Surrender (19 page)

Macey looks at me. “She won’t answer.”

I’m pacing in Wesley’s living room. “Call her again.”

“Dude,” Macey says. “What happened?”

“She overheard an unpleasant conversation I was having with my sister.”

Macey leans forward on the couch. “About her?”

I nod.

“Did you hurt her, asshole?” She looks ready to launch herself at me.

“Macey.” Wesley wraps his arms around her to restrain her. “Give him a chance to explain.”

“All right,” she says tightly.

“My sister doesn’t like the fact that she’s a dancer—all the drama.”

“Boo-hoo. You’re a fucking
bouncer.
” Macey is getting riled up.

“I know.” A little help from my best friend would be appreciated. I eye Wesley, but he’s too busy fondling Macey. “By the time I realized Robyn was standing in the doorway, it was too late.”

“And you just let her go?” Macey asks.

“No!” I exclaim. “I’m not a heartless pig.”

“Yeah,” Macey retorts. “You’re just a puss.”

I’m getting pissed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re in love with her and won’t tell her. Do you have any idea how insignificant that makes a sensitive girl like Robyn feel? Do you? She’s good enough to screw, not good enough to love.”

My mouth opens and closes, wordlessly. This girl has bigger
cojones
than me.

“She was a virgin, asshole!” Macey jumps up, then storms down the hallway toward Wesley’s bedroom.

I eye him.

“Is it true?” he asks.

There’s no reason to hide it, since the whole world knows. “Yes.”

“Wow.” That’s his only response.

I wrap my hands around my head.
Goddamnit.
This should
never
have happened.

Chapter Eighteen

I look at the calendar hanging on my refrigerator. I can’t believe it’s October already. I’ve been holed up in my apartment for four days. No contact with the outside world besides one text message I sent Macey letting her know I was alive and didn’t want to see
anyone.
She promptly answered, threatening to come over with the police. I laugh. Macey and the cops are as mismatched as fire and water.

I can’t eat. Sleep. Think. I can hardly breathe. Everything reminds me of him. I’m wearing a shirt he left in my bathroom. His scent is all over me. His expensive cologne—his maleness. But I can’t give in on this one.

I have until tomorrow night to snap out of my funk. That’s when I start my new job at Lipstick Saloon. That scares me. Change frightens me. The manager at the Devil’s Den swore at me when I told him I was taking a leave of absence. I hung up on him. By tomorrow night he’ll know where I’m working. It’s the best choice. I don’t want to rub salt in my own wounds. Seeing Garrick would destroy me. I have little if any resistance where he’s concerned. My body is going through Garrick withdrawals and in my crazy-ass mind, I’ve imagined him having revenge sex with every dancer at the Den.

Someone bangs on my door.

I tiptoe over and look out the peephole. It’s sunny out. I see Garrick’s face. That handsome, perfect face. “Robyn . . .” he says.

I bite my lower lip.

“Please, baby, open the door.” He sounds hoarse.

I turn my back to the door, then slide down.
I can’t, Garrick. I can’t. I want to. Believe me. I love you. But principles are more important. I’m tired of compromising.

I’ve knocked on Robyn’s door every day for nearly a week. No answer. Nothing. Macey won’t talk to me. All I know is that Robyn called in at work and won’t be back. I’m going insane. I try again. I’ve swallowed my pride. My rage. I’m ready to apologize for trying to change her and not defending her the way I should have with my sister. I let Gretchen get inside my head for a minute and it cost me. Big-time. I stare at Robyn’s door for half a minute longer, then hop in my ’Vette. I’ll find a way . . .

I’m meeting Wesley at the Olive Garden for lunch. He’s already at our table when I arrive. He’s staring at me as I take a seat. “Sorry I’m late.”

He shakes his head. “Any progress?”

“Nope.”

“I’ve talked to Macey about it—she won’t budge. But I don’t think Robyn is talking to anyone.”

“I fucked up.”

“I think the whole situation was blown out of proportion,” Wesley observes. “Robyn needs to understand what kind of family you come from.”

“Her mother’s a doctor.”

“So?
She’s
a stripper.”

I give him a disbelieving look. “Is that what you say to Macey?” I know he’s seeing her regularly.

His gaze flicks away from me.

“Is it?”

“No.”

“Yeah,” I smirk. “She’d kick your ass.”

“Maybe.”

Is Wesley falling for Robyn’s foul-mouthed friend already? I can’t think of a more appropriate match. Macey is hot, but she’s a woman of a different breed. Not my type. My best friend deserves his own special hell. “Smitten?”

“Shut up.”

We order chicken primavera and salad.

I’m standing at the employee entrance to the Lipstick Saloon. I don’t know any of the girls who work here. I’ve heard horror stories. Twice the drama and cattiness we have at the Den. This club is high class. Different customers, different rules. No shorts. No smoking on the floor. No swearing at the customers. I grimace. The first time someone touches me . . . I have a dark history. Time to put that behind me. Maybe this is meant to be. I open the door.

A doorman escorts me to the dressing room. It’s beautiful. Crystal chandeliers, wall-to-wall mirrors, lacquered vanities, showers, a tanning bed . . .
Holy shit.
A
salon
? I eye the menu. Manicures, haircuts, massages. Surprised, I search the wall and find an empty locker. I start emptying my duffel bag. Within ten minutes, two girls confront me.

“Who said you could have that locker?” the tall blonde asks.

I ignore her and continue unpacking.

“We’re talking to you, bitch.” The brunette gives me a shove.

My thighs hit the locker. I twist around. “Really?” We size each other up. I’m used to male posturing, but this is ridiculous. Are strippers predisposed to mental instability? I drop my bag and put my hand on my hip. “Get it over with.”

The blonde looks at her friend. They stare at me, laugh, and walk away. I sigh. I need to get out of this business soon. Flipping burgers at Whataburger doesn’t appeal to me whatsoever. Selling cheap sweaters at the Gap repels me more. I’m a people person, really. I enjoy discussing, even debating, politics, religion, sports . . . all the politically incorrect topics of choice. It works for me; my customers always come back. I wonder if they’ll follow me here. This is a completely different environment. Table dances cost twice as much. Drinks cost three times as much. There’s no catwalk or Chevy pickup. The DJ picks all the music. There’s no fraternization. The rules are endless. And I can’t use my real name. I dress quickly, secure my locker, and head to the DJ booth to check in.

By eight I’m still miserable and uncomfortable. My first set onstage was a flop. I made twenty dollars. Half the dancers stared, and whispered in their customers’ ears. I know the game. New meat is easy prey. Pretty flesh is a threat. And to top it all, I couldn’t decide on a stage name, so the DJ chose Lucy.
Lucy?
What kind of a name is that for a stripper? Nothing is going right. I’m on my way to the dressing room when a waitress stops me. I smile, happy someone is willing to talk to me.

“Hello, sugar,” she says. “A friend asked me to escort you to his table upstairs.”

I nod, willing to try anything to get into the groove in this place. We climb two sets of stairs. The third floor has a high ceiling. Everything is red. The tablecloths, chairs, candles, even the shiny baby grand piano in the back corner. I halt when I see Darren Starr, the owner of the Devil’s Den, sitting at a table waiting for me.

He slants his head. “Sit down, baby.” He pushes a chair out with his foot.

I do. The waitress takes our drink order and strolls away. I’m afraid to look Darren in the eyes. His fingers curl under my chin, forcing my face up.

“What’s going on, Robyn? Jeff called me yesterday and told me you were starting work here tonight.”

“He called you?”

Darren smiles. “As a courtesy.”

“Oh.” I never thought of that. “I needed a change.”

I know he sees right through me. “Garrick had dinner with me on Monday night.”

I take a deep breath and release it slowly. My lips flatten as I meet his gaze again. “How is he?”

“Wretched. The same as you.” He pats my hand. “Have I ever lied to you?”

“Never.”

“Haven’t I always treated you with decency and respect? Accommodated your needs, praised you as one of the best girls to ever walk through my front doors?”

I nod, feeling overwhelmingly guilty. I feel like he’s my pimp.

“What are you doing here?” He spreads his arms wide. “You’re too down-to-earth for this joint. Trust me—have you made any money?”

“None.”

“I’m sure they’ve spread enough vicious lies to keep you from making any. These are first-rate bitches, heartless shells, Robyn. They’re ruthless.”

He’s right. I don’t belong here, but . . . “I can’t work with Garrick.”

Darren grins. “He’s in love with you. Did you know that?”

My shoulders droop. I nod.

“I’ve known his family . . .”

“I know,” I interject.

