Page 4 of Only Me
“So, you’re Murray’s nephew. I must admit you’re nothing like I pictured.” Seriously, there is almost no family resemblance. Murray was a skinny guy with a completely bald head though they do share the height.
“I know the feeling. I was expecting Casey Hughes to be a guy. Why are you dressed like that?” I’m not sure what to make of this Zeke guy. He seems nice enough, but his voice is also hard when he asks about my clothes.
“One of the waitresses called in sick. I have to fill in for her. This is my uniform.” Not wanting to sit behind the mess, I simply lean back on the cluttered desk I’ve taken over as mine. The other desk is piled high with the merchandise we sell on our website.
“I don’t think the owner of the club should be dressed like that.” Tension radiates from this stranger that is now my business partner. He seems angry, and I have no idea why.
For my part, my temper is quickly rising. “Well, I’m not the only owner. I’ve also been an employee since I turned eighteen. So, this is nothing new to me.”
Zeke’s eyes go wide and his nostrils flare. “You’ve worked out there… since eighteen? Your uncle allowed that?”
I can see he has immediately jumped to the exact same false conclusion everyone else does when they hear I work here. He thinks I strip. I don’t. Not because I think there is anything wrong with it. There isn’t. Those women do hard work and get paid extraordinarily well for it. We are a respected establishment with none of the stereotypes like drugs or prostitution, so many other places fall into. Hell, the girls even get health insurance. No, I don’t dance because I have zero coordination or rhythm. I can barely even carry the tray of drinks around the floor without tripping over my own feet.
But I’m not going to correct him. This guy can think whatever he wants. It makes no difference to me. Even as the thought runs through my head a part of me rejects it. I do care what he thinks. But I shouldn’t.
“Yes, my uncle was fine with me working here. I’ve practically lived here since I moved in with Luther and Murray when I turned ten, and my mom said she couldn’t handle me anymore.” My eyes slide across the bright office. The white walls with pictures hanging all over them. The corner where I would sit on the sofa and do my homework after school. The same sofa where my uncles tried to give me the sex talk and then gave up and brought in one of the old dancers to talk to me about my period. “This place is my home.”
Zeke doesn’t look happy about that. “I don’t like the idea of you growing up here, around the types of men that come here.”
“Until eighteen, I was never here late enough for opening.” Why I’m explaining myself to this guy is beyond me. “Besides, it’s none of your business how I was raised. What do you plan to do with your half of the business?”
That seems to stump him for a moment. He looks down at his hands, and my own eyes follow. Those big mitts of his are fisted tight in his lap until he stretches them out and flexes his fingers a few times as if to get the blood flowing again. “I don’t know.” The hardness has leached from his voice and replacing it is vulnerability I don’t expect from a man his size. It makes me want to wrap my arms around him and stroke his hair,his soft, shiny, hair. “I didn’t know about Murray or this place until this morning. I’ve been trying to remember him since getting the letter, and the best I can come up with are some fuzzy memories of being happy and safe. But from what I understand from the lawyer, we either both have to sell it or both have to keep it, right?”
“Well, not exactly. I’ve been over this a lot with my lawyer, and we can’t make a decision without the consent of the other party. You can’t sell your half of the business unless I say it is okay. And vice versa. Same with the house.” I stand, needing to feel like I have some power in this situation. “I want to buy your half of the business. It was appraised for the will, and it is worth four million. I have the money Luther left me, it’s not quite two million after taxes, but I’d be willing to give it all to you for your half of the business. We could draw the paperwork up tomorrow, and by next week you could be out of here and back to where ever you came from.”
I expect him to jump at the proposition. It’s obvious this guy has never stepped foot inside a strip club, he wouldn’t have the first clue what it takes to keep this place running. But he grits his teeth, the tendon at his lean jaw popping a few times. He looks pissed at my suggestion that he leave. The flash of vulnerability I saw just a moment ago is gone, and the hard asshole seems to be back. “Like I said, I’m not sure what I’m going to do yet. I’d like a little time to catch my breath and figure it all out.”
“I suppose that’s fair.” I have no clue what else to say. It is hard to reconcile the sweet young boy Murray talked so often about with this big, burly, sexy man dwarfing the chair and room around him. Murray was a good man who obviously loved and missed his nephew. But he never went into the specifics of why they were no longer in touch. I try not to be hurt that Murray, a man that helped raise me, left half the business to essentially a stranger. But it’s hard. Now that his nephew is sitting right in front of me, I can’t deny there is something about this man that draws me in. I want to tell him things in this moment that I’ve not told a single person outside my uncle. Things about my family. About my history. About my loneliness, since the only two people I could call real family, left this world. But I stuff it all back down inside. “Have you seen the house yet?”
“Just the pictures the lawyer had. It looks colorful.” Zeke finally cracks a real smile for the first time since walking into the Pony.
The little laugh that pops out of my lips takes me by surprise, and I slap a hand over my mouth to contain the bubble of laughter.
Zeke stands from his chair and takes the two steps to plant himself directly in front of me. Slowly, he reaches up and gently grasps my wrist, pulling it down from my face. “Don’t hide that sound. Your laugh is beautiful.”
For a moment I think he’s going to say more, but he slides his gaze down to where his rough fingers are still holding my wrist. The size difference between us strikes me like a wrecking ball against a wall,against my walls. He’s tall and broad, his fingers long and thick with a light sprinkle of hair on them. If he wanted to, he could pin me down effortlessly. Hold me still and take whatever he wanted from me. I know this not because he’s exercising that strength over me now, but because of the way he’s holding himself back. The tension rolling off of him is like a third person in the room. But his hold on me is gentle. That dichotomy has more moisture rushing to soak my panties.
Slowly, I return my gaze to his eyes, taking time to appreciate the scent of soap and mint and cotton that fills my senses. I pause to appreciate the throb of his pulse at his neck. Once I gather the courage to connect our gazes again, my knees nearly give out beneath me because there is a storm of lust swirling in his intense green eyes.
Lust is something I’ve seen a lot of in the club. It’s practically the signature scent of the Pink Pony. But it’s never been directed at me. I’m a little too lumpy to be noticed next to the svelte dancers that twirl around the poles on stage. Which I am fine with. I don’t want the skeevy guys that come in here wearing thin pants and a lecherous smile to notice me. But Zeke’s obvious attraction is more than welcomed, which surprises and scares me.
The intensity of the moment has me squirming, and the awkwardness I’ve dealt with my entire life suddenly bitch slaps me right out of my lust coma. “Are you staying to watch tonight?”
I slam my eyes closed, so embarrassed that I asked this man if he wanted to watch the strip show. But also a completely irrational wave of jealousy crashes over me, making my chest literally ache. I don’t want him to see the girls naked and writhing on stage. Once he sees them with their huge tits, tiny waists, and long legs, he won’t be looking at me with anything but pity.
“Not tonight. I think I’ll just go back to the house and get settled in.” Reluctantly, he releases my wrist.
That damn wrecking ball swings back against my gut as his warmth leaves my skin. I want his hands back on me, but I’m too embarrassed to say a damn thing. Once he steps back his words finally penetrate my brain. “Wait, the house? As in my house?”
“You mean our house. Murray left me half of it in the will.” Zeke takes another step back and shoves his hands down into his pants pockets. His eyes zoom around the room, but refuse to look at me again.
“And you’re planning to stay there? Not at a hotel.”
He pauses for a minute, eyes glued to the toes of his cheap loafers. “Yes. I plan to stay at the house.” He looks back up at me, the lust now shuttered so tight I wonder if it was there at all. “With you.”
