Offensive Behavior (Sidelined #1) (2 page)

FOUR

“Hit me again.” Kathryn made a come at me gesture and Zarley eyed
the list looking for a question she’d not already used to test the wannabe
chiropractor.

“A
fracture in which the radius is bent but not displaced and the skin is intact
is known as what?” She knew this one herself without flicking to the back of
the test guide for the answers.

“Too
easy.” Kathryn eye-rolled and then peeled off her false lashes. “Is that
question really on the list? A closed greenstick fracture.”

“You’re
ready,” Zarley said. At least it wasn’t fractures that would stop Kathryn
passing. “You’re going to ace it.”

Kathryn
bent forward to undo the ankle clasp on her seven-inch clear Perspex platform Pleaser
Sky sandal, with the red flashing lights in the toes. “I’d better. If I fail
again, I have to repeat the subject and I don’t think I can take that much more
of being Cinnamon the stripper.”

“You’re
an exotic dancer, not a stripper.”

“Do you
think the fact we keep our bits covered here is a distinction that matters to
anyone?”

“Matters
to Gerry,” said Melinda. She pushed her wedding ring back on her finger and shook
out her curly hair. “He tolerates Missy because otherwise we’re never going to
get out from under hospital bills, which if you ask me is pure evil in the
first place, given the whole I’m a nurse thing.”

Melinda
yawned. Gerry was the reason Missy performed dressed like she’d walked off the
set of
Flashdance
instead of sexing it up. “God, I’m tired. It’s nights
like this I wish I was game enough to steal something fortifying from the
dispensary.”

“I wish
I could steal a pass mark,” said Kathryn. “I’m not greedy, a lousy pass will
do.”

“You
girls have no ambition,” said Lizabeth. She’d already ditched her sex kitten
Lavinia lingerie for jeans and a 49ers sweatshirt. “I’d steal me a new car and
a bank vault full of gold.”

“A
fistful of diamonds,” said Melinda. “A holiday house in Key West.”

“A
stock portfolio,” said Kathryn. “And a job I loved.”

Lizabeth
said, “A man who—”

“Cooked
and cleaned,” said Kathryn to laughter while she nudged Zarley. “Go on.”

Zarley played
with the zip on her hoodie. Stalling. She’d steal time, the one thing in all those
dreams and wishes that was a real world impossibility. She’d go back to that last
trip home before the team shipped out and she’d . . . it wasn’t worth thinking
about. Being an Olympic team gymnast, a medal hopeful, was a long dead dream,
but having a man in her life again was at least a possibility. “I’d go the man
who cooked and cleaned so long as he was clever and funny and—”

“A sex
god,” said Lizabeth.

Kathryn
laughed. Melinda giggled.

“I was
going to say, he respected me.” Because there’d been an indecent share of men,
but precious little appreciation for anything other than the athletics of her
body.

“Hot
damn, Zar, is that even a real thing?” said Kathryn. She dangled a flashing
shoe from her finger and a wry expression from her lips.

Melinda
looked up from stuffing gear in her bag and met their eyes in the mirror. “Yes,
it is.”

Zarley
sighed. “Seriously Mel, if Gerry respected you he’d be the one with the second
job.” It was Gerry’s mother’s hospital bill the couple was burdened with.

“He
works har—”

“And
you don’t. I know you love him, but the least he could do is come pick you up
at the end of your shift so you didn’t have to run the gauntlet getting home on
your own.”

Melinda
zipped her bag. It was the sound of cats hissing before the fur flew, and
hearing it that way Zarley should’ve known to back off.

“There’s
no point both of us being sleep deprived,” Melinda snapped.

Backing
off had never been Zarley’s thing. “I think since—”

“I
don’t need to know what you think.” Melinda picked up her bag and slung it over
her shoulder, glaring at Zarley.

“I’m
sorry, but I—” The door to the dressing room slammed. Melinda was gone. Zarley
grunted. She wasn’t sorry at all. “Her husband is a lazy son of a bitch.”

