Chapter 12—Defensive Zone

Matt bolted off the plane early Friday morning, grabbed his luggage, and drove over the speed limit to get home. The game in LA last night had ended about ten thirty after they won in overtime. The team landed at 4:00 a.m. following a couple frustrating delays. By the time he got home, he’d only have an hour or so to be with Vi before the boys got ready for school.

He’d missed Valentine’s Day, so he stopped at a Safeway on the way home and paid way too much for a wilted bouquet of flowers for Vi and a box of chocolates for the boys. His gift sent Vi mixed messages, but he did it anyway for reasons he was scared shitless to examine.

He pulled into the garage, left his luggage in the car, and slipped into the house, down the hall to the master bedroom. When he’d first purchased this house, he’d been concerned the master was on one floor and the boys’ bedroom on another. Now he was grateful for the separation. Matt paused in the bedroom doorway, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness, and prayed Vi would be naked in his bed.

She was, and sound asleep, but not for long. He’d take care of that. He put the flowers on the nightstand and stripped off his suit, folding it neatly over the back of a chair.

His dick was already rock hard, and sweat beaded on his forehead. His entire body twitched in anticipation. He’d waited for this moment from the second the plane had gone wheels-up on the first leg of their road trip. He’d never been this anxious to get home to Brie, probably because he’d lived in fear of what or who he might find in bed with her. Funny how he instinctively trusted Vi more than he ever had the woman he’d married.

Matt pulled back the covers and grinned. The alarm clock cast a red glow over her naked, tattooed skin. She moved slightly, and the light shone on a large rose on her shoulder, illuminating it.

She opened her eyes and smiled sleepily. “You’re home.”

He held out the flowers. “Happy late Valentine’s Day.”

Vi sat up quickly, and he couldn’t stop his eyes from going straight to her breasts and those suckable nipples.

“Oh, thank you.” She took the flowers and sniffed them, genuinely surprised. When she looked up at him again, there were tears in her eyes.

He took the flowers from her and put them back on the nightstand, then crawled into bed. She snuggled against his chest. He felt her warm tears on his pecs.

“What’s wrong?”

“No one’s ever given me flowers before.”

He wrapped his arms around her and tucked her head under his chin. “I’m glad I was the first.”

“So am I.”

He stroked her hair, loving how the silky strands slid between his fingers. “I missed you,” he admitted, unable to stop himself.

“Make love to me.” Her voice was muffled, but her intent was unmistakable. One of her hands snaked downward and wrapped around his hard cock. He groaned and rolled her onto her back.

And he did make love to her. Even in his current state of denial, he knew they weren’t just fucking. He took her slow and tender. Like nothing he’d ever felt before. Afterward, she fell asleep in his arms while he tried to sort through the emotions rioting inside him. What the hell was he doing? He’d never been good at casual. He was getting attached, but he didn’t want to end it. He was confused as hell, and all he had were questions and no answers.

 

* * * *

 

Vi made it through four nights of riding herd on the demon spawn and not with flying colors, but at least no one died, no one had to go to the hospital, and she wasn’t buried in a hole in the backyard.

Matt had returned Friday morning, and he’d bought her a bouquet of flowers for Valentine’s Day. She tried not to read too much into his gift. In fact, she was pretty sure she’d seen regret in those brown eyes of his.

She’d asked him to make love to her. She never called it that. She called it sex, screwing, fucking, but never making love. Even scarier, he’d complied and given her the most tender, emotionally satisfying sex of her entire life. He hadn’t just fucked her. She knew the difference, and so did he.

Vi felt so good, she’d fallen asleep in his arms. Waking an hour later, she got the hell out of there, not wanting to face him or the boys in the daylight.

She napped restlessly for a few hours in her studio apartment and attended her two Friday classes but never heard a word of the lectures. Afterward, she walked the several blocks to her hair stylist. Flower was married to Bruno, Vi’s tattoo artist, who occupied the back of the hair salon. Seeing them was one-stop shopping. Get a haircut and a tattoo in one trip. Today she was doing something completely different—for her.

A few hours later, she left Flower Power Salon with a gorgeous mane of dark brown hair with auburn highlights, as close to her true hair color as Flower could make it. She hadn’t had normal hair in years, and refused to admit to the reason for this sudden change, as if she didn’t know. Matt would crap his pants when he saw her.

Now she was at Dancing Girls, Inc., getting into a hippie costume with a see-through, skintight vest with two daisies that barely covered her nipples, and short shorts that revealed most of her rounded ass and barely covered the vital parts in front. She topped the costume with a headband and heavy makeup.

Vi usually loved sixties night at the club. She loved the music, the psychedelic lights, and the go-go boots. She loved to dance all those old dances—the Twist, the Monster Mash, the Pony. Usually she really got into her routine. But not tonight. Dread filled her, and she couldn’t let go of the fear something bad was about to happen. She’d always been intuitive, and the universe seemed off. Really off.

