FIVE
Kennedy- 2 days later
Sundays were the slowest day of the week at the shop.
You wouldn't think that. You would think that it's the day that everyone is off from work and had time to get their hair and nails done.
As it turned out, that was not the case.
Maybe it was a mix of the religious going to church, the soccer moms with whatever practice little Timmy and Jenny had to cart them to and from, and the frazzled working lady trying to cram a weeks' worth of errands into one afternoon.
But whatever the reason, we almost always sat around twiddling our thumbs.
Usually, I sent Benny home half-day so he could go enjoy some rare free time with his boyfriend. But Ricardo was on some kind of shoot for the day, so Benny was on his own. Apparently, he preferred to spend his free time with me. Which, given how awesome he was, was really flattering to me.
"Doesn't anyone give a shit about going to work on a Monday with chipped nails?" he asked, standing suddenly and pacing.
Benny was a ball of energy. He could work all day and night without losing steam, without losing his abundant upbeat charm. But give him ten minutes of downtime to flip through a magazine, and he was miserable.
"Maybe I should reconsider staying open Sundays," I mused, knowing it was unlikely. Because every little bit helped. If someone was just walking around town, got a wild hair about some new cut or color, we were there to give it to them and get some extra money.
"Maybe we should..." he started, getting cut off by the bell.
It was a sound that almost always filled me with hope. One more client, one more payment, one more day closer to being solvent again, to having a bit of my confidence back.
But as I watched Benny's grin go wicked, I had a gut feeling that whoever had come in wasn't suddenly in need of a three-hundred dollar makeover.
"Typically, our clientele is female," he practically purred at who must have been a man.
"Yeah? 'Cause with a shop that looks like a snatch, I'd think men would be the ones more fucking likely to pull up a seat."
So Niro was in my shop again.
After that weird feel-up thing and then brisk goodbye two nights before, I had been on edge thinking he was going to pop up at any moment. I wanted to tell myself that it was nervousness that made me feel that way, but it was perfectly clear that it was excitement, anticipation, a desire so strong they needed a new freaking word for it.
It was crazy.
I didn't know him.
There was no way I should have been so into him.
I had always been a bit more cerebral about my choices in men. It had more to do with personality than looks, and I had never been the type of woman to drool over some random hot guy.
Then again, Niro wasn't just any random hot guy I passed on the street. He had something. And I wanted more of it.
Despite my better sense.
"Your hair seems freshly cut," Benny said, engaging him while I was still too chicken to turn around. "Are you here for a manicure?"
At that, I couldn't help it, I turned, smile pulling at my lips, my cheeks maybe the slightest bit pink.
"Do I seem like the kind of man to get his nails painted?" he asked, but it wasn't snippy, his tone was light, amused. "Hey pet," he called to me, the words making my belly do a wobbling thing that was at once weird and completely delicious.
I had a sudden, ridiculous, and almost overwhelming surge of insecurity, wishing I had chosen something other than my plain jean shorts, white tee, blue and white striped ballet flats, and a long gold necklace.
Hell, my hair hadn't even gotten any attention that morning, knowing it was a waste on a Sunday, and it was gross out, so I just wrapped it into a side braid and called it a day.
"Oh, ah, hey," I mumbled, feeling awkward.
"Aren't you going to introduce us?" Benny asked, clearly thinking Niro and I had gotten better acquainted.
Meanwhile I freaking still didn't know his name.
As if knowing exactly what my dilemma was, Niro's face broke into a devilish little smile, making him seem all the more trouble than you already thought he was by glancing at him.
"The fuck you been calling me in your head when you're wet-dreaming over me over the past week?"
Oh good lord.
Could one die of embarrassment? Because I was pretty sure I was just about to.
"Niro," Benny supplied, making me aware that it was, in fact, possible to be even more mortified than I already was.
"Wh..." Niro started to ask when the door chimed again, making all of us turn.
And of course it was him.
Because that was just perfect.
Again, there was a swelling discomfort about my outfit choice. Not because I particularly wanted Ethan to ogle me the way I wanted Niro to, but because I liked to look put-together around Ethan. Nothing about jeans and a tee said 'put together.' In fact, generally, it said 'fuck it.' And 'fuck it' wasn't the image you wanted to project on someone who still was capable of changing your future.