“You’ll never find a better man. Garrick’s father was the attorney general for over ten years. One of the finest men I’ve ever known. We grew up together, were best friends since second grade. Our lives diverged,” he laughs sadly, “but Gerald Dempsey never judged me. We remained friends until the day he died. Can you believe that? A man in his position willingly risked his reputation to remain buddies with me.”

“That’s amazing.”

“He handed those kinds of values down to his children. Think about it, Robyn.” He stands and reaches in his front pocket. He pulls out three one-hundred-dollar bills and tosses them on the table. “We can’t choose who we love, darlin’. But we can choose who we stay with. I’ll see you at work
next
Friday.” Darren kisses my cheek and strides away.

I’m home by midnight. Darren Starr is my guardian angel. What was I thinking? I’ll change my schedule at the Devil’s Den, since I’m the one who doesn’t want to see Garrick. I’ll work Sunday through Tuesday, his days off. It’ll take a while to adjust, and I’ll likely lose money—a
lot
of money—but it’s the diplomatic thing to do. This way, no one loses their job. I climb into bed. A small sense of peace settles over me. My angel of a boss also gave me an extra week off so I could get my shit together—and tipped me three hundred dollars for my time. I need the money; I’ve missed a lot of work. I massage my wrist through the cast. Sometimes sprains are worse than breaks. Two more weeks and it comes off. I can’t wait.

Chapter Nineteen

Ten days. Ten fucking nightmarish days since I’ve set eyes on Robyn Gonzalez or heard her voice. I’m suffering in a big way. I spend mornings at the gym and work as many hours as I can. Things between Gretchen and me are tenuous right now. Maybe I should buy a new house and ask Robyn to move in with me. My sister knows she misjudged Robyn and if things don’t change, I’m not sure I want to keep our present living arrangement. My truck is nearly packed; I’m going fishing on Padre Island. The same place I met Robyn. I grab a bagged lunch I packed earlier from the fridge and a six-pack of Budweiser. I need this time alone. I jump into my truck.

I pull off the main road and drive slowly by the pier. The place is dead—except for the beat-up ’76 Camaro parked near the last lamppost. I slam on my brakes and park. My hands are shaking. I climb out and head to the pier. A few of the lights are out, but I can see someone moving around at the end. I peek in the office window; Franco isn’t there. Surely Robyn isn’t foolish enough to be here alone. I’m hesitant. I don’t want to intrude, but I can’t wait another blasted minute to see her. Decision made, I walk briskly toward the end of the dock.

She’s leaning over the railing and doesn’t acknowledge my presence. I know how easily she gets lost in thought. I stand quietly, enjoying the view of her uncovered shoulders, her long hair swaying in the breeze.
God,
she’s beautiful. She’s wearing a dark blue hippie skirt and a halter top.

“Robyn . . .”

She straightens, but doesn’t turn around. “What are you doing here?”

“Fishing.”

“Oh.”

“How are you, baby?”

“Please,” she begs. “Don’t call me that anymore. I’m nobody’s
baby.
”

Yes you are, darlin’ . . . you’re mine. Today. Tomorrow. Forever.
“Do you really believe that?” I ask.

“I believe what I know,” she says, still staring at the water. “I opened my heart to you, Garrick. I trusted you. I believed you and Gretchen cared for me.”

“We still do.”

I want to take her in my arms and kiss all that pain away.

“Do you know what it feels like to be alone?” she asks.

“I know what a broken heart feels like,” I confess. “I’ve had one twice. The day my parents died . . . and the night you left my house.”

Silence descends. I hear her breathing.

“Robyn, look at me.”

“I can’t.” She braces her hands on the railing. “Please go away.”

She’s scared. She feels betrayed. I didn’t do enough to show her how much I care. I bullied her too much. “Robyn.” I step closer. She’s corralled between the railing and me. She slides down, still refusing to look at me. “Baby . . .”

There’s a three-quarter moon overhead. Her silhouette looks amazing in the soft moonlight. My palms sweat, and my heart rate is through the roof. It’s time. No more delays. I capture her hand. “Turn around, please.”

Very slowly, she faces me. Tears shimmer on her cheeks. “I can’t be what you expect me to be, Garrick. I like my life and where it’s going. You’ve helped me get over the please-everyone thing. Why not leave this where it is? We tried and failed. End of story.”

I lift her chin. Sad blue eyes stare up at me. I know she’s hiding her feelings again. I won’t let this end here if there’s any hope of fixing it. “Robyn . . . I love you.”