Vicious Cycle (Vicious Cycle #1)(22)

“Maybe.”

“I told you the other day not to stick your nose into my business.”

“I’m not.”

“Doesn’t seem like it to me.”

“I’m just concerned, that’s all. Somehow I can’t get it out of my mind that you’re like a modern-day Jesse James.”

Deacon’s dark eyes shone with amusement. “You think I’m an outlaw?”

Shaking my head, I countered, “Oh, I know you’re one.”

“Kinda makes you hot, doesn’t it?”

“Excuse me?” I demanded, taking a step back.

“Good girls always cream their panties over outlaws.”

“You flatter yourself. I’m certainly not”—I gulped—“creaming my panties over you.” Of course, the words were a blatant lie. The proximity of him, coupled with his words and his overpowering manly scent, caused moisture to dampen my panties. When he continued to stare at me like the Big Bad Wolf appraising his next meal, I shook my head. “I thought you said I didn’t have to worry about you coming on to me. Not your type, remember?”

With a wink, Deacon replied, “Maybe I lied. I’m not known for being very trustworthy when it comes to women.”

“Once again, that’s not surprising.”

“Although most of the girls down at the Lounge would give me glowing reviews.” He flashed me a grin. “That would be the gentleman’s club that my brothers and I own a stake in.”

Knowing that he expected a rise out of me at the mention of strippers, I merely replied, “Aren’t you the Donald Trump of Eastman?”

With a shake of his head, Deacon gave a bark of a laugh. “You know, I might actