Commencement (7 page)

“Yeah, I’m game,” said Krystal. “But we’ve just got the three pieces. Turkey, an ear of corn and an apple pie.”

“What, no pumpkin?” I laughed.

“We were gonna get pumpkin,” said Kaia seriously. “But Kandy said they’re too seasonal.”

“Apple pie is more versatile,” Kandy explained. “We can use it on July fourth, too.”

“Hey,” I said, “let’s one of us be a chef, you know, chase the others around the stage and pretend to carve off bits of the costume as part of the routine.”

“Oh, like that scene from
The Little Mermaid
,” said Kaia, “when the chef chases that little fish around!”

“Yeah, sure.” I laughed. “Malcolm’s got a chef hat in the kitchen that’s just sitting on a shelf.” I walked to the dressing rooms row of costume racks and rifled through it. “Add that to a nurse’s uniform, topped with an apron,” I said, holding up my finds as I gathered them, “looks enough like a chef to me.”

“And we’ve got this prop Kandy used for her Halloween routine,” said Krystal, lifting a large plastic butcher knife out of the costume trunk.

“Awesome, ladies.” I smiled at them. “Okay, here’s what we are going to do…”

A
house
full of rowdy customers, a mix of the visiting Canadian businessmen and a dozen or so locals, drank and ate and hooted and cheered as the Special K’s and I danced our routines for the night. At midnight, we performed our feature presentation, prancing onstage to Diana Krall’s sexy cover of “Frim-Fram Sauce”. As the chef, I chased my culinary conquests down the stage and into the audience, whacking off bits of their costumes playfully whenever I caught up with them.

I captured Kaia by the drumstick across a customer’s lap, and revealed a healthy chunk of her backside to his entire table.

“Mmmm, so tender,” I quipped as I smacked her on the ass.

Krystal, our sassy ear of corn, was shucked to her pasties when I cornered her by the bar.

“Tasty niblets!”

Kandy received a raucous chorus of approval when I sliced off her costume and mimed taking a big bite of her pie.

“So juicy!”

Once defrocked, I gathered up my delicious morsels, and dragged them back to the stage, where a pile of their discarded costumes lay like a heap of garbage ready for the kitchen disposal. There they turned the tables on me, wrestling the knife from my grasp and chasing me back into the audience as DJ Mandy switched from “Frim-Fram Sauce” to the Benny Hill theme song. I flailed and squealed as I ran, darting around customers and leaping over laps, shedding bits of my own costume as I went, like a naughty culinary-themed keystone cop routine.

As I wove through another set of tables, I saw a foot dodge out, and too late to redirect my course, I tripped, falling over into the lap of the offender, a large bald man with a deep red nose and breath that reeked of whiskey.

“Hey! Look what I got here!” He leered.

“Absolutely no touching, sir!” I said as sternly and as loudly as I could. I tried to pry his fingers off of my ass as my eyes scanned the room for some sign of rescue. I could manage this creep if I absolutely needed to, but our club policy is to let our bouncer, Parker, handle the “wet work”. Six foot five and nearly four hundred pounds, Parker is a former cop, fiercely protective of us girls and usually, very much on the ball. Right now he was nowhere to be seen. The club was so dark, crowded and loud, I figured he was having trouble finding me in the chaos. Hell, most of the throng didn’t seem to notice anything was amiss—music continued to play and the other girls carried on entertaining the rest of our customers with some impromptu lap dancing.

“Alright now, you’ve had your fun, let me go so I can finish my dance, honey,” I said, hating the syrup I’d poured into my tone for the purpose of appeasing some jack-off with self-control issues. He didn’t let go. I pushed up on his shoulders, ready to actually shout for Parker’s late ass when the spotlight raced, arcing around the room and back to my location.

