Going All In (25 page)

Wade flashed his hand as he brought it to his neck, catching Sheila’s attention, then shook his head
no.
To Tyler, he said, “That’s not a good idea.”

“Nope,” Tyler said, tossing back the new shot. “But I don’t care.”

“Well, guess what, asshole…” He punched Tyler in the arm to make sure he had his full attention. “I do care. And if you’re diving tomorrow, this’ll be the last round you have.”

Tyler’s jaw popped and his eyes narrowed, as if giving Wade a warning they were about to throw down in the upscale gentleman’s club if Wade didn’t back off. He held his stare and flashed a few strong warning signs of his own. Diving would be iffy enough without adding complications. Drinking within twelve hours of a dive was a no-go for most divers, but Wade was especially cautious about those types of thing. If Tyler wanted his help, he’d play by Wade’s rules.

After another tense moment, Tyler muttered, “Fine.”

“I’m serious, Ty. You’re a fucking choirboy from here on out. You got it?”

“Yeah, Mom, I got it.” He turned his chair, putting his back to Wade like a sulking teenager, and focused on the stage.

Wade exhaled sharply, trying to release the irritation building up in him like a time bomb, and glanced at Alex.

Alex held up his glass of water and mouthed, “Thanks,” leading Wade to believe he’d already had a similar, unsuccessful discussion with Tyler.

A strobe light flashed and a disco ball threw colored orbs around the room as a siren blared, letting patrons know something spectacular was about to happen. The club’s main lights dimmed even more and a spotlight hit the center stage where Ginger—a stacked redhead whose body moved in ways that weren’t natural—hung upside down from a pole.

Ginger’s signature song, “Pour Some Sugar on Me,” filled the air and added extra zing to an already electrified atmosphere. After Ginger finished, three more bodacious ladies took the stage, and then came Mercy’s turn. Her long blond hair was covered by a thick black wig and an Egyptian headdress. Gold bangles shimmered at her wrists and ankles, and a sparkly white skirt and top barely covered the goods. As she started performing her famous Cleopatra dance, all eyes at the table turned to him.

He froze with his beer halfway to his lips and glanced around at his friends. “What?”

“Are we allowed to watch her?” Matt asked. The lack of smile and his ultra-serious expression added to the grave tone. No shit, he wasn’t kidding. They were seriously asking Wade’s permission to watch Mercy strip down to her birthday suit.

“What the fuck? Of course. We were never serious. And even if we had been… you think I come in here busting the heads of any guy who looks?”

Tyler and Alex exchanged a look, while Garrett massaged the back of his neck. “No,” Alex said in the same diplomatic tone he’d always used when mediating between Wade and Tyler. “But we’re not other guys and it’s just weird to… you know… watch what’s yours.”

“She’s not mine. Watch away. And tip well. She hooked us up with the table, and she’s saving for her next tuition payment. She can use the extra cash.”

If he was right in his calculations, and she’d passed all her classes like she said, she should only have three more semesters left. Once she graduated, she could give up this life once and for all, finally feel good enough about herself to find a nice guy, and quit messing with losers she met at the club.

Guys like him.

Ten minutes after finishing her performance, she exited the hallway leading to the dressing rooms and made her way to their table. She’d replaced her Cleopatra wig with another black one, this one long enough to cover her ass. She’d gained a lot of attention recently as one of the most sought-after girls in the business, and she rarely let anyone in or around the club catch a glimpse of her without a wig and makeup. The disguises only provided a small amount of protection, but any layer of anonymity was better than none.

She smiled and waved to the guys as she sat sideways across Wade’s lap and wrapped her arms around his neck and nuzzled his cheek. “It’s been a long time, sugar. It’s good to see you.”

He and Mercy had been friends for almost a year, and most of that time they’d been sleeping together. She was the only woman, since Miranda, he’d spent the entire night with and the woman he saw the most of. And not just because she was a stripper. Every inch of her body was imprinted on his mind, and the familiarity of having her tucked in close should’ve been a trigger for his body to wake up and play. But after his shower time with Callie, his body and mind had learned what he shared with Mercy couldn’t compare to the intimacy of being with Callie. And even though their relationship had hit the rocks and he intellectually knew the odds of them working it out were slim, his body, nor his heart, cared.

They weren’t in a settling mood and both failed to respond to Mercy’s close proximity.

“You did good with the table, M. Thanks.”

Mercy was a stage name, but her real name was Mercedes. Wade refused to call her by her stripper name when they were alone, but she vehemently protested to him using her real name. She insisted using her given name would add a layer of emotion neither was prepared for, so after much debate, they settled on M.

She laughed and flipped her long, fake black hair off her shoulder. “You call and I answer. You know that. Besides, the girls like it when your buddies are in town. They’re fun without being lewd, and they tip well.”

“I’m glad to hear they’re good for something.” He offered her a sip of his beer before taking a drink himself. “How you been?”

Shadows crossed her eyes and she glanced away. “I’m good.” When she returned her gaze to his, her mask was securely back in place. Running a silky hand down the center of his chest, she said, “I’d be doing better if I saw more of you.”

There was no mistaking the invitation in her voice or the wicked gleam in her eye that promised a night of raw-and-raunchy, sweaty sex. Normally, it would’ve been an invitation he couldn’t refuse. But not tonight. Even though he wasn’t clear on his current relationship status, he wouldn’t spend the night with M, then meet up with Callie in the morning. He’d done some shitty things in his life, but he drew the line with this.

Taking her hand in his, he kissed her fingers and smiled. “I’m sort of not available at the moment.”

Something besides disappointment flashed behind the mask… something that looked like envy. Not envy for the woman in his life, but for him finding something more solid than a revolving door of lovers. A lifestyle she shared. A lifestyle she might finally be willing to leave behind.

