Yellow (The Safeword Series, #2) (6 page)

He didn't, snapping to his feet, nearly sending the flimsy table airborne. I lurched backward, nearly slamming into the open door. In a blink he was right there, holding the back of my chair so I didn’t fall. The look in his eyes was so empty, so void of anything that looked like Peter that I shivered.

He lifted my chair, the shudder as I sat upright blasting a hole right through me. When he spoke, it was the same tone he used with Perri.

“Check your email. I set up a lunch meeting with the chef dude for tomorrow. Feel free to show up.”

I followed after him, but I couldn’t keep up because he plowed through the living room like he was on the football field - and he could care less who was in between him and victory, or in our case, the exit.

I stood there pathetically, still holding the Dixie cup and the emotions that were taking me over at bay. The music was just loud enough that I couldn't think and the people who surrounded me were doing enough dancing that I danced by default, jostled until I just rocked from side to side. When my shoulder was nudged once, I let it slide, still swaying back and forth with my eyes closed, hoping they'd get the hint and move on to someone else. Clearly, they didn't care that I was currently just trying to be like everyone else, dance and pretend like nothing else mattered but the music that pulsed from the speakers. It drowned out the fear that I’d not only ruined my friendship with Peter, but was well on my way to ruining my career that had barely begun because escape was more important. Falling for some guy who'd only given me a letter to go by and probably would go to great lengths to ruin me when he realized who I was.
Just let me dance. Let me go to a place that's far away from all this drama.

The nudge became a pinch and I whirled in the direction of the person who clearly didn't get the message the first time. Lindsay was standing there, shining as brightly as a kaleidoscope with her wild hair tucked beneath a floral scarf and her tiny frame wrapped in a highlighter yellow body con dress with fire engine red stilettos. There was nothing bright and cheery about her expression as she gave me a once over and gripped my hand, pulling me back to the scene of the crime. The music spilled onto the balcony, but her words came through loud and clear.

“You told him.”

I knew she was just trying to be a good friend, but the wound was still raw. Talking about this wouldn't change anything and if I had a choice between recapping the way Peter had changed before my very eyes or dancing until my feet screamed and my memory was dulled by sangria, guess which option I was picking?

“Can we talk about this later?” I pleaded. In fact, I turned back toward the door. “I've got to head to work soon and I think strutting into the club with red eyes and sucking back snot won't be sexy at all.”

Lindsay didn't budge, but her voice stopped me in my tracks. “Nice try, but I'm not going to let you do that. I'm not gonna let you be me.”

That made me angle back to her, my brow scrunched in confusion. “What?” I squinted, searching her face for the glazed look that meant she was buzzing and clearly talking out of her butt. “How much have you had to drink?”

She perched her hands on her hips. “I work in a strip club, Soph. You think I don't know how to hold my liquor?”

Good point. It still didn't explain the 'like me' comment.

She nodded like she'd read my mind. “I guess I should explain, huh?” She gripped the rail and inhaled deep. When she exhaled,  she smiled like she could still feel the city in her lungs. I knew that she didn't care that we lived in a shoebox and didn't have a view or any of the things I focused on. To her, she could see the lights in the distance, a future filled with jet setting and couture gowns and stories about the tiny apartment she used to live in and how every rotation on that pole pushed her closer to her big break.

“You know how I feel about life. I live it out loud, with little to no concern about who I piss off and the bridges that I burn because of the choices I make.” She drummed her nails on the railing. “With all these people here, you'd think I had countless friends. 90% of the people in there? I'd be lucky if I could remember their first names. I surround myself with people because it makes me feel less alone. Because when it's quiet and I'm by myself, when the music stops playing and the dancing stops, I have to listen to the voice in my head that's my own worst enemy. And then I start wondering if I made a terrible mistake moving to the city, and what if I just become another actress with a dream that never comes true? So I close my eyes, and I dance so hard that nothing else matters.” She cast her dark eyes at me. “That's not you. Connection matters to you. Peter matters to you-”

“But not in a way that matters to him,” I interrupted. “I was honest with him and I just don't see him that way-”

“Because you met someone at the club?”

