Blue Colla Make Ya Holla (32 page)

“You’re pretty cocky.”

He rolled off her, onto his side, but tugged her with him, folding his arms around her. “I’ve got reason to be. Give me a little time to recover and I’ll show you.”

Caroline snuggled against him. “You’re wrong though. About me not loving you yet. I fell for you so hard at Lucy’s wedding. That was the first time I ever looked at you and had to remind myself of all the reasons why I couldn’t be with you. I was married to William. You were Lucy’s little brother. Then you rescued that kitten the other night and I was just sunk.”

“I’m not a saint.”

“No,” she agreed. “You’re not, and you’ll never pretend to be. The one thing you’ll always be with me is honest. How could I not love you?”

A noise had him turning toward the door. Raising up on his elbow, he looked over the edge of the bed. “I’ll be damned. How the hell did she do that?”

“What?”

Boone leaned over the edge of the bed and picked up a purring ball of patchy fur. “Someone has figured out how to get out of her pen.”

Caroline took the kitten from him and placed it on her pillow where it nestled happily into her hair. “She’s not a cat. I don’t know what she is, but she’s probably not a cat…and she needs a name.”

Boone rubbed one of the bald spots just below her ear. “It’s clearly not going to be fluffy, but since she made you fall in love with me, why don’t we call her Venus?”

Caroline smiled. “I like that. Venus it is.”

Snuggled together in his bed, with the kitten purring loudly and the warmth of his body surrounding her, Caroline wasn’t just content. She was happier than she’d ever been. Her old life was gone—the money, the big house—and she didn’t miss it at all. Everything she wanted was right there in reach.

“Of course,” Boone began, “you realize Lucy will be unbearable and will take all the credit.”

“She can have it. She can even gloat about it. I’m too happy to care.”

He tugged her closer. “Remember that tomorrow when she’s grilling you.”

“I’m not discussing our sex life with your sister. It’s just weird.”

“Agreed. But she has boundary issues,” he reminded her. “Not that it’s entirely a bad thing. She was sort of instrumental in putting us together.”

Caroline turned onto her back, looking up at him. The kitten mewed in protest as her hair shifted beneath it. “Yeah, but you gave her Charlie, right? You can just call it even.”

He chuckled. “I think I got the better end of the deal…although you did give him a run for his money with the potty mouth earlier tonight. Next time you use the word fuck, it’s going to be in a very different context.”

“Oh, really? What context is that?”

Boone picked up the kitten again, placing it on the floor where it promptly yelled its displeasure before settling into Boone’s discarded pants. “Let me show you.”

The End

Been Loving You Too Long

Have a Little Faith In Me

I’ll Take Care of You

Curves for Casanova

Caught With Casanova

Kept By Casanova

The Boss’ Bad Girl

The Boss’ Secret

The Boss’ Surrender

The Boss’ Proposal

Aimie Grey

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Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental

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Published by Insanity Press, Hilliard, Ohio

Edited by Liz Aguilar of Book Peddler’s Editing

~Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

‡

Six Years Ago

T
he cold linoleum
floor on which I sat sent chills through the thin material of the club robe to my nearly bare skin, and the cinderblock walls holding me upright were as unforgiving as my conscience. Tucked tightly into the corner, my knees were covered with black streaks from running mascara as I hid my face against them and cried.

Over the years my body had been at the mercy of what others wanted, but I had survived, and I’d taken back control over what happened to me. For the first time, I’d used my body to benefit myself, instead of my family, and the rush felt…good.

The power I’d experienced the first night was an incredible high—as if I’d given the universe a giant “fuck you”. I couldn’t quite reconcile the emotional pleasure I felt that night with my painful sexual history. All I knew was that I got to call the shots. I got to choose who and what I did. The power was in my hands.

The second time, however, was much harder, and the third was nearly unbearable…and now here I was huddled in a corner, crying. I wouldn’t—couldn’t—give up, though.

“Hey, are you all right?” A pair of smooth, shapely legs came into view when I lifted my watery gaze. “Pretty new here, huh?”

Nodding, I did my best to dry my cheeks, and then swiped my forearm beneath my runny nose.

“What’s your name?” she asked as she crouched down to my level.

“Alissa,” I replied quietly.

“No, it’s not,” she said in a firm voice. “Not here, anyway. The first rule of survival is anonymity.” She paused for a moment, as if working something out in her mind. “From now on, every time you step through those doors, your name will be Lisa.”

“Lisa…” I repeated hesitantly, testing the name on my lips.

“I’m Veronica, by the way, but the clients know me as Vicki. How did you make out tonight?”