Lizabeth
took Melinda’s place at the mirror and began unclipping the feathers from the
thick bun made from her cornrows. “Don’t sweat it, honey. Each to their own,
right?”

Zarley removed
her tongue from between her teeth. Who was she to judge Melinda? The woman was
a hero, two jobs and ambition to burn. “I wish Jasmina was still here.”

Jasmina
didn’t brook any arguing between the girls. They were sisters as far as she’d
been concerned, and sisters supported each other, no matter what. Zarley had
liked that version of family, it was one she’d once known well.

“Jas
was such a great dancer.” Lizabeth gave up on a stuck feather and Kathryn
stepped in behind her to remove it. “Damn that woman had moves to groove.”

“She
got the fairy tale,” said Kathryn. “The whole
Pretty Woman
thing.”

Except Jasmina’s
Edward was a woman called Eva and she didn’t just take Jasmina shopping, she
paid for her surgery and now Jasmina was on billboards and bus sides and had a
whole new career as a model.

It was Jasmina
who’d told Zarley about Madame Amour. The world’s most exclusive burlesque
club, owned and run by an exotic dancer who’d stripped to fund her medical
degree and gone on to become a famous surgeon.

Anything
is possible for a girl with ambition who was willing to work hard, Jasmina had
said. The poster for the annual Madame Amour Scholarship she’d stuck to the
dressing room wall was still there. Zarley pressed a curling corner of it back
into a blob of Blu Tack. In her experience, all the hard work in the world
didn’t make up for poor decision-making, bad timing and worse luck. Madam Amour
was a legend, and her scholarship a gold medal and Zarley wasn’t a golden girl anymore.

She
left the club by the rear alleyway with the others, but when Zarley remembered
she’d left her book behind, she waved them off and went back for it. It took
all of five minutes to return to the dressing room, say goodnight to Lou for
the second time and exit alone by the alley door.

The
alley wasn’t empty.

He was
big in a too much drink and fast food, lifted cars for a living way that’d
stretched his arms so his hands hung near his shins, gorilla style. There was
very little chance he was here for a selfie.

“Heya,
sexy.”

After her
initial inventory, Zarley didn’t make eye contact. He was probably high on something
from the way he bounced on the balls of his feet.

“I’m
speaking to you,” he said.

He was
blocking the exit to the street.

“I like
you better when you’re not wearing jeans, baby.”

He was
a whole shelf of pepper spray, even if she could get it near his eyes before he
had her against the wall.

He
didn’t deserve the benefit of doubt but she gave it to him anyway. You could
take the girl out of Nice, Lake County, California, population two thousand, nine
hundred and four, but try as she might, she’d never been entirely able to shake
it out of the girl.

“Please
let me pass.” She should go inside and hang out with Ahmed while he cleared up,
till big wheels here got bored and left, but she was desperately tired and wanted
her bed and he pissed her off.

“Ah Lux,
babe, I just want to spend some quality time with you. Fuck you nice and hard. Know
you’d like that, a flexy little cock-tease like you. It won’t take long.”

He said
that last part as if it was a recommendation for his services. Unwanted sex
done fast. Rape in three minutes flat, or your money back.

She
looked him in the eyes. He scared her, but she refused to be afraid. “You need
to step aside and let me through.”

“That’s
not what you need.” He put both hands to his dick and thrust. “I’ve got what
you need.”

She
flicked her chin up. “You’ve got a hot bath and a plate of mac and cheese in
your pants. Color me impressed.”

He
blinked, a frown crumpling his forehead. The guy was truly confused about things
not going his way.

“You
don’t know anything about me.” She gestured back to the entrance. “What you saw
in there is dancing. It’s not an invitation to have sex. Please step aside.”

A
robust shake of his head. “Not happening till I get what I want.”

What he
got was less what he wanted than a fuckwit like him deserved.

