’ and a swishy ‘y’ made to look like a thong.
The first time I saw the place, my jaw dropped. To this day, I still feel the awe.
Climbing out of the car, I say a quick, “Thanks.”
With a nod, the Zippy driver heads out, leaving me at the quiet front of the building.
A frigid blast of wind almost knocks me sideways, so I hurry along the sidewalk with my bag of goodies clutched close to my chest. It’s been an uncharacteristically cold fall, and even if I kind of hate the cold, I do love bundling up in all of my comfy sweaters.
It makes the Midwest freeze somewhat tolerable.
Around the back, the parking lot is empty.
I know Dax has a car, but I have no idea where he keeps it.
Most nights, the place is packed, so I can only assume he has it somewhere where people won’t try to break in or steal it.
I’ve been here so many times before, but the emptiness in the morning light is kind of unsettling.
I kick up the pace and head for the stairs that lead to the second floor.
Half of it is a residential space where Dax lives, and the other half is a dedicated dance studio.
He rents it out to some of the girls for classes, or leaves it for us to come in whenever we want.
I’ve used it plenty of times, and even taught a few classes myself throughout the years.
Two doors sit side-by-side on the top landing, and I go for the one on the left. It’s a simple black door with a peep-hole, and a little mailbox to the side. Raising my fist, I knock. The quiet of the morning is eerie enough without adding sudden loud noises to the mix.
“Dax?” I call out, choking back my discomfort. “Dax? Are you awake? It’s me, Millie.”
Another breeze blows by, mussing my already messy hair. I tamp it down with a shaking hand. Only a few minutes have gone by, but my unease is growing. I knock again, pounding harder this time.
“Dax?” My voice sounds panicked, unless I’m imagining it. The hair on my neck is standing on end, so I quickly skirt my gaze around the parking lot behind me. There’s nothing there, not at first glance.
What the fuck?
There’s someone at the bottom of the stairs.
I crane my neck to get a better look, but they move out of my line of sight.
Then, the sound of their shoes hitting the steps jars me out of my curiosity, which turns immediately to fear.
My heart pounds in my ears as I bang on Dax’s door with everything I’ve got left in me.
Did my attacker escape? How is that even possible? I can hear his feet on the grates of the metal, one-by-one. It’s a slow and teasing pace, just like last night. Fuck, fuck, FUCK!
“Dax!” I screech, hammering harder, desperate..
The door swings open, and I tumble forward into Dax’s chest.
“Fuck me, Millie! What are you doing here so goddamn early?” His hands cover my shoulders as he rights me. He looks tousled, like I just pulled him out of bed. I’m thinking right then and there that I should have called ahead.
Too late for that now. I steal a glance behind me and listen for footsteps. Nothing. Not a single thing.
“You’re pale as shit, girl.” He hustles me inside and closes the door firmly behind us. “Looks like you’ve seen a ghost.”
He’s not far off. I’m definitely seeing things that aren’t there!
“Good morning to you, too,” I say, shaking off his comment. Instead, I hold up the now crushed bag of goodies and force a smile. “Apple fritters?”
The look Dax gives me is wearying, but he takes the bag, anyway. Before he walks away, a little smile tugs at his lips. “These from that bakery down the road?”
“Yup. Picked them up on my way over,” I say, taking off my coat and hanging it on the rack.
He doesn’t say anything more as he digs one out.
With a satisfied bite, he heads to the kitchenette.
Just like everything else in his apartment, it’s sleek and modern, playing into the industrial brick walls and exposed pipes.
Gray, white, and other dark tones accent his choice of furniture and decor.
When I first saw it, I couldn’t help but note how unlike a bachelor pad it was.
A typical one, anyway. Previous flings, before our arrangement, had me in places with milk cartons out from two weeks ago and sinks full of dirty dishes and old food.
Not Dax, though. He’s a neat-freak, and he has a PhD in Engineering Physics. When I first met him, it blew my mind that a hot, young guy would skip out on a degree to open up a strip club.
“College sucked, and I wanted to have fun,” he had said when I asked him why. String Theory was his fun way of having an inside joke with himself, and those of us who knew about his education.