The girls gabbed excitedly as they got ready for their time onstage. Steph wasn’t anywhere to be found, adding to Vi’s overall anxiety. When she asked one of the other dancers, they told her Steph called in sick. Vi’s stomach clenched at the possibilities, all of which she doubted were something as simple as a cold.

She pushed her worry from her mind, found a quiet corner, and attempted to meditate, hoping to get into her dancing zone. Lately, shutting out the salivating men and just immersing herself in the dance had become harder and harder. She’d always promised herself when she no longer enjoyed taking her clothes off, she’d quit. She been wondering if her time had come. But she needed money, and most of her other options didn’t pay nearly as well as stripping. Just a few more months, and she’d graduate.

One of the stagehands called her name. “Vi, you’re up.”

Fighting back her reluctance and tamping down her apprehension, she ran onstage, greeted by the usual hoots and hollers. Grabbing her stripper pole, she faked making love to it, at first slow and sensual, then working up to fast and nasty. She climbed the pole and hung upside down, giving the men a great view of her barely covered breasts. Sliding downward, she wrapped a leg around the pole and spun around several times. Lowering herself to her feet, she turned her back to the crowd. With her ass moving in sensual circles, she slipped out of her vest and dropped it to the floor. She turned slowly, giving the patrons a nice view of her large breasts. She worked each corner of the stage, coming back to the middle. Unzipping her short shorts, she shimmied out of them and once more danced around the stage. Lastly, she pulled off the G-string and tossed it into the sea of mostly male patrons, causing a mad scramble for the scrap of lace.

She shimmied and gyrated her hips, working the men into a frenzy as the dollars rained down on the stage from the crowd. All the while, she felt disconnected. As if she were sitting in the balcony suite watching herself perform. Her movements were stilted and uninspired, but no one else seemed to notice or care.

They were there for her body, not her talent.

This was going to be a profitable night. Bending, she scooped up the money and stared unseeingly at the fistful of bills.

She didn’t want to do this anymore. The joy was gone. She didn’t want to be objectified as a sex object. She wanted to be appreciated for the person she was. Turning on her hooker heels, she started to sprint off stage and hesitated when she swore she heard someone call out her real name above the noise of the crowd.

Disconcerted, she squinted, trying to see past the blinding spotlights, and looked straight into the shocked eyes of the last man she wanted to see in Dancing Girls, Inc.

 

* * * *

 

Matt did not do strip clubs. He hated them. Not his scene. But when Brick made a desperate phone call, Matt had to go. Rod was hanging out with several of the younger guys at a strip club. He was drunk and disorderly and on the verge of getting arrested if he didn’t chill.

He left the boys with Amelia, and he and Brick drove to Dancing Girls, Inc., hell-bent on rescuing their teammate whether he liked it or not. From what Brick had ascertained during a frantic call from an inebriated Rush, several of them had gone to the strip club to party. Rod tossed back too many shots and was challenging any fool who’d engage him to a fight. So far, most of the patrons had ignored him, but a group of frat boys were egging him on. This wasn’t going to end well unless they could get him out of there without making a scene.

They arrived at the club about eleven. Matt paid the cover and followed Brick inside. He’d been to a few strip clubs in his younger days, but he’d never understood the allure, and they sure as hell weren’t his thing now. He’d rather have Vi than any of these women.

Matt and Brick moved through the crowd carefully, not wanting to call attention to themselves. The place was packed on this Friday night. Matt spotted Rush waving to them from across the room. They’d arrived without a minute to spare. Rod was involved in a heated discussion with a big, burly mountain of a man. They were leaning into each other, their mouths moving and entire bodies tight with aggressive anger. A bouncer attempted to talk sense into them. Not happening.

Matt put himself between Rod and the hairy guy, who looked more than willing to take him on, and Brick backed him up. Rush tried to keep Rod under control.

“Hey, bud, let me buy you a drink. Our friend here isn’t worth your bother.” Matt smiled amiably and shoved his hands in his pockets, keeping his stance nonthreatening.

“I’ll squash the bastard.” The red-faced man juked to the side, but Brick, being a goalie, had quicker reflexes and cut him off. Matt gestured to Rush to get Rod out of there. Rod resisted at first but the bouncer finally stepped up and grabbed his arm. Together Rush and the bartender started dragging him toward the door.

Rod’s bleary gaze swung toward Matt. “Go with them,” he ordered.

Rod froze as if preparing to argue, but just as suddenly, the bluster drained out of him. With a shrug, he hung his head and shuffled away.

Meanwhile, Brick and Matt had their hands full attempting to keep the guy with questionable DNA from following their teammate and grinding him to dust.