“I’ve been waiting for this day,” she said while giving him a bittersweet smile. “You’re too good of a catch to stay on the market for long.”

“I’m not so sure about that, but I appreciate your kindness in saying so.”

With a heavy sigh, she dropped her arm from his shoulder and prepared to stand. “I should get dressed for my next performance.”

As she readied to push to her feet, he grabbed her hand and held her in place on his lap. “Just because I’m not free for a booty call doesn’t mean I’m not here for you. You hear me? You need anything, you call.”

“You’re a sweet man, Wade Neumann.” She cupped his face in her hands and pressed a light kiss to his lips. “Your girl’s lucky to have you.”

“Mercedes,” he said, low enough to not be overheard by anyone, not even his friends, but harsh enough that, combined with the use of her real name, he got her attention. “The spare bedroom is still yours, anytime.”

“What would your girl say about you shacking up with a stripper?”

He laughed, remembering Callie’s expression and reaction earlier in the day when she realized what kind of stage Mercy performed on. “She’d be scandalized. But she’d get over it.”

“No one wants their man living with a stripper, honey. That’s asking a bit much.”

“If you’re living with me, you’ll be going to school full time and not stripping. Right?” He gave her a little shake when she only stared at him as if he’d spoken in tongues. “The offer is always on the table, regardless of what’s going on in my life.”

After a moment, she said, “I’ve got your number. I’ll give you a call.”

After another good-bye kiss, she waved to the guys, thanked them for their generous donations to the girls working tonight, and told them to get ready for the next round. As soon as she disappeared from sight, the guys started in.

Yes, he silently agreed to being an idiot, but not for the reasons they thought.

Yes, he did know how smokin’ hot Mercy was—and that was an understatement, thank you very much—but again, he kept the thoughts to himself.

No, he wasn’t pussy-whipped… especially since he and Callie hadn’t technically had sex…

The more they harassed, the more difficult it became to keep his thoughts to himself and the more pissed off he got. He wasn’t angry with them, necessarily, but at life in general. He was still furious with Callie for deceiving him, whatever the method or reasoning. He was angry with Kevin for forcing him to take Callie diving—although, truth be told, had he flat-out refused, Kevin wouldn’t have pushed the issue.

And that pissed him off too because Kevin was smart enough to know that as well. Which meant he also realized Wade felt something for Callie—something serious—or he wouldn’t be giving her any chance at reconciliation.

The biggest issue Wade had at the moment, however, didn’t have anything to do with Callie or Kevin. The whole situation, and his reaction, made him realize he was still so tied up in knots over his past, he couldn’t break free enough to move on with his life. And until he pried those chains off, he’d never have a future with Callie or anyone else.

Fuck.
Rather than sit here and let the guys provoke an explosion, he needed to get the hell out, go home, sit by the fire, and get his shit together. He tossed a couple bills on the table, stood, and said, “Guys, I’ve got some shit to take care of. I’ll see you in the morning.”

*

On the way home from the Strip, Wade ran a mental loop of his day, from beginning to end and back again, trying to make enough sense of the
holy-shits
to figure out what each of them truly meant. Finding out Callie had a thirty million-dollar trust fund was simply out of his realm of comprehension. No matter how many times or different ways he worked the numbers, he couldn’t grasp the true effect of that particular
what-the-fuck
. He didn’t even know of any businesses, not personally anyway, that were worth thirty million, and to find out Callie was sitting on that much… Nope, his brain cramped up and shut down every time he touched the subject.

Figuring out Gavin was Callie’s Prince Charming stung at first because it seemed further proof of how far out of his league Callie really was. But the more he thought about that particular
damn,
the less it seemed to matter. Gavin made a fortune at his previous job, which Wade now understood was working for Callie’s father, but at heart, he and Wade weren’t that different.

While working on the fishing pier/restaurant renovation, Wade stayed after work a couple evenings and sat on the pier with Gavin, tossing hooks, drinking beers, and talking about life. Gavin grew up on a farm, like Wade. They both missed the simple, country life but also agreed having a little slice of the beach was a nice substitute. Granted, Gavin’s slice was three times the size of Wade’s, but Wade loved his Pawley’s Island bungalow. Sitting on the patio, watching the sun rise and stars set as the waves rolled onshore brought him tremendous pleasure, and there wasn’t much he would trade it for.

Last on his list of craptastic awesomeness to chew over was Callie’s reaction to Sunny’s pregnancy. Her response led him to believe she wasn’t as over Gavin as she thought, but the more he thought about it, the more he wondered if he wasn’t projecting some of his own hang-ups onto Callie.

He’d watched her closely throughout the afternoon, and there weren’t any indications that Gavin meant more to her than a good friend. But then again, she hadn’t acted like someone with thirty million dollars, either.

She doesn’t use it.

And Miranda sure as hell hadn’t acted like someone who’d been cheating for months.
Fuck.
He drilled his fist into the dashboard of his truck and growled with frustration.

That right there was the crux of all his problems. Every fucking time, no matter the subject, he always ended up on this same damned road.

He was well beyond his romantic feelings for Miranda, and if she showed up on the beach in front of his house and begged him for another chance, he’d run inside as fast his legs would carry him and deadbolt the door behind him. But he still carried so much other garbage, he didn’t stand a chance of making a relationship work until he’d unloaded the unresolved resentments and constant distrust.

He parked in his gravel driveway, walked around to the front of his tiny one-story, two-bedroom house, and lit up the patio fire pit. The sky was clear and glittered with a million stars. The wind was light, so he didn’t have to worry about the fire or blowing embers, and the soft, easy-rolling waves created a soothing cadence. It was a perfect night to purge the past.