I froze, like I'd been caught.

“Jesus, Sophia, you're not in trouble,” Lindsay laughed, shaking her head. “You think you're the first woman who fell in lust, then it tumbled into love?”

“I am not in-” I didn't bother finishing because I realized that the look on her face was one of someone who'd been in my shoes. Drowning in all of the lies and secrets, there was a single truth that she knew, and I knew, but I couldn't say out loud. Not yet. Not until I figured it all out and definitely not before I'd actually talked to the object of my desire. And my butterflies every time I saw that black mask. The way my heart sped up and my throat went dry and even though we knew so little about each other, I was just crazy enough to believe that if I got to know him and he got to know me, we could build something that could last outside of Hush.

I threw my head back, feeling crazier with every passing moment. “How can you love someone when you know next to nothing about them?” The answer that shouted in my head wasn't of the Disney variety where happily ever afters existed. “You can't love someone when you barely know them. This is lust, masquerading as...the other thing.”

“Perhaps,” Lindsay offered, spinning so her back was pressed against the railing and she was facing me. “How will you know if you don't explore it?”

It was a question she left for me to figure out, steering us back to the topic that brought us on the balcony in the first place. “Peter will come around. Right now, he's just hurt and mourning because let's face it, you're freaking awesome. And he'll remember that your friendship came long before his feelings for you did and that's worth fighting for. Just give him time.” She did a little shimmy when the song changed to something with thumping bass. “Pretty wise for a stripper, huh?”

I pulled her in for a hug, laughing, realizing that I was pretty damn lucky to have her in my life. Peter wasn't the only one that had my back.

I still had an hour before I had to leave for my shift, but I'd need at least that long to prepare myself mentally for what I was going to do.

I was going to take off my mask and tell D everything. I was going to put it all on the line and take a risk, hoping that when I jumped, he'd jump with me.

I was just crazy enough to believe that when I told him I started at Hush with the intention of writing a tell-all story about the club, he wouldn't walk out of my life forever.

I
barely looked up from my laptop, even though I knew Caity was giving me that look. The look that made guilt swarm in my stomach and would confirm that I would be sleeping on the couch for the foreseeable future.

My inbox was filled with emails to answer, my phone was humming every five minutes with texts from everyone from my agent to the executives at Fox, ready to discuss my plans for America's Chef and two other possible spin offs that would put my scowling face in living rooms all over the country, three nights a week.

I'd seen proofs of the advertising campaign; shots of me in the chef's jacket I barely wore these days, muscles flexing, mouth wide open and snarling like I was ready to step into the ring with someone.

Caity pushed my laptop closed with her hand, and when I finally looked up at her, I realized she was ready to step into the ring with
me
.

“I don't get it, Des,” she snapped, her hand still pressed against my laptop like she was worried that if she removed it, I'd just flip it back open. “When you asked me to marry you, I didn't think I was signing up for this.”

I sat back in the chair, trying to keep my voice as level and non confrontational as possible. “This—you mean a fiancé who works 80 hour work weeks, is trying to build a presence on network television-”

“I mean a fiancé that's content to be a fiancé!”

I blinked up at her, sure I'd missed something along the way. Caity Monaghan was a primary school teacher who played the ukulele and finger painted with her class of six year olds and never raised her voice unless she was truly pissed off.

The day we met I was grabbing a coffee on my way to the restaurant and some Wall Street asshat was berating the barista because there wasn't enough foam on his double shot cappuccino. Everyone else rolled their eyes in silent condemnation, but not Caity. Maybe a hundred pounds wet, dressed in her P.S. 159 sweatshirt, jeans, and flats with cats printed all over them, she got in his face like she was Floyd Mayweather. She didn't care that she was half his size, that he made some ludicrous amount of money, or that she was making a scene. The suit ended up apologizing to the barista and everyone in the cafe, then booked it out of there like the Securities and Exchange Commission was at the door. I bought Caity a cup of coffee, which became a date, which became, well, us.