This spotlight wasn’t for ambiance—it was a specific protocol that signaled a floor disturbance to our security staff. DJ Mandy sees all from her vantage point in the DJ booth and she had sent the blue light circling and landing on me repeatedly, a signal to Parker to get his burly bulk out on the floor. The spotlight spun wide, and caught the edge of a table in the back, illuminating a face for a split second. I squinted into the bright light, and saw a flicker, just a flash of the Professor’s face staring back at me from that shadowed corner. It was so fast I hardly believed what I’d seen. I certainly hadn’t expected him at the club tonight, and my heart sank at the thought of him watching me dance for all these men. At the thought of him watching me now.

“Stop struggling, you wildcat,” Whiskey Breath croaked at me. “I’m just trying to have a little fun.”

“Not with me you’re not. Now let go of me.” I kneed the big guy in the crotch and managed to get one high-heeled foot back on the floor before he trapped both my wrists behind me with one of his meaty paws and whipped me around till I lay half over one of his shoulders. My dress rode up, exposing my G-string-covered backside to the companions at his table.

“Alright!” one of them crowed. “Now let’s really have some fun!”

A hand came down on my ass with a crack.

Oh no he didn’t.
I kicked my legs, knees pummeling the chest beneath me and lifted my head to shout for Parker. The spotlight caught the Professor again, but he was no longer in shadow. He raced towards me now, long determined strides that swerved effortlessly around obstacles. Anger thundered across his face. I opened my mouth to call to him, to say what, I had no idea, just as I saw Parker come up from the right, barreling towards me with Sasha on his heels.

“You’re out!” Parker shouted, dragging the guy physically off of his chair as he pried me free and pushed me into Sasha’s arms. She tucked me behind her protectively, and I peered around her looking for the Professor. He was just a few feet away, standing in the shadows again, his fists clenched hard, his jaw harder.

“Thank you, I’m okay,” I mouthed at him. He nodded once, and turned back towards his table.

“Your man is here,” Sasha said, her eyes flitting to where the Professor sat in the dark as she took my hand and escorted me behind the stage, back to the dressing room.

“Looks like it.”

“Protective.”

“He almost got here before Parker,” I said.

“That was my fault,” she said, frowning at me. “I was distracting him. I’m so sorry. You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I nodded and smoothed my hands down the front of my apron. “We’ve had worse than that guy.”

“Still, this crowd is getting on my nerves. I’m going to let the Specials finish out what’s left of the night. You go. Let your Professor take you home.”

I
’d lied to Sasha
, I wasn’t fine. The incident with Whiskey Breath hadn’t shaken me much—he was hardly the worst encounter I’ve ever had with a customer. That kind of crap, it goes with the job, even at a classy club like Clouds. What had shaken me was seeing the Professor in the club. We hadn’t spoken all week, and the last time we had, things had been odd. I had argued vehemently with both Mom and Charlie that the Professor and I were not in a relationship. But I realized, when I saw his face in the darkness of the club, saw his beautiful features light up with anger, that maybe we kind of were. I had hoped earlier in the evening that he might show up, and yet when he did, it felt strange having him there, like I’d been caught cheating on a boyfriend. I felt titillated and embarrassed all at the same time, and from the look on his face he was pretty conflicted about it too. Granted I was being molested by a customer at the time. But still.

When I walked out of the dressing room, he was waiting for me, hands stuffed into his trousers, brow furrowed, a scarf bundled around his neck, and resting against the wall like the hero from a golden age Hollywood film.

“Hey,” I said lamely, shifting my suitcase to sit upright beside me.

“Hello,” he said in a tone so deep and heavy a single syllable felt like a paragraph.

“Um,” I stammered. “I just wonder, do you think, maybe we should talk about like, just some…like is me dancing, is that okay with you?”

“Later.”

Shit.

“Okay. Take me home?” I asked hopefully.

“Absolutely.” He took my suitcase from me and we walked down the back corridor to the parking lot.

“I’m just up the street from here,” I said. “So I can walk back in the morning and get my car easily. I just think, after tonight’s…excitement, it would be nice to have an escort home.”

“I agree,” he said over his shoulder. “Although I wouldn’t have described it as exciting.” He pushed through the exit door at the back of the club and led me around the side of the building to his car.

“Whoo hoo,” I said, running my fingers over the slick paint job. “A Jaguar!”

“It’s what I drive at home,” he said, a thin smile threading his lips. “So, I decided to lease one while here.” He hit a button on his keys and I heard the trunk of the car pop open. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I do, I can’t wait to ride in it. Even if it’s only two blocks.” I cupped my hands on the window and peered into the passenger side door. “Any trouble adapting to driving on the right side of the road?”

“It certainly required a little more concentration at first,” he said, and I heard him lifting my suitcase into the trunk at the same time that I felt a cold, calloused hand slide around my neck and squeeze.

“Looks like I’ll get to have some fun after all,” a voice slurred into my ear. The hand at my neck pushed me forward into the car window, while another hand snaked over my thigh and up my skirt.

I croaked, and tried to cry out, my hands clawing at my throat. I barely had time to wonder if the Professor had seen what was happening before I got my answer. A hulking shadow leapt at my attacker and sheered him from me in one expert movement. I stumbled back from the car and turned to find the Professor, fists and coattails flying as he wrestled my assailant into submission, pinning him against the wall of the club.

“Oh my God,” I said as Parker came flying out of the back exit of the club.

“Goddammit! I saw him on the cameras. I’m so sorry, Jane. Fucker just won’t quit!”

“It’s, it’s okay,” I stammered.

“No it’s not fucking okay. Jesus.”

The Professor hadn’t said a word. He pivoted slightly, allowing Parker access as he approached with a pair of handcuffs,

“Die, fuckers!” Whiskey Breath threw a wild punch at the Professor and flailed for freedom.

The Professor dodged to the side, hooked his palm under the man’s chin, clamped his head firmly in both hands and hauled his massive body to the ground. He flipped him over, wrenched the man’s arms behind his back and held them there.

“All yours,” he said, looking up at Parker.

“Want a job, man? That was fucking awesome.”

“Sorry.” The Professor smiled at Parker grimly. “I’m afraid I couldn’t handle all the excitement.” He glanced over at me, his expression inscrutable. “Do you have this under control?” he asked as Parker clicked the handcuffs into place.

“Yeah, I’ve got it, you two go. I’ll get my buddy to come down and take him in. If he needs you to make a statement I’ll let you know, Jane.”

“Thanks, Parker.”

“No thanks to me tonight, please. Thank this guy.” Parker gestured to the Professor. “That’s twice now you’ve been hurt on my watch, and it’s inexcusable. We need to hire some more fucking help around here.” He shook his head as he led my attacker through the exit door and back inside the club.

As soon as the door shut behind them, the Professor was on me, his hands coasting over my wrists, my arms, across my shoulders, and up my neck to hold my face. He pressed his forehead to mine, and held me there.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

He kissed me on the forehead and reached behind me to open the passenger side door. I sat down, and watched him anxiously as he shut my door and the trunk and then walked slowly around the car to the driver’s side.

He opened the door and sat down, inserted his key in the ignition and then spent several long moments staring into space. The fingers of his left hand circled his right wrist, rubbing and massaging at the dark tattooed band that was barely visible beneath the cuff of his shirt.

“Hey,” I said quietly, laying a hand on his arm. I could see that his knuckles were raw. “I’m okay. Are you?”

He turned his head, and when his eyes met mine they were hollow and pale. Haunted. “Let’s get you home,” he said, and he started the car.

“
N
ice flat
,” the Professor said as he removed his jacket, unwound the scarf from his neck and draped them both over the arm of my sofa.

It speaks
, I thought.
Two words, that’s a start.

He’d been painfully quiet during the drive to my place. Granted we’d driven two blocks, parked in my garage and then taken a short set of stairs up to my second-floor apartment. Not a long enough journey for a conversation of any substance really, but his silence had been deafening, his unease palpable. I could see tension rippling through his frame as he paced in my living room.

“Thanks,” I said. “It’s small but I like it.” I dropped my coat on a chair and walked to the kitchen.