Ethan's eyes looked over at Pagan, distaste quickly overtaking his features. But he shook it off, nodding his head at Benny. "Hey Benjamin," he said, tone annoyingly formal, and I could see Benny fighting the urge to correct him seeing as his name was not Benjamin. "Kennedy, honey, can I speak to you for a minute?" he asked, eyes sizing me up, and if I wasn't mistaken, finding my outfit just as lacking as I did seeing as he was in a three-piece suit even though it was a thousand degrees out. He wasn't even sweating. The freak.
"Sure," I said, giving him a smile that hurt it was so fake, as I waved out a hand in a 'follow me' gesture. "What's up, Ethan?" I asked when we reached the back of the store, you know, all of ten feet away. But it was as private as we could get without going into the bathroom. Storage was off since we had the broken window and Ethan would have been pissed that we didn't fix it already.
"What is a Henchmen doing here, Kennedy?"
There was an ache in my muscles at forcing my brow to not raise at the disapproval in his tone, in the underlined, unspoken way he thought he knew better than me.
"We don't turn away business because of their profession," I hedged. It was true. We didn't turn away business. And while Niro wasn't around to get his hair cut or dyed, he didn't know that.
"Those are dangerous men," he went on, eyes bigger than normal, like what he was telling me was vitally important, like I was some idiot child who couldn't figure that out for herself.
I took in a slow, deep, deliberate breath to remind myself that Ethan Criss was someone I, as much as I hated it, needed in my life. "I'm sure that's true. But business is business. We aren't in the position to turn away paying customers."
To that, he knew he had no valid argument given my situation.
"Alright, honey, I just want you to be careful," he said, reaching out toward me. The sleeve of his suit slipped up, revealing a stunning gold and black watch that I knew cost more than the entirety of my wardrobe, shoe, makeup, and jewelry collection combined. His fingers, cool even though it was hot as could be outside, pressed down on my wrist, giving me what I was sure he thought was a reassuring squeeze.
His hand didn't drop after what might have been considered an appropriate length of time. It just stayed there, a cold, constant contact.
"What can I do for you today, Ethan?" I asked, wanting to move the conversation on.
"Kenny, baby, I didn't like how we left things in the coffeeshop last week. Maybe I was too abrupt with you. How about we go out again sometime this week and open up a dialog about your plans?"
It was stupid.
It was a dead-end.
I knew that.
But I also knew that even if there was the tiniest sliver of a chance that he might agree to let me expand, that I owed it to myself and my future to be open to that.
So as much as it made my skin crawl to do so, I forced a smile. "I would appreciate that."
"How about Famiglia on Friday?"
"Sounds good, Ethan."
"Would you like me to pick you..."
"I'll meet you there," I rushed to say, having never told him about my living situation, and believing that was none of his business. "What time?"
"Eight?"
"It's a plan," I said, giving him a nod, trying to put an end to the uncomfortable conversation, fully aware that both Benny and Niro were watching intently just ten feet away.
"I'm looking forward to it, Kenny," he said, giving me a slick smile and pulling his hand away. Thankfully, he turned and moved back toward the front of the store. "Baby, wear that black dress with the slit," he said, making me stiffen as I moved to stand next to the desk. Who the hell did he think he was to demand an outfit? "It's a nice place," he added, somehow saving himself but simultaneously making me feel really, really small. Like I was so low brow, so poor that I didn't know to wear something nice to a classy restaurant.
With that, he was gone.
"I know I've asked you this already," Niro said, drawing my attention. "But are you fucking serious?"
"He's..." I started, ready to defend myself, wanting somehow to clear the air and make it apparent that he was not the kind of man I would ever date.
"The kind of man who will pull your strings and then convince you that you are dancing," he cut me off, making my mouth clamp shut.
Because he was right.
Ethan was exactly that kind of man.
"I was going to call him a condescending prick," Benny butted in with a smile, trying to lighten what was an oddly heavy moment.
"He is that," I agreed with a nod.
"Yet you're fucking involved with him?" Niro asked, looking almost a little disgusted by me.
"Professionally, yes," I said, lifting my chin a little, refusing to be brought any lower by a man that day.
And judging by the way Niro's lips twitched at that, he liked the spunk. "He your shampoo supplier?"
"He owns the building," I corrected.
"And Kenny is trying to get him to rent her the other half of it to expand."
"Hate to break it to you, pet, but he's not renting you the other half of this building."
"That's..."
His head ducked slightly, giving me a hard look. "He's showing up here in fucking Armani with a goddamn Bulgari Diagono on his wrist, inviting you out somewhere that you'd have to black dress it up. He doesn't want to talk about spreadsheets. He wants you fucking spread out on his sheets while you take, what I can only assume, is a disappointing five inches."
