Trashy (Take It Off #10)(7)
Author: Cambria Hebert

She looked sick and rundown, so I sent her home. I didn’t like seeing her like that; it made my gut feel weird.

But after she was gone, I started worrying that I let her drive home. I wondered if she’d made it and was okay. So I drove to her place to check on her.

I found her attacked, shaking, and the police on their way. Harlow and Cam were there, trying to make sure she was okay. But it wasn’t good enough.

I wanted to be the one to take care of her.

I still remember the way she felt in my arms that night. The way her head fit perfectly against my shoulder and the way her silky hair brushed against my jaw. I hated seeing her that way, upset and scared. And when she admitted her ex was abusive… it made me crazy.

I slept on her couch that night, unwilling to leave her place. I needed to be sure she was okay.

I called Sherman the next day and filed for divorce. I told him to get it done as soon as possible.

I couldn’t keep trying anymore. Not once I admitted to myself how deep my feelings for Roxie actually ran.

My wife didn’t take the news of the divorce very well. She accused me of having an affair with Roxie. It infuriated me for two reasons:

1.) I was a lot of things, but I wasn’t a cheat. My second wife cheated on me, and it sucked donkey balls. I’d never do that to someone I made a commitment to. I’d get a divorce first.

and

2.) It was insulting to Roxie, making her out like she was the other woman, a woman I had to hide a relationship with. Roxie was better than that.

Tiff tried to prove I was being unfaithful, but she came up empty every single time. Even though my wife thought I was so low as to actually cheat on her, it didn’t make me want to go out and prove her right. That kind of shit was childish.

Instead, out of respect for her, I didn’t date at all. I told myself I would wait until everything was finalized before I so much as had a coffee with another woman.

It wasn’t easy. Seeing her every day, knowing she was single, and basically rolling the dice that she would stay that way until I could get my shit in order.

Instead of driving myself crazy over the things I couldn’t have, I started getting things in place. A plan, if you will. The past several months, I’d been working on something new and it was finally coming together.

All I’d been waiting on was a green light, and Sherman just gave it to me.

5

Roxie

Rain plastered what was left of my dry parts (i.e. my hair), and when I rushed through the door of the Mad Hatter, I was greeted by the rush of the air-conditioner. Usually, it was refreshing. Tonight, it caused goose bumps to race across my skin.

The club wasn’t open yet, but the staff was milling around, getting things ready for the crowd that would surely show up. Harlow was off tonight, but Cam was behind the bar, wearing his usual uniform. Black dress pants, no shirt, and a bow tie. On his head was a black fedora that covered his surfer dude blond hair.

I liked Cam a lot. And I figured seeing him behind the bar was a sign.

A sign that I did indeed need a shot.

When I told myself I was taking a shot behind the bar earlier, I hadn’t really meant it. And then I had my run-in with Craig. I knew Cam wouldn’t say shit, so I figured it was a sign I really did need one.

I dumped my duffle on a nearby barstool and stepped behind the bar. Cam looked up from the glasses he was stacking. “Hey, Roxie.”

“Hey.”

“Everything okay?” he asked, narrowing his eyes on my face. Most girls probably wouldn’t have noticed the narrowed eyes; they’d be too distracted by all the muscle on display, but not me. I didn’t check out my best friend’s guy. And I tended to look in the places people least suspected. It’s how you learned things.

“Not counting the fact the rain ruined my hair?” I said lightly. “I’m good.”

Cam grinned. “I need to grab a bottle of Jack out of the back. Watch the bar for me?”

“Of course.” I waved him off.

When he was gone, I grabbed the nearest shot glass and the bottle of vodka. I threw it back in one great swallow. It burned going down, and my eyes watered. I wasn’t new to drinking, far from it, but doing shots still felt the same.

I felt the alcohol burst into my belly and a gentle fire burned through my middle. Quickly, I dropped the glass into the sink and turned to put the bottle back.

“Roxie!” Adam bellowed. “Get your ass in here!”

I winced. Had he seen?

Quickly, I slid the bottle back home and rushed around the bar to grab my bag. As soon as I slid the strap over my shoulder, I looked up. He was lounging in his office door, watching me.

I felt squirmy, and it was so not the vodka.

It was him.

Adam wasn’t handsome. He was sexy. He wasn’t the kind of guy who took your breath away with his stunning good looks. Adam was the kind of man who took over your thoughts, who owned them. He was the kind of guy who could make a girl like me forget I didn’t want a man. He was all alpha male; he exuded strength. He exuded intimidation.

He was gruff, he didn’t mince words, and he didn’t talk pretty.

But I could see beneath all that. I could see beneath his mask.

Deep down, Adam was a giant softie. I don’t even know if he knew it. But I did.

So even when he bellowed my name and stared at me like I was in trouble, I wasn’t scared. I don’t think I could ever be scared of Adam.

He was wearing khaki dress pants, and even the loose fabric couldn’t disguise the thick muscles in his thighs. His white dress shirt was rolled up just below his elbows and open at the throat to reveal a thick neck that gave way to a strong jaw. He had wide cheekbones that slashed across his face, olive-toned skin that always looked tan, wide-set eyes the color of melted chocolate, and dark hair that was buzzed close to his head.

His top lip was shaped like a cupid’s bow, and it was currently pulled down in a frown as I walked closer. Adam slid out of the doorway and stepped back, permitting me into his office and shutting the door behind me.

“Hey, I—” I started to apologize immediately. Yeah, this was a strip club, and I was a stripper, but it was still my job. Taking shots behind the bar wasn’t professional.

“I want to talk to you,” he said, cutting me off.

Wasn’t he going to yell at me for the vodka?

“Okay,” I said, dropping my bag near the door. The A/C clicked on and a gust of cold air floated down from the ceiling. I suppressed the urge to shiver. It seemed wrong to be so cold when it was so hot outside.