“Sit. I’m going to make us a light snack,” I said. “And maybe some wine?”

“That would be nice.” He nodded and sat down.

I wondered what exactly was bothering him. Was it tonight’s “excitement” with the belligerent customer? Was it my dancing? Had he been uncomfortable seeing me again at my job, naked for the eyes of other men? Or was it something else? We’d had a lovely time video-chatting before Thanksgiving and he’d said goodbye with promises of speaking to me “later”. Yet I hadn’t heard from him all week. Hell, maybe the answer was c) all of the above. I hoped not.

“You’re in for a treat,” I called to the living room as I rummaged through my refrigerator. “Sasha has me stop at these various gourmet shops on my drive back from my mom’s. I’ve got…”—I turned over cheeses to read the labels— “a fantastic cheddar, and an aged Gruyere, an incredible peach tart and some of the best salami you’ve ever tasted.”

“Sounds lovely,” he called back, a nice sentiment but his tone was flat and distant. I peered around the corner and caught him rubbing at that wrist again. I put the food on a tray and snagged a bottle of Pinot and two glasses from the counter, then walked out to join him.

“That was some pretty fancy maneuvering,” I said, setting the food on the coffee table. I sat on the floor across from him and poured the wine.

“Oh?” He arched a brow.

“I didn’t know that martial arts was part of an advanced degree in English.”

“Right.” He took the wine glass I offered him and sipped. “I wasn’t always an English professor, you know.”

“I figured.” I shaved off the barest slice of peach tart and folded the piece into my mouth. “I’m teasing you,” I said between chews.

“Sorry.” He took a sip of wine, set his glass on the table and sighed, rubbing his palms over his knees.

“You’re…quiet,” I said when I saw his fingers travel to his wrist again. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“You were just assaulted,” he said. “And I beat a man. Does that not warrant a small period of reflection?”

“You did beat a man. And he richly deserved it. I’m okay, thanks to you.” I took a sip of my own wine. “Sadly what happened tonight is something I’ve dealt with before and while I’m really fucking angry at that guy, I’m not exactly fazed. But you are.” I set down my glass and looked up at him. “This isn’t a small period of reflection,” I said. “You’re upset.”

He inhaled sharply and pulled at the cuff of his shirt, trying to cover his wrist.

“It’s nothing,” he said.

“Then what’s that?” I asked, gesturing to his hand.

“I bruised my knuckles on that man’s face. They’re just a little raw.”

“Uh-huh.” I was unconvinced. I stood, moved to the couch and sat next to him, took his hand in mine and wove my fingers through his, enclosing his hand between both of mine. His eyes followed my movements, watching my fingers as they played lightly across his knuckles and dangerously close to that dark black band. I traced small circles, slow and easy, waiting for the moment, any second now, when he would remind me of his rule, when he would tell me to stop touching him.

He didn’t speak.

“It’s not bruised knuckles and it’s not nothing,” I said quietly. “I can tell.” As I said it out loud, I knew it to be true. When I had first met this man, I thought I had him all figured out. But then he shifted on me, ran hot and cold, a moody mess of contradictions. He’d had me second guessing myself and I’d determined him unreadable. It wasn’t until this very moment that I realized how wrong I was. I’d known him from the start.

“And how can you tell?” he scoffed.

“You rub your wrist when you’re upset. I’ve noticed it before. You did it this week after you met my mom. You were rubbing your wrist when you spoke of your father, and when you said that you like to think you’re not a liar.”

His eyes lingered on our hands, unfocused.

“Which by the way…that’s a bit of a weird thing to say,” I prompted.

“It probably is,” he said, and I felt his hand tense in mine, the barest movement as if he was struggling not to pull away. “So you think I’m a liar,” he said, glancing up at me.

Honesty, secrets, pain. It was all there in his eyes. I hadn’t let myself see it before, hadn’t wanted to see it. I’d resisted that, because to see him fully meant recognizing what I’d subconsciously sensed we shared. It meant acknowledging my own pain, demons I’d kept buried for a very long time.