Benny laughed at that, the sound rich and rolling, something I usually found catching until we were both swiping tears away. But right then, despite definitely thinking it was amusing to assume Ethan was only packing five inches, all I felt was a crushing sort of disappointment.
It wasn't that I didn't know Ethan's intentions weren't purely professional. Of course I knew that. I wasn't stupid. But it was one thing to think it. It was a complete other to hear someone else say it. It reinforced what I only knew as a suspicion. It made it real.
There was no more dream.
There was no chance for advancement.
"Kenny," Benny piped in, voice a little pleading, likely picking up on exactly what I was feeling right then.
I shook my head at him, blinking rapidly a few times, pushing the emotional stuff away to be dealt with later. Likely with more store brand ice cream and five-dollar wine.
I was going to be as big as a house if the disappointments kept rolling in.
"I get that you don't want to hear that, Kennedy," Niro said, bringing my attention back to him, "but I figure you'd want to hear it now before he's got you at some restaurant next week and sliding his slimy hands all over you, trying to convince you that you could talk over the specifics after he fucks you. Don't really know you, but I can see this vagina shop of yours means a lot to you. But it's sure as fuck not worth getting into bed with that shithead."
It was never going to go that far.
I might have been desperate, but not anywhere near desperate enough to whore myself out for what I wanted. I'd leave that to the pros down on Third Street and the gold diggers on the other side of town.
"He's not her type," Benny decided to add, making Niro's lips tip up.
"Oh yeah? What's her type then?"
"Well, our Kenny here came from the wrong side of the train tracks so to speak. She grew up crushing on the bad boys."
Oh lovely.
Good old Benny.
"Bad boys, huh?" Niro asked, obviously loving my discomfort.
"Though, she hasn't had any..."
"Oh good God, shut the hell up," I gasped, eyes feeling like they were going to pop out of my skull they were so big. Was he really going to betray that trust? To a complete stranger? Christ.
There was a low, deep, rolling chuckle from Niro as he leaned against the counter. "Since you're full of information," he said, talking to Benny, "why does she call me Niro when she trips the switch?"
My eyes closed. My cheeks felt like they were on fire. And I was suddenly hoping that if God had any plans for a rapture, that it could happen right about that moment, so I didn't have to live through another second of that kind of embarrassment.
"Our Kenny here is a big action movie fan. And when she saw you, she thought you looked like a better looking younger Robert De Niro from Taxi Driver. And since she didn't ever catch your name, she calls you Niro."
"She talk about me a lot?"
"I'm standing right here," I protested.
"Really working those short shorts too," Niro agreed, not even sparing me a glance. "But give us a minute, pet, the boys are talking."
"Oh, I've heard your name a few times. Or your fake name, as it turns out. What is your real name? Wait, no. Don't tell me. If it's something lame like Dylan or Bryce or some shit, it will completely ruin it for me. At least Niro is a sexy name."
"It's Pagan," he replied easily, making me stiffen.
"No shit?" Benny asked, smiling huge, obviously loving that information.
Pagan?
Pagan?
Who the hell had a name like Pagan?
"No shit," Pagan agreed, looking amused by his reaction.
And even breaking through the disappointment about Ethan, and the shock of his strange, demonic little name, I realized I really liked how he interacted with Benny. It was my personal opinion that how a man responded to another man who liked men (and maybe even flirted with them a bit) said a lot of them as a person. Pagan didn't seem offended or, worse yet, grossed out, by Benny's attention. He didn't do that condescending thing that Ethan did when he called him a lady. He just treated it like it was no big deal. And it was no big deal, but in my experience, not all men felt that way.
I found myself really liking that about this practical stranger whose fingers I was better acquainted with than his brain.
"On paper and everything?" Benny pressed.
"Not originally," Pagan admitted, then shrugged, "but now, yes."
"You changed your name to Pagan. Is that a biker thing?"
"It was an underground fighter thing," he countered.
"I knew that wasn't just a rumor. I told you it was real," Benny said, accusing me.
We had totally talked about something he heard about an underground fighting ring in Navesink Bank. I had insisted that it was likely something like a bunch of teenagers watched Fight Club a few too many times and got some ideas.
Apparently, I was wrong.
I didn't quite know how I felt about that.