“Not very well,” I admitted. The money was better than waitressing but nowhere near what I’d been told to expect.

“You’ll need a new look to go with your new name. I’ve worked here long enough to know what the customers want. My sister owns the little beauty shop a couple of blocks over on Bridgemont. Meet me there tomorrow at noon, and we’ll get started.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Because someone helped me when I was sitting in that corner. You aren’t the first, and you won’t be the last. Maybe someday, you’ll have an opportunity to pay it forward.”

*

The next day,
Veronica, who I barely recognized in jeans and a billowy blouse, pounced on me the moment I stepped over the threshold and led me over to a station. I hadn’t experienced the chemical smell of a salon in over ten years. The room had a worn-out feel to it, but all of the women in the chairs were smiling and appeared to gossiping with their respective stylist.

“I’m going to work on you today,” Veronica said as she pushed me into the chair and draped a plastic cape over my body. Noting the skepticism in my eyes, she added, “Don’t worry; I went to beauty school. This is my day job.” She ran her fingers through my overlong, drab brown hair. “First, I’m going to bleach your hair. It’s a two-step process: the actual bleaching, and then applying a toner to even out the color and get it to the right shade. I think you’d look great as a honey blonde, and most of the clients at the club prefer blondes. Then I’m going to cut off all of the dead ends and give it some shape. After I’m done with you, Kimmy is going to wax you from head to toe, and then Barb will do your nails.”

“Two things,” I interjected in a panic. “First, I can’t afford all of that. Second, what do you mean by ‘head to toe’?”

“You can pay me back over time. You’ll start making a ton of cash after we get you fixed up.” She paused for a few seconds to stir some goop in a plastic cup. “And it may sound painful, but trust me, you want to be waxed down there. Guys love it; it’s so much easier than shaving all the time, and it’s much cleaner.”

Trusting her experience, I let her and her coworkers have their way with me for several hours. After I was coiffed, smooth, and polished, Veronica took me to the makeup station and painted my face. When she was finished, she removed the bib she’d placed round my neck and led me to the bathroom.

“Don’t look in the mirror, just go directly to the big stall and take off your clothes,” she said. “You can leave your bra and panties on.”

“W-why?” I asked.

“Trust me; just do it.”

Figuring I didn’t have anything left to lose, I went into the stall, unbuttoned my shirt, and kicked off my jeans. “What now?” I asked through the door.

“Unlock it and turn to face the back wall, then back out slowly. I’ll guide you so you don’t run into anything.”

Following her instructions, I felt her warm hands on my shoulders as I stepped backwards out of the stall. She guided me for a few feet and then stopped.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

She slowly turned me around to reveal a full length mirror. “I’d like you to meet Lisa.”

I examined the stranger in the mirror looking back at me. She was beautiful, even sexy.

“Lisa is a vixen,” Veronica said with her hands grasping my upper arms and her chin resting on my shoulder. “Lisa is tough. Lisa has no fear. Lisa doesn’t cry in corners. Lisa is in complete control of every situation.”

Looking into Lisa’s eyes, I knew she was exactly what I needed to continue to survive. She would protect me and give me the strength to do the things required to achieve my goals. She would keep me from losing power over what happened to my body ever again.

“Hello, Lisa, nice to meet you.”

‡

“F
uck!” I had
to make a split-second decision: let go of my most prized possession so I could catch myself, or fall on my face. In my profession, broken bones—even a couple of bruises—could cost me weeks’ worth of work, so the phone went flying.

Before my right hand was fully wrapped around the smooth wooden banister, my nervous system registered the pain that was now shooting from my foot all the way to my spine. I’d never hated the acrylic overlay on my toenails more; instead of bending or breaking upon impact, the reinforced nail jammed straight back. A quick glance told me that even though it hurt like a bitch, there wasn’t any real damage. Hell, the polish hadn’t even chipped, for which I was extremely grateful.

No, I wasn’t a vain airhead; my job just required me to look like one. The hotter I was, the more money I made. Sometimes, having pretty toes made the difference between average and extraordinary earnings for the night.

As I did a one-footed jig on the bottom step, I cursed the candy-themed game that had distracted me to the point of not noticing the pile of boxes at the bottom of the stairs. “Who the fuck is stupid enough to leave all of this shit here?” I mumbled to myself. Looking around, I noticed most of the foyer was covered in boxes. It wasn’t a very big space, maybe a little over a hundred square feet, but only a few scattered patches of the grungy, beige tile were visible. After adjusting my grip on the rail, I leaned around the wall that partially obstructed my view. There was one more spot of tile showing; however, in the middle of this spot was a pair of black work boots sticking out from beneath dark blue denim.