“No, I don’t think that,” I said. “In fact I think honesty is incredibly important to you. I know it is.” Suddenly the pieces were falling into place. Little things, tiny gestures and seemingly benign comments that had been swirling in my mind since we’d met, came together in a portrait of this man that I could have painted myself, in a palette of colors that would match my own.

“How can you say that?” he said. “We hardly know each other.”

I closed my eyes and made a choice. It was time to share a little truth, even if that meant my own shadows got caught in the light.

“You’re wrong,” I said, searching his gaze. “We know each other better than we realize. We’ve just been denying that fact. See, we’ve been playing this game. Having fun, flirting.”

I raised his hand to my lips and kissed it. “We’ve been aiming for a casual fuck-buddy vibe,” I said. I bit his thumb gently, then sucked it into my mouth, swirling my tongue over the tip and down the length as if it weren’t just a finger, but another part of his body.

“Friends with benefits? Is that what they call it?” he said, pulling his thumb from my mouth, he smeared it over my lips, wetting them, his eyes fixated on the movement.

“Yes,” I nodded. “But casual doesn’t seem to be working for us.”

“No?” he asked. He licked his lips and traced his thumb in circles over the corner of my mouth.

“No. And I think I know why.” My fingers danced under the edge of his shirt sleeve and feathered over his wrist. His arm jerked as if he’d been shocked, but he didn’t pull away.

“I know why, because we recognized something in each other from the moment we met.” I unfastened the cuff of his sleeve, releasing one, then two buttons, holding my breath as I did so, waiting for him to stop me. He didn’t, he simply watched, his eyes locked to the movements of my fingers as I gently pushed the fabric up over the muscle of his forearm.

“We—” he began.

“I see you, just like you see me.”

“What do you see?” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the roar of blood pulsing in my head.

“You’re a little bit broken,” I said, capturing his hand in mine. “And so am I.” His eyes found mine as my lips met his wrist, and I held his gaze fast as I pressed gentle kisses to the inked band that stained his skin.

He gasped and reached for me with his other hand, his fingers threading through my hair to the nape of my neck.

I held his wrist to my cheek with both hands and rested my forehead against his. “I trust you. I don’t think you’re a liar,” I said. “But I do think there are things that you aren’t telling me. Things that would explain other things. Things you won’t say, maybe things you
can’t
say.”

I’d felt faint scarring under the tattoo when my lips had brushed his wrist, and I wondered if he’d offer any explanation.

“There are…I can’t…,” he said “Not…not…”

“Not yet,” I answered for him. “I understand.” And I did. I have scars of my own.

“You’re broken too,” he said, a muscle tensing in his jaw. It was half question, half statement.

“You know I am.” I lifted my gaze to his.

He nodded, his eyes welling with empathy and questions. He longed to ask, and I hoped he didn’t. I wasn’t ready either. Not yet.

“This,” I said, tracing a finger over the black band that was still pressed to my cheek. “This has something to do with what happened to you?”

“It does,” he said, his thumb ghosted over my mouth, and his eyes fell, burning a trail across my lips.

“It was very bad?”

“Yes. People died,” he said, those crystal blue eyes fluttering to mine.

“Same,” I said, choking on the word as his hands closed in, cradling my face in his palms.

“Oh, Jane,” he whispered, pressing me to his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

I swallowed a sob, wrapped my arms around him and held tight, willing the hot boil of emotion that rioted in my gut to subside. If I cried right now, in his arms, I knew it would end me.

“Is it enough?” he asked, pulling me back so his eyes could pierce mine, searching. “For now? Can we acknowledge just this, and leave the rest? Can we promise to only speak of it, if we choose? If it’s possible?”

“Yes,” I said as hot tears streamed down my face.

“Are you sure? What if it’s never possible?”

“I don’t care, Thomas, I don’t care.”

“God help me.” He groaned and fisted a hand in my hair, pressing his lips to mine with an intensity so hard and hot I felt branded. He crushed me to him, powerful arms holding me still, captive, as his tongue pushed insistently at the seam of my lips, demanding entry. I moaned, a shock of lust sharpening in my core and he stole the sound from me, draining it from my lungs as his tongue swept in and plundered my mouth, claiming me.

