On His Turf (5 page)
“And where did you learn that - the date rapist’s handbook?” I flutter my eyelashes at him and he grunts angrily before stalking away. I think I hear him mutter “bitch” under his breath as he’s retreating and Shane lunges like he’s going to go after him but I grab his arm to stop him.
“Leave it alone. Important all-star soccer player, remember?” I say, waving my hand up and down his body.
“But he called you a bitch.”
“I think I’ll live,” I say dryly. “What I want to know is why you even went off on him? You’re acting like you have some sort of claim over me.” I cross my arms over my chest and give him a look.
“Oh I do, babe, and I have ever since I first saw you at the game. The sooner you realize that the easier this will be,” he says and there’s no mistaking the possessive tone of his voice. I’m still sitting on the bench so he kneels down to face me, leaving my legs straddling either side of his strong body.
“I’ll be seeing you soon, Carmelina,” he says softly. His hands come up to cradle my face and he presses a quick kiss to my lips before standing up.
“Not if I can help it!” I shout at his retreating back and I can hear him laughing all the way down the hall.
I work out for a little longer but my heart isn’t in it so I head to the locker room to grab my things. I break just about every traffic rule driving home because I’m so distracted and as I’m climbing the stairs to my apartment I hear my phone chime in my bag with a text message.
Shane: I’m picturing you covered in sweat and stepping into the shower right now.
Carmelina: Who is this?
Shane: Not funny, babe. Unless you aren’t joking and other guys are sending you texts like this. In which case REALLY not funny.
I read the message then toss my phone down on the counter while kicking off my runners angrily. Who exactly does he think he is and where did he get my phone number? The phone chimes again and I pick it up with a growl.
Shane: You’re pissing me off, Carmelina. If I don’t hear from you soon I’ll be at your doorstep before sundown.
Shit, shit, shit, I think to myself as my fingers drum out a response.
Carmelina: Take a chill pill, jockstrap. I just got home and for your information I haven’t showered and I smell like BO.
I smile to myself as I walk through to the kitchen to grab one of my protein drinks from the fridge.
Shane: Take a chill pill? What is this 1998? Who says that?
I laugh in spite of myself, mostly because I wouldn’t have pegged him for having a playful side.
Shane: And for the record I’ll bet that even your BO smells amazing.
Carmelina: Gross.
Shane: Okay, you’re right that one was pretty gross. But what’s with the jockstrap comment?
Carmelina: Matty told me to tell you that you’re a thick-headed jockstrap mouth-breather.
Shane: WTF?
Carmelina: I may have told him about the skinny prick comment.
Shane: You care about him a lot don’t you?
Carmelina: You don’t know the half of it.
Shane: So tell me.
And there it is - the three little words that ruin all relationships for me before they even begin.
So tell me
. So tell me about your job, family, childhood…and unfortunately for me none of those three topics are safe. I don’t respond for a full five minutes but I know if I keep him hanging then I run the risk of having him show up at my door so eventually I text back.
Carmelina: Another time maybe. Shouldn’t you be off somewhere playing soccer? :-)
Shane: Away game in a few weeks. Salt Lake City. You should come.
Carmelina: Yeah right.
Shane: Why not?
Carmelina: I would love to tell you all the reasons why going to Salt Lake with you is a bad idea but my cell phone plan doesn’t come with unlimited texts. Goodbye Shane.
Shane: For now.
He is so frustrating and I want to be mad as his presumptuousness but I find that I’m still smiling all the way through my shower and while getting ready for work.
I’m balancing a tray of shots on one arm while Matty pours the last of my order.
“Hey, you didn’t give Shane Mitchell my number did you?” I say distractedly while looking over my shoulder at the growing crowd.
“Why would I do that? The guy called me a skinny prick.”
“I didn’t think so. It’s just weird because he texted me this afternoon after he showed up at the gym and I didn’t give him my number.”
“He came to the gym?” Matty says, giving me a worried look. “I told you Carm an alpha male like him is like a dog with a bone and he’s not going to give up easily.”
“It’s not a big deal. It was probably Leigh who gave it out.” I shake my head. And if it was I’m going to have to kill her…slowly.
I take the order over to the table of frat boys but this time I’m careful to serve from the far end to avoid the one with grabby hands. They clink their shots of tequila in the air and one of the guys passes a full shot to me. We aren’t really supposed to drink on the job but the owner, Rick, knows that the more receptive we are the more the men usually order so I throw back the nasty liquid that leaves a burning trail all the way down my throat. “Thanks,” I say, coughing into my hand. I have my fingers crossed that the tips from this table will be good but with college kids you never know.
I return to the bar to take a break before getting back out there. As I survey the room I take in the posh surroundings. The Fantasy Show Lounge is definitely a higher end place than most of its kind with its thick, lush carpet, comfortable club chairs and wood paneled walls. Heavy silk curtains surround a circular stage and flickering candles glow from each of the table tops. Past the stage are the DJ booth and two red-felt topped pool tables that see a lot of action. The DJ, Mike, waves to me from behind the glass and I smile and wave back. It’s still early in the evening so the place is about half full but by midnight I know it will be standing room only and my feet are already starting to hurt from the killer six inch black heels I’m have on. The shoes are worth wearing for the tips they bring in along with the standard cocktail waitress uniform I’m wearing and most nights I tend to pull in enough to cover the bills. I glance down at the pinstripe strapless corset with the zip front paired with the matching hip-hugging miniskirt designed to show off as much leg as possible and roll my eyes. The outfit isn’t totally tragic but the mini men’s-style tie that we have to wear around our bare necks definitely is. It makes me feel like I’m in a bad S&M novel and about to be scolded by the boss.