Brick eventually placated him by offering to pick up the tab for him and his buddies. Not only did he take him up on it, but he waved at them to take a seat.

Matt frowned. He didn’t want to stay. He always worried about being photographed in an unsavory place. His ex was a devious woman, and her mother was even worse. Brie might not want the boys, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t raise holy hell if he did anything wrong in her eyes. That big, fat child support check might be looking damn good to her right about now if she was currently single and broke, as he suspected. He was also certain she’d burned through the generous divorce settlement.

Matt turned down the invitation to sit with the guys at the table and grabbed Brick’s arm. “Let’s collect the rest of the crew and get the fuck out of here.”

They sat down at a prime table near the stage where a half dozen teammates were doing tequila shots and ogling the strippers. Matt had his back to the action.

“It’s time to go, boys,” Matt ordered, his patience already worn thin by Rod.

“What the fuck are you? My mother?” asked Gage, their talented but undisciplined rookie. He rolled his eyes and drank beer straight from the pitcher.

“We’re not leaving.” Luke Clark, a married man with kids, glared at Matt.

“Jazz is on stage. No one leaves when Jazz dances. She’s hot as fuck.” Gibs held up his phone to record a video, not caring it was against club rules. “I’m yanking off to this tonight. Unless I can convince Jazz to come home with me.”

“In your wildest dreams, dickwad,” Luke said.

“Holy shit,” Brick said, his eyes glued to the stage. Matt shook his head at his buddy.

“Let’s get out of here.” Matt tugged on his arm. “Amelia will have your balls mounted on the mantel for gawking at another woman.”

Brick scowled and pointed toward the stage where a tatted stripper had just finished her act and was scooping up piles of bills.

Matt did a double take. His entire world ground to a halt, and the next few moments passed in excruciatingly slow motion.

“Vi?” he shouted, much louder than he’d meant to. The dancer looked up, and their gazes met.

The dancer was Vi. He’d know those rose-garden tattoos anywhere. He’d traced them countless times with his fingers, his lips, and his tongue. She heard her name and looked in his direction. The recognition in her eyes turned to stunned shock. She froze, and so did he.

Vi was butt-naked, wearing eight-inch stripper heels, and obviously not an amateur. The Inked Women of Seattle show was known all over the Pacific Northwest, and he’d heard the rave reviews from teammates about the club’s Vegas-style performances.

And Vi appeared to be a headliner in said show. No wonder she worked nights. She wasn’t a bartender or waitress. She was—

Shit.

And something else caught his attention; maybe because his brain couldn’t process her being a stripper, it focused on something more innocuous. Her hair. It wasn’t purple anymore or red or pink. It was a glossy, natural mahogany brown. He stared at her for a long time, mesmerized by how different she looked, yet the same, too. Vi broke eye contact and sprinted off stage, not pausing to pick up the money falling from her hands.

Matt sighed, his attention drawn back to the table of teammates. They gaped at him, mouths open, eyes narrowed incredulously.

“Do you know her?” Gage asked.

Matt ignored him.

Brick grimaced sympathetically and grabbed his arm. “We’d better go.”

The two friends made their way to the exit and stood outside just as Rush and Rod left in a taxi. Matt ran his hands through his hair and searched the parking lot until he found Hermie, illuminated by a streetlight in back. At least she was smart enough to park under a light.

“Can you guys keep the boys tonight?” Matt asked.

Brick’s eyes flashed with concern. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I deserve an explanation.” He fisted his hands, itching to punch something or someone. Why hadn’t she told him? Why did she leave him to find out this way? Why did he even give a shit?

Brick looked as though he wanted to say something but didn’t.

“Go ahead. Spill it.”

“You said yourself you guys were just having sex. Why are you so upset?” Brick leaned back against the concrete wall of the club.

“I’m not.”

“Like hell. Are you pissed she’s getting naked in front of a room of men?”

“No. She lied to me.”

“Lied? Did the subject ever come up?”

“No.” Matt felt like a petulant child. He was pissed, and he wanted to have a right to be pissed.

“Then why should she tell a man who means nothing to her other than a good time what she does for a living?”

Therein lay the crux of the matter. He shouldn’t care, but he did. Damn it. He shouldn’t give a shit what Vi did. They were just having sex. Nothing else.

“Let it go. Don’t be a douche and treat her differently because she makes money as an exotic dancer. This place has a great rep. The girls don’t sleep with the patrons. They put on a show, and that’s it. No sketchy stuff. Not even lap dances. Nothing like that. So she performs nude. We both know Vi is a free spirit, and this would be one way to express herself and make damn good money. I’ve heard dancers can bring in a thousand a night.”

Matt nodded tersely, grinding his teeth together. He didn’t care that Vi made good money. He cared that a club full of men, some of them his teammates, had seen her naked. He didn’t want anyone to see her naked but him. There it was. Completely unreasonable. Stupid. She wasn’t his. And yet he couldn’t squelch how he felt.