His mouth tasted of wine and tears, and I wanted to drink from those lips forever. I wanted all of him, all of the pain, the joy, all of the suffering and the beauty. We clung to each other, in desperate recognition, two broken souls sharing frantic kisses. Trying to drive away the sorrow, trying to fill the fathomless echoing hole that hollows the hearts of people like us. People who have walked through fire and bear those scars on their incorporeal skin. I would kiss all of his scars away given the chance.

His chest heaved under my hands, his breath labored with passion. Pulling impatiently at his shirt, he bypassed the buttons and drew it over his head instead, flinging it to the floor. Our eyes locked as he grasped the bottom edge of my shirt. I lifted my arms as he pulled it off of me, my naked breasts bouncing free as the fabric slid away. I shifted to escape the sleeves and he stopped me, twisting the fabric around my wrists, binding them together. He eased my arms behind my head, arching my back so that my breasts thrust forward.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice brusque with desire as his eyes roamed over me.

My cheeks flamed hotly under his scrutiny, my nipples pebbled hard and aching as he stared. He lifted his free hand, his fist clenching and unclenching with hesitation. I strained forward, my mouth seeking his, and kissed him insistently, pleadingly. His lips commanded mine, his tongue licking and tasting, as his hand floated over my stomach, and finally up, to caress soft curves. He palmed my breasts, kneading my flesh until it swelled under his touch. Fingers found my sensitive nipples, pinched and rolled, sending shockwaves of pleasure down my torso to coil low in my belly.

He urged me back against the sofa, kicking my legs astride with his knees until I straddled him. Pushing my skirt up he lifted me, and my hips homed for his, the thin fabric of my panties soaking wet against his trousers. I ground into him, feeling the length of his erection so hard, so tantalizingly close to me. I pulled my shirt from my wrists, freeing my hands to reach for his fly, but he caught my wrists before they found their destination, and forcing them above my head again, trapped me between the cushions and the full weight of his body.

“No,” he said. “Not yet, that hasn’t changed.”

“Please,” I whimpered. “I want you. I need you.”

“I know.” He smiled grimly at me as one hand traveled from my wrists to my panties. His fingers slipped under the band and down, gliding between my wet folds, stroking, teasing. “I can tell.”

He bent low, his mouth hovering just over mine. My eyes were locked to his as securely as my body was under his hands. He grasped my panties and ripped them from me. Long elegant fingers ghosted over the smooth contours of my leg, and settled at my hip. His fingers dented my flesh as his grip tightened, squeezing the sensitive skin at the top of my thigh. His hand coasted lower, his thumb dipped and circled the tender pink bud, dancing in time with my hips. His mouth sought mine, teeth nipping at my lower lip, denying me, the soft respite of his lips just out of reach. His thumb stopped, breaking the exquisite tension that had been building deep inside me. He pulled back, his eyes searching mine. Dimples broke out at the corners of his mouth as he smiled slyly.

He sat back and freed his belt, unzipping his trousers, pushing them to his knees.

“Yes,” I sighed. “Finally!”

“No. Not yet,” he said emphatically.

“Then what are you doing? This is torture!”

“You’ll see,” he said. He slipped one hand behind my back and pulled me close, drawing my arms over his head to rest around his neck. Lifting my knees he pressed me into the sofa and ground his hips, thrusting forward as his mouth plundered mine.

“Oh God,” I gasped against his lips and trembled as I felt the head of his cock slick between my wet folds. I pressed forward, but he shifted away, nestling his length in the valley of my thigh as his hands slid lazily over my hips, my belly, my breasts. One hand glided to my sex, his fingers probed, slow velvet strokes, exploring as his pelvis worked in time with his movements.

I loosened my grip on his neck, my hands roaming freely over the contours of his back. He dipped his head, grasped my breast and sucked a nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling over the swollen tip.