I mean, any idiot in Navesink Bank knew there was stuff that went on beneath the radar. The Henchmen were a prime example. We had a compound full of gun runners right on the main drag in town. Then there was that weird military or survivalist camp thing up on the hill. There was Third Street with their hookers. And, growing up on the side of town I grew up on, I had heard some rumors about the family who owned a bunch of other businesses, but most notably, Chaz's, being actual, real life loan sharks. Knee-cap breakers.
But things like underground fighting sounded a little too far-fetched to my ears.
I guess you learn something new every day.
"I have a fight tomorrow night if you want tickets," Pagan offered, but did so to Benny who he simply knew was the bigger sucker.
"Oh," Benny said, looking over at me. "We are so going."
"You can go," I offered. "I need to wor..."
"Oh, woman," Benny scoffed, shaking his head, grabbing the appointment book which showed a big fat nothing after six PM the next night. "And don't pull that 'what if someone drops in' crap either. You need a night out. You need about half a dozen cocktails and an excuse to put on something pretty."
He wasn't exactly wrong.
I needed a distraction from all the stress.
But I was pretty sure going to some underground fight where Pagan was going to be in the ring was not the kind of distraction I needed. Besides, cocktails cost money, and while I did have a small little bit of 'mad money' laying around, I had planned to maybe buy some new higher-end hair products for the shop with it.
"You're going. If I have to drag you." For many, that was an empty threat. For Benny, it wasn't.
Apparently, I was going to an underground fight and wasting precious money that would end in a stomach ache because I had a feeling his cage fights would be just as bloody as his fight at the compound.
"I'll put your names on the list," Pagan offered. "Just park at the old school and follow the crowd," he told Benny before finally turning fully toward me.
No, he didn't just turn toward me.
He turned, let his eyes move over me in a way that was so intense it was practically like they stroked over every inch of skin they inspected. Which, well, made me feel flushed all over, made my chest start to get tight, made an unmistakable tightening start between my legs.
But then he wasn't just looking at me; he was walking toward me.
It was a slow, deliberate gait, like a lion stalking its prey.
I had never felt so much like prey in my life.
But my instinct wasn't to run.
Oh, no.
It was to let myself be caught.
To let him sink his teeth in.
Oh, God, yes.
"Like that look," his voice said, low, quiet enough to keep it between the two of us though Benny was only a few feet away. Before I could even think to respond, if there even was an appropriate response to that, his lips crashed down on mine.
Somehow, it was even harder, hungrier than it had been at the compound. Maybe over a week of pent-up frustration did that to us. But his lips bruised into mine; his teeth bit; his tongue owned mine.
And it coursed through me, making my brain fuzzy, making my skin tingle, making me flush, putting every kind of alcohol I had ever had to shame. Anytime, any day, I would much prefer the sensation of being drunk on Pagan than anything else.
I swayed against him, my hands going up to grab his biceps, sure I would just melt into a puddle of need on the floor if I didn't hold onto something solid.
Then, just as suddenly as it started, it was over. His lips ripped from mine. My eyelids fluttered open, my breathing heavy, my gaze just a little sex-hazy. His hand rose, snagging my chin.
"Wear whatever the fuck you want," he said as way of parting words, turned, and was gone.
"Giiiirl," Benny said, fanning himself with the appointment book. "I'm as gay as Todrick's ballet shoes and even I have a semi from that." I exhaled a long, deep breath. "Oh, honey, you got a case of the blue tubes right now, don't you?" he asked, looking sympathetic. "If it's any consolation, it's only one more day until that man can be all up in your lady cave."
That, somehow, managed to break through the almost overwhelming need coursing through my veins, setting my whole body on fire.
"I'm not getting involved with some arms-dealing biker named Pagan, Benny."
"Why not?" he asked, looking genuinely confused.
"Arms. Dealing. Biker."
"We all have our flaws," he tried, but his eyes were dancing.
"Yeah like stretch marks on our asses or drinking out of the carton, not buying and selling guns illegally and cage fighting."
"Listen, sister. I'm no expert in the pink peach area," he said, and I chuckled. He could say 'vagina' when he talked about the wall color, but heaven forbid he actually talked about the actual thing with the right word. "But I think you might be nearing that re-virgination thing. Take the bad boy for a ride. That's all it would be. A good, fast, dirty, bed-breaking ride. Then move on. Trust me, life always seems a lot more tolerable after a good orgasm."
There was a part of me, maybe even a big part of me, that had a feeling that before Monday night was over, I might have been feeling a lot less... stressed.
It was equal parts exhilarating and terrifying.