She
stepped into him and brought her knee up hard on a fast hop, connecting with
his undercarriage. Surprise forced his mouth into the shape of an Edvard Munch scream,
and he folded forward and fell on his side, his breath forced out in a long stuttering
wheeze.

She
stepped around his bulky form, watching that he didn’t try to grab her ankles,
and when she looked up, there he was, Mr. Brooding Back Booth. He stood at the
end of the alley, one hand braced on the brick wall.

“Are
you okay?” he said.

For a
guy who could barely stay upright he had a commanding tone. She didn’t realize
how tall he was; he was always seated in that booth. “I’m fine.”

“He
didn’t hurt you?”

“I got
in first.”

“That’s
what I saw, you bringing him down. You shouldn’t be here.”

Fantastic
. It must be two for one maniac night. “Oh, so it’s my fault, I get accosted,
propositioned and threatened.”

“What
you do isn’t safe.”

“So
totally my fault then.”

“Not
what I said.”

Behind
her maniac one started cursing. And now this guy was going to lecture her. He
was too tanked to have come to her aid, not that she’d needed him to, but he
still thought it was appropriate to share his holier than thou opinion. He wasn’t
a threat, she could probably push him over, but he was a dick all the same.

“What I
do isn’t safe from sprains and breaks, but I should be perfectly safe from
abuse leaving my job.”

“But you’re
not.”

Why was
she trying to reason with him? “Go home, you’re drunk.”

“I’d think
the same if I was sober.”

She
jogged her duffel bag on her shoulder and glared at him. She was so out of
here.

“Reid.”

Zarley
startled when another man blocked the light source from the street front. Three
on one, this was superhero territory and she was only a tired pole dancer who had
a paper due and needed a back massage.

This
new man threw an arm around Back Booth. “Is he being a dickhead?” His eyes
widened when he saw the downed man, he looked from Zarley to booth guy. “Did
he? Reid, did you? When I said you needed to loosen up I didn’t mean . . . my
God.”

“Your pal,
Reid, is a drunk. He couldn’t hit a stationary train with a car if his foot was
tied to the pedal.”

Reid
pushed his friend away and glared at Zarley. “I didn’t touch anyone.”

The
friend ignored Reid and focused on her too. “You’re okay? Do you want the
police? We’ll wait with you, in case . . .” he tipped his chin at the hulk in
the alley.

That
was a point. Did she? No, screw it. She just wanted to go home. “If you’re any
kind of real friend you’d get Reid,” she said his name with as much disdain as
she could manage, “straightened out.”

“I’m drunk,
I’m not unconscious,” Reid said, and it sounded like an order, not a correction.

Zarley
rounded on him. She’d had enough of this night. It made having the love of a
man like Gerry, who didn’t seem to mind if his wife whored herself out to fund
expenses, seem like a prize. “You’re a dickhead.”

Reid
turned to his friend. “She called me a dickhead.” He threw his head back and
roared with laughter and Zarley made her escape, stepping out of the shadows
onto the curb and flagging a passing cab.

She
showered in extra-hot water and scrubbed herself all over as if she’d been
rolling in filth, and dragged her sorry self to bed where she stayed until it
was time to repeat the pattern all over again, this time hopefully without the
need for violence and debate.

The
next night, she ditched her themed dress-up costumes for more traditional
stripper attire. It’s not like it mattered that she’d tried to style herself as
a dancer and an entertainer and not a free shot for sex.

“What’s
with the all you can eat look?” Lizabeth asked. She was a vision in purple, a
thong bikini and lace-up platform boots. There was nothing snack-like about
her, she was the full banquet.

Zarley
adjusted the ass-grazing black cotton mini-dress. It was more a suggestion of
clothing than an actual dress. It was slashed across the front, side seam to side
seam in ribbons from under her breasts to the hem. She wore black bikini pants
underneath. It was a dirty hot look so unlike her usual fun and glamor, but
Cara liked making this kind of stripper outfit as much as she liked hunting
down vintage pieces and concocting themed looks.