Stripped Down (20 page)

Hell, I didn’t want to eat that many blueberries again .

The door to The Landing Strip was locked, and so was the side entrance, so I knocked on the front door and tugged my shirt over my boobs . In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have worn a low-cut shirt today. Then again, I had the assets to sell drinks, should the skills of my boobs be required.

The lock clicked, and two seconds later, the door opened and Beck’s large body filled the doorway.

“Morning. I was just about to grab coffee. Wanna come?”

“I...”
Couldn’t do much in the club by myself
. “Sure.”

“Hold on.” He disappeared back inside for a moment, leaving the door open. He was only gone for a few seconds before he returned, locked the door, and led me over to his car. He yawned as he opened the door for me.

“Thank you. Tired?”
Small talk, Cassie. Small talk is good.

“I always am after West has corralled me into becoming meat for starving animals,” he said with a chuckle and slammed the door.

I frowned as he rounded the car and got in.

“Dancing,” he clarified, starting the engine. “I don’t do it often, but when I do...” He shook his head as he clipped his belt into place.

I did the same. “It’s equivalent to an elephant going down in front of hungry lions?”

“Something like that.” His tone was dry. “Did you have fun with Mia? She was pretty determined to get you to loosen up.”

“Loosen up? Does she think I’m uptight?”

“No. I think you’re uptight.” He turned off the Strip.

I blinked and shifted in my seat. “You think I’m uptight?”

“That might be a strong word,” he reasoned, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel at the red light. He glanced at me. “High-strung?”

I stared at him flatly.

“I should probably shut up.”

I nodded and turned back around to look out of the window. Clearly, he was confusing uptight with responsible, despite the fact that they were two different things. There was nothing wrong with being responsible. Just because he was kind of...loose...didn’t mean I was uptight because I wasn’t.

“Do you want anything?” Beck offered, pulling up to the order thing in the drive-thru.

I shook my head.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, thank you. I’m fine.” My words had come out sharply, but damn it, his had hurt me.

I wasn’t uptight.

Was I?

Beck’s gaze darted toward me, but he didn’t say anything to me. He proceeded to order his coffee and drive around to the other window to pay and collect it.

I looked out of my window the entire time. What had compelled me to agree to go get coffee? I didn’t want coffee and I didn’t want to spend any more time with him than I had to. That ha been the point of making him take me and CiCi home on Friday.

So, why had I said yes? Because I was a damn idiot. That was why.

Now would have been a really good time for the school to call me and tell me CiCi’s tummy ache was too bad for her to stay.

Maybe I needed to find another job. Out of The Landing Strip and Rock Solid. Somewhere completely different where I would be able to breathe until I had enough in my savings account to move away. Six months at most.

Or maybe I just needed to get away from Beckett Cruz.

We pulled up outside the club, and I got out of the car before he could say a word. He looked like he wanted to, so I was glad he couldn’t. It was futile, of course, because I would be with him all day, but the few extra seconds of silence were worth it.

Beck opened the club door and held it for me to walk through. I swallowed and walked in, blinking at the harsh, yellow light that filled it. Sure, it was bright outside, but it was still early, and the natural light was gentler than the artificial. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, but when they did, Beck had walked past me and set his coffee on the bar.

“First things first,” he said, turning his back to me and opening a glass dishwasher. “Pull out the glasses that washed overnight and put them away.” The glasses clinked as he pulled the full tray out and set it on top of the bar. “Otherwise, later on, you’re going to regret it.”

I put my purse at the other end of the bar since we were alone and grabbed two wine glasses. I hung them easily, but it took a few minutes for me to get the rest away, as I had to scan the shelves.

Beck opened the dishwasher and pointed to it. “Right back in so you can fill it as you go.”

I put the tray back in, still without a word.

“Typically, the girls pick if they’re working a two-part shift or a straight through if they’re on the early one. It means they can get here first thing, and there’s no rush to get everything ready for opening. Get in here by ten, and you’re gonna be out by two to do what you need to do before you come back at three-thirty. Then you’re out by seven before it gets really busy.” He closed the dishwasher and stepped back to shrug his jacket off.

I was momentarily distracted by the way the white fabric of his shirt stretched over his shoulders, but the swish of the fabric as he dumped his jacket on the bar made me focus again. Even as he unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled his sleeves up.

Damn. There was just something about a man in a white shirt with his sleeves rolled up.

Beck pulled out a couple of sheets of paper that were clipped together from beneath the bar. “The early shift is a lot of damn work. This is the average stuff I need done on a daily basis before the club can be ready to open.”

I took the sheet he handed me and almost peed myself. No fucking kidding—this list was longer than my labor was, and that took a damned while.

Restock all drinks fridges. Check stock. Fill out order form for anything low. Restock snacks. Ensure bar is spotless—no fingerprints anywhere. Collect old fliers from tables and set out new ones for the day’s promotions. Check fresh flowers in restrooms and replace where necessary. Separate junk and important mail. Take and organize any deliveries. Check roster for dancers. Prepare for special bookings. Call for final confirmation of bookings and check any special requests.

And that was only half of it.

It looked like it would be easy to do in four hours, but if flowers needed replacing, that alone could take forty-five minutes, dependent on the traffic.

“This is the weekends where there’s a little extra, but you don’t need to worry about it yet.” He patted the other one on the bar. “You’re going to have to memorize all the promotions, but they are written down behind the bar just in case. You’ll pick it all up quick enough, but until then, you need to be on the ball. The good news is that some don’t start until six p.m., and most start at eight. So, right now, you just need to know Saturday night’s promotions for this week, as it’s your only late shift.”

I took the other piece of paper he’d handed me. Again, easy enough, but remembering which promo went with which on what day really would be the hard part. Not to mention the special ones that apparently gave discounts on more bottles of beer bought for a bachelor party. But how did you tell the bachelor parties from the normal?

“For these,” he said, tapping a finger against the very deal I’d just lingered on. It’s like he’d read my mind. “Each person in a party is given two cards at the door, except the groom, who gets four, as long as they’ve contacted us prior to book a table. To get the deal, they have to present one card per bottle purchased. Then you apply the ten-percent discount at the register.”

I frowned. “That doesn’t seem like a lot.”

“It’s not. But when you’re half drunk and buying ten bottles for the group at eight bucks a drink, that eight bucks you save at the end is essentially a ‘free’ bottle of beer. Guess how many times they’ve added their ‘free’ bottle?” His eyes twinkled with the twitch of his lips. “Mia noticed it working on the bachelorette cocktails in Rock, so we trialed it here. Men are even looser with their wallets than women are.”

He didn’t need to tell me that. They were looser with their hands too.

Although, it made perfect sense. If I could get a “free” drink, I would do it. Even though it’s not technically free.

Ah, marketing mind games.

“Usually, you’d do all that yourself,” Beck said, getting back onto the point. “But I’m gonna do it with you until you’re comfortable. When you have the hang of it, you’ll be able to do it all much quicker and start thinking ahead—like if you know the restroom flowers are going to die within the next couple of days, you’d call the florist and have a delivery instead of going to get them. Try to think that way to start and you’ll find that it’ll come much more naturally. Same situation with the fliers—although, for the most part, Mia handles those.”

He was steamrolling through this. Miraculously, I’d managed to keep up. I wasn’t quite sure how I had.

I almost wished I hadn’t looked for this. Getting naked and writhing around a pole was much easier than this sounded, even if I did need my fitness to be high for the dancing.

“All right. Before we get started... Any questions?”

“Yeah. One.” I put the sheets down on the bar and then met his gaze. “Are you really going to insult me and then not apologize for it?”

He paused. “The thing in the car?”

The thing in the car.

“Wow. Never mind.” I shook my head and picked the lists up. “What needs to be done first?”

“Cassie, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“Can you tell me what needs to be done first so I can get to work?”

Beck snatched the sheets out of my hands and looked at me. I refused to meet his eyes, so I stared forward steadfastly.

“I’m sorry, Cassie. Okay? It was a flippant comment. I didn’t mean it.”

I ran my tongue over my lower lip and looked down at the bar in front of me. “Do you really think I’m uptight and high-strung?”

He took a deep breath then let it out slowly but forcefully. I felt the whisper of his sigh as it teased my hair and found my cheek.

“No,” he said quietly. “I think you’re guarded and afraid, and sometimes, it makes you colder and harsher than you mean to be, but you’re just trying to protect yourself and CiCi. I get it, Blondie. I wish you wouldn’t be that way with me, but I understand why you are.”

That was the thing.

I didn’t think he did understand why I kept my guard up around him. He wasn’t wrong, but he wasn’t right.

I had to keep my guard up around him because, my god, Beckett Cruz had the unfathomable power to rip me to pieces.

And he had no idea he had it.

“I don’t have any reason not to be guarded around you. When this is done, the divorce is final, and I don’t need training, we’ll be no more than boss and employee. I don’t need to lower my guard to be that.” I swallowed, licking my lips one final time. “What do I need to start with?”

“The fliers are good. Just grab a trash bag and throw them in. I’ll get the new ones.” Beck reached out, his fingertips gently brushing my cheek as he pushed my hair from my face.

I stepped away from him. Damn the way my skin tingled. Damn my body and its traitorous response to that man. It couldn’t keep happening. I couldn’t keep reacting to him or his touches, because the more I did, the more I wanted him, and the more I wanted him...

It didn’t bear thinking about.

“Where are the trash bags?” Somehow, my voice had kept steady, and as I moved to the place he was pointing at, I shook the thoughts of wanting him away.

I was contradicting myself at every turn, I knew, but it was so easy to do it. He was so magnetic, so compelling, and, dare I say it...sweet.

Sure, he was filthy and dirty and fuck-off sexy, but he had a sweeter side that made it so hard not to want him.

I gathered the fliers from the tables closest to the bar and stuffed them all in the trash bag. Some had fallen to the floor, which was still a little sticky where it hadn’t been cleaned yet, and others were on chairs. They were easy enough to gather up though, and as I moved from table to table, stuffing them into my bag, I felt strangely good.

For once, I was working, earning money, and my tits were safely encased in my bra.

It really was the little things.

Until Beck’s voice broke through my inner pat on the back.

“You keep your guard up because I’m not the kind of guy you’ve ever seen yourself with.” His words were soft, and he handed me a bunch of crunched up fliers to put in the trash bag. “I know what you see when you look at me, Cassie. And it’s not anyone who’s anywhere near good enough for you and Ciara.”

My gaze dragged up from the fliers he’d just handed me, along the tight line of buttons keeping his shirt in place, over his sharp, stubbled jaw and pouty, pink lips, to his deep-blue eyes, which were swirling with emotion I couldn’t pinpoint.

God, he was so handsome that it hurt.

And he didn’t think he was good enough for us.

That was so laughable. So, so laughable. He was too good. He was too damn good for a single mom with a six-year-old and a wild dream of leaving this stupid city.

“You think you’re not good enough?” The words had come out hoarsely, and I lightly coughed to clear my throat. It didn’t work. “Beck... If anything...” I swallowed, the words on the tip of my tongue, begging me to say them, to admit what I really saw when I looked at him.

“If anything, what?”

“If anything, when I look at you, I see someone painfully untouchable for someone like me,” I admitted quietly, looking away. “My guard is up and it’s staying there because, one day, you’ll look at me and realize I’m right.”

“Someone like you?” He raised his eyebrows, reaching to move a lock of hair that was stuck on my lip. “Blondie, someone like you is—”

The shrill ring of my phone cut through the air, interrupting him, and my heart skipped the way it always did. I knew that it would be the school, so I thrust the bag at him and ran across the club to make sure I didn’t miss it. I caught it just in time, and I was right. School flashed on the screen.

“Hello?” I answered, taking a deep breath.

“Hi, Ms. Gallagher, it’s Edge Crest Elementary. Ciara threw up in class a few minutes ago, and the nurse said she’s running a fever. Could you come pick her up?”