I didn't miss the fact that she had the same look on her face now that she had at the cafe. Anger, disgust, frustration...but what shined the brightest was her disappointment. Like I'd tricked her into falling for me.

Like I'd been lying from the moment we met.

I pushed back from the desk, catching a bit of her anger. “You can't be serious, babe. You know I love you. I can't wait to be your husband.”

She finally let go of the laptop, but she didn't stop eyeballing me like I wasn't to be trusted. “Every time I bring up picking a date, or the ceremony, or moving in together, I get shrugs and ‘Let's talk about it later’, or some form of bullcrap.” She blew her blonde bangs from her eyes and turned her dark opals on me. When she smiled, her eyes were practically the color of caramel. Tonight, they were nearly black. “Just be honest, Desmond—do you want to marry me?”

“Of course I do!” I assured her, rounding the desk, moving to take her in my arms. Hold her. Show her I meant what I said.

She held out a hand that was essentially a stop sign. An electric fence that would fry me instantly if I came any closer. “Don't even think about it. In fact, I find it telling that you didn't even take the effort to think about the question. You just rattle off what you think I want to hear like I just asked you if some dress makes my butt look big.”

My nostrils flared. “I answered your question immediately because it was a stupid question.”

“So now I'm stupid!” she hissed, stomping toward the window without another word. We were at my mother's house, a tiny bungalow on the edge of the city. I'd lost count of how many times I offered a new house or apartment to my mother, and how many times she reminded me that all she needed was a roof over her had and blackberry Merlot in her fridge. Considering the view was of the freeway and a drug store, I knew Caity wasn't taking in the scene.

When I walked up to her, the smell of sunflowers and vanilla wafting to my nostrils, I knew that she was right. I had been dragging my feet. There were things she didn't know about me that I'd kept secret because I was worried I'd lose her. How could I tell the most gentle woman I'd ever met that nothing turned me on more than to spank a lover until her ass was as red as Caity's cardigan? Until she was trembling and moaning with some combination of pleasure and exhaustion?

How could I marry someone that I hadn't given all of me: the annoying businessman, the relentless chef, the doting son and brother, and the lover who was filled with passion and dark needs in the bedroom? Dark needs that she and I hadn't even brushed up against in the year plus that we'd been dating?

I put my hands on her shoulders, knowing what I needed to do. Tonight, I'd show her...and I'd let her decide if she still wanted to marry
me
.

“Why don't you spend the night at my place? We'll have some wine, order in-”

“And we'll avoid this conversation some more?” She shrugged off my hold, darting to the corner like she was afraid that if I got too close, I'd make her forget that she was angry. Not just angry. Furious. The flush ran from her face to her neck and was intensified when I saw her clenching and unclenching her fists.

I let my own anger and frustration out to play, tugging my tie loose with a scoff. “You seem to have something on your mind. You ask me questions and I give you answers but since I didn't wrap it up in some bow, you're pissed at me? What do I have to do to convince you that I want to marry you? Pour over wedding magazines and go to cake tasting after cake tasting? Cancel all my meetings and make the wedding planner #1 on my speed dial?”

Her jaw fell open like I'd just called her out of her name. “You really don't get it, do you? That's not what I'm asking for. I'm asking you to talk to me-”

“Which is why I suggested dinner-”

“A dinner that will be cut short when we start drinking and kissing and fucking!” She said shrilly. “I don't need a husband for that. I don't need
you
for that.”

I tightened my jaw. “Well, then. Glad to know where I stand.”

She took two steps toward me and stopped. “I didn't mean it like that.”

She looked down at the floor and I saw her shoulders trembling and if I wasn't so stubborn, so angry myself, that's when I would have taken her in my arms and held her tight. I didn't need roses and wine and Chinese takeout to be honest. I just had to trust that when I let her see me, all of me, she wouldn't throw the engagement ring at my head.