“I’ll take what you’ve said into consideration. Regardless, I’m waiting for her. Could you please keep the boys tonight?”

“Yeah, sure.” Brick searched his face and shrugged. He started to walk away but hesitated. He looked over his shoulder at Matt. “You might want to figure out why this is pissing you off so much.”

“I’m not pissed,” Matt growled.

“Yeah, and I don’t like sex.” Brick snorted with laughter and disappeared around the corner of the building. A few seconds later, his car sped by and out of the lot.

Matt waited near Hermie for what seemed like hours. According to his phone, it’d only been thirty minutes. Vi didn’t text him, and he didn’t text her. Finally, she exited through a back door, bundled in a long, bulky coat that hid her delectable curves. He approved of the coat.

She jumped when he stepped out of the darkness and blocked her path. Her expression slipped from fear and panic to dread.

“Hi,” she said in a deadpan voice.

“Hi. You changed your hair color,” he said stupidly.

“I thought I’d try something normal just to be different.”

“It is different.”

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah, I do.” He wondered why she cared. Sure as hell, she hadn’t changed her hair color for him.

“Good.” They were both silent for a while.

“We need to talk,” he said.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” She tried to brush by him, but he grabbed her arm and held on a little too tight. She shot him a withering glare, and he released his grip somewhat.

“There’s plenty. For starters, why didn’t you tell me?”

She straightened and held her head high. “You didn’t want to know anything about me. Remember? We’re just screwing, you said.”

“Yeah, but this?”

“This?” Her blue eyes narrowed in anger.

“I—” He was at a loss for words but finally recovered the gift of speech. “A warning would’ve been nice. Half my team was here tonight and saw you naked.”

“I’m not going to apologize. I’m not ashamed of what I do. I’m not ashamed of my body. I enjoy dancing. I make good money. And I’m paying for my college as I go. No student loans. How many broke coeds can claim that?” She propped her hand on her hips and gave him an impressive evil eye.

He shrugged, not sure what he wanted to say or even what his point was.

“This is a job. That’s all. It’s not a career. It’s a stepping-stone to what I really want to do.”

“And what’s that?” he asked softly, finding he was genuinely interested in her answer.

“I want to teach and own a studio. Dancing is my passion, but it’s hard to get a well-paying dance job, especially—” She choked on the last word and didn’t finish her sentence, kicking at a small rock caught in a crack in the pavement.

He’d never known she had a dream like that, which made him feel like a douche. “Especially what?”

“Never mind, it doesn’t matter. Someone like you would never understand what people like me have to do to survive.”

He was an ass, no doubt about it. “Maybe I don’t, but I’d like to.”

She raised her gaze to meet his, surprise in her eyes, which were luminous from unshed tears. “You’re just saying you do because despite being a tight-ass, you’re a nice guy. I don’t need your sympathy or your pity. You’re appalled I get naked for money. Admit it.”

“Vi, I won’t lie. When I saw you in all your tattooed glory leaving nothing to the imagination in front of my guys, I wanted to kill every one of them, strangle them with my bare hands, and whisk you off the stage and into my bedroom.”

“No surprise there.” She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, as if self-conscious. His confident, sassy Vi had gone to ground. She needed to understand, and he was making of mess of his explanation.

“I don’t think any less of you because you strip. I really don’t.” Much to his surprise, he meant it.

“You don’t?” Her beautiful lips parted, she tilted her head and regarded him as if she’d never truly seen him before.

“Fuck no, but I’m struggling with other guys ogling you and seeing what I’d prefer to keep all to myself.”

She relaxed a little, and on a whim, he pulled her into his arms, nuzzling her neck. He held her tight for a long while. The longer they stood there, holding each other, the more he knew he didn’t want to let her go. Not tonight, and not in a month. His deadline was being thrown out the window.

“Matt, what if there’s more?”

He studied her troubled gaze, and his stomach clenched. He’d had enough true confessions for one night. He needed time to adjust to her night job. If he couldn’t get her to quit, he’d have to figure out if he was open-minded enough to accept it, and how negatively it might affect his custody of his children. He couldn’t take another revelation tonight.

“Is there?”

“Isn’t stripping enough?” she said, and he blew out a relieved breath.

“Probably.” He almost smiled. “Even if there were more, I wouldn’t care. The past is the past.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he shut her up with a kiss. Not just any kiss, but this one promised more than sex. This one went deeper, and it left him swaying as if he’d been spinning around and was dizzy as hell.

The feeling sank into his bones, his soul, and he shivered from the power of it.

“Matt? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Vi. Let’s go home.”

Clapping sounded behind them, and they both turned to see Matt’s teammates watching them.