“Evening, Carmen.”
Speaking of the boss, Rick emerges from the back room and makes a beeline straight for me. When I took the job here almost four years ago Rick started calling me Carmen and I never got around to correcting him.
“Hi Rick.”
“Crystal called. She’s on the rag and bloated and shit so I need you to go on.”
“No.”
“Come on, Carmen. The crowd eats it up when you are on stage,” he begs. From the way Rick talks it sounds like I’m up there all the time but it’s really only been a handful of times over the years.
Matty is watching me carefully and he pipes up. “You don’t have to Carm.”
“Boy, you are not helping my case,” Rick says gruffly.
“I told myself I wasn’t going to do it anymore,” I say quietly.
“You can keep all of the tips you get. I’m desperate here, baby girl.”
I press my tongue against my teeth and consider his offer. Normally a portion of the tips gets shared so it’s a lot of money if I can keep it for myself since the high-end crowd is usually pretty generous. I’m not really in a position to refuse. The tips I get from waitressing are decent enough to sustain me but a few years ago Rick asked me to go up on stage. I love to dance and Fantasy Lounge is only topless not full nude so it didn’t feel like a big deal at the time. I only had two conditions: no lap dances and no VIP room. I don’t judge the girls who do the dances - its good money and we all have to live - I just know instinctively that it would be beyond awkward for me and Rick would probably have men asking for their money back. He fought me on the conditions at first since the club pulls in huge revenue from private dances but I guess necessity won out because a body on stage is better than none. I know Matty disapproves but he’s wise enough to keep his mouth shut. Besides, I trust Rick. He’s never once in four years come on to me and I know he has teenage girls at home that he’s trying to do right by.
“Fine, I’ll do it but two songs only.”
“Three.”
“Two,” I say firmly and he throws up his hands.
“All right but it better be a good show.”
I nod and leave my tray with Matty, who’s refusing to even look at me, then make my way backstage to change.
Within minutes I’m standing behind one of the heavy silk curtains in a white baby doll nightie and matching undies. When I hear the first few bars of my music come on I fluff my long hair around my shoulders and close my eyes as the curtain swings open. I sashay forward into the sweltering hot stage lights, swinging my hips from side to side and smiling as I look out to the crowd. I close my eyes and for a brief moment I see an image of Shane’s face, followed by an unexplainable flash of guilt that I try to stamp down and bury deep inside.
I wake up early Monday morning to the sound of someone pounding on my door. I throw on my knee length robe and rub the sleep from my eyes as I stumble to the door to look through the peep hole. A delivery guy in a brown uniform is standing outside holding a huge bouquet of blue hydrangeas. I throw open the door and he clears his throat when he sees me standing there in my robe.
“I have a delivery for a Miss Carmelina Dahl?”
“That’s me,” I say and he thrusts the flowers into my arms followed by an electronic signature pad. I balance the bouquet under one arm while I scrawl my name before closing the door behind me and cutting off the man’s “have a good day” part way. There is a small card nestled in the side of the bouquet that I dig out and read.
I know nothing about these flowers other than the fact that they are really goddamn expensive. But if you hate them then throw them in the garbage and tell me what you want and I’ll send that over because a beauty like yours deserves to be surrounded by beauty (stop rolling your eyes - I am not cheesy). I meant what I said Carmelina and I’m going to keep on sending you things until you realize just how worth it you are. -Shane
Okay, there’s not a woman in the world that wouldn’t melt at a card like that, and I love that even though we barely know each other it feels like he already knows what I’m thinking most of the time. The flowers are stunning so I walk them over to the sink and arrange them into a vase. I won’t deny that his attention is flattering and that the flowers have me smiling but I’m convinced that he’ll give up eventually. I mean, when all of the single women in Austin are clamoring for his attention and he can have any of them at the drop of a hat why would he keep up this charade with me? I’m staring at the arrangement when my phone chimes with an incoming text.
Shane: Did you like the flowers?
Carmelina: I did but you shouldn’t waste your money. This isn’t happening.
Shane: Money spent on you would never be a waste. It is happening.
Carmelina: Why flowers? Seems a bit too sweet for a self-confessed playboy who doesn’t do girlfriends?
Shane: The color reminded me of your eyes.
When I read the last text my heart skips a beat and as much as I try and fight it I swoon just a little.
Carmelina: See, just like I said - cheesy.
Shane: Only for you, babe. Have a good day at work. It’s practice all day for me.
Carmelina: Have a good day on the field.
Shane: Will be picturing you on the sidelines…in a see-through white shirt.
When I don’t respond right away another text comes through.
Shane: Stop rolling your eyes.
I laugh and put the phone down as I glance at the clock on the stove. It’s only 7:30 in the morning so I have another hour and a half before I have to be at work. I take my time showering and slip on a high-necked beige shift dress with nude wedges. On my way out I stop in the kitchen to take one more look at the beautiful blue flowers before closing the front door and heading down to my car.
I’ve barely sat down in my desk when the phone rings. “Austin Observer, Features Desk, Carmelina speaking,” I recite into the phone and a deep chuckle vibrates through the line.
“Wow…even your work voice is sexy.”
“I can’t talk right now Shane.”
“Have dinner with me tonight.”
“The answer is no.”
“Lunch,” he tries.
“No.”
“Breakfast?”
“What do you think?”
“A well-balanced afternoon snack then?”
And despite myself I laugh at his last comment. “You are impossible.”
“You are beautiful,” he says and he’s still on the line when I see my boss coming.
“I’m afraid I have to keep this line free Mr. Mitchell but thank you so much for your call,” I say in the most professional voice I can muster before hanging up the phone.