“So, is this the start of your apology tour?” Dax asks as he sets the bag on the counter, pulling me back to the present.
He looks at me expectantly, dark hair falling around his face and highlighting the stubble growing in from his last shave.
I like it when he grows it out, though. Feeling it against my skin when he’s kissing me gives me goosebumps.
“Less of an apology and more like a thank you for last night,” I say, leaning against the breakfast bar.
“You don’t have to thank me for anything,” he says, taking another bite. A little bit of the glaze sits on his lips and he licks it away. “Just being a decent person.”
“Sure, but it isn’t like I can’t reward you for being so nice to me,” I say, moving away some stray papers as I hoist myself up onto the countertop. I can feel the coolness of the hardwood through my leggings.
Dax takes another bite, finishing the first fritter. He pats the flat plane of his stomach with a hum of approval. “That was delicious.”
“Glad you liked it.” I smile.
“I’m gonna put on some coffee.” He turns to the pot behind him and sets to work.
While he does, I take a moment to admire his morning glow. I’ve never seen him so disheveled. It’s always been my rule to leave after a hook-up, no exceptions. I’m kicking myself for last night. I was going to break my rule for one night only, just to experience what the next day would be like.
It’s not like you didn’t see any action, says the little voice inside my head.
“So,” he starts as he replaces the filter, “feeling better? Still upset?”
“About what?” I blink, crossing my ankles in an attempt to keep myself from lunging at him.
He looks so good. Sometimes it isn’t the fit or the flirting, it’s the way someone moves in their own way, doing the most mundane thing that drives me crazy.
The firm, yet careful pour after he measures each scoop of grounds makes me shiver. I know what those hands can do.
“About Ronnie,” he deadpans. “Are you okay?”
“Oh! Yes, I’m fine.” My hands go up in defense. “Honestly? Barely got any sleep. I was too wired.”
“Uh-huh.” Dax hits the start button, then he turns to me, arms crossed and back straight.
I know the gears in his head are turning; he’s too obvious to hide it.
I’m sure he’s wondering if I’m going to lose it after so many months of progress, but I won’t.
It’s sweet how he cares, though. He’s been my sounding board and shoulder to cry on for months.
He knows how bad it was, so I know he’s skeptical.
“I promise I’m fine.” I pause for effect. “It was a minor bout of emotional whiplash, that’s all. Nothing I can’t handle.”
The sound of coffee trickling into the glass starts up. It’s like music to my ears.
“Right,” he says, unconvinced. Thankfully, though, he drops it. “What was all that pounding on my door about? You looked spooked.”
My stomach drops. I bite my lip and blurt out, “I saw a spider.”
One brow shoots up in question. “A spider?”
“It was a huge spider.” I spread my hands apart in front of me, emphasizing its size.
I’m not actually afraid of spiders, but he doesn’t need to know that.
And it’s not like I can tell him I thought someone was following me without getting a hundred follow-up questions.
What I really want is to forget about what happened last night, to pull him close and feel him up through his gray sweats.
Dax’s eyes narrow. “Are you lying to me?”
Fuck me. The way his voice drops has me dangerously on edge. “No.”
Dax uncrosses his arms and stalks over to the counter where I’m sitting. Both hands come to rest on either side of my hips as he leans in. Surface level, he smells amazing. Aside from last night’s whiskey, I can also smell his cologne. It makes my stomach do flips.
He always smells amazing.
“You’re a terrible fucking liar, Cheeks.” His voice is low, like the muffled hum of an engine. My body instantly comes to life.
“I promise.” I breathe him in and hold myself back, even though I want nothing more than to run my fingers through his hair. “It was the biggest spider I’ve ever seen.”
“Bullshit.” He huffs a laugh. I can’t help but crack a smile, too.
Sliding my hands up to rest on his shoulders, I say, “I swear it wanted to eat me.”
“Yeah?” Dax’s gaze locks onto mine and big, black pupils shadow his once hazel eyes. “Me first.”
“Mhm. You first,” I echo before crashing my lips into his.