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“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.
Chapter Five: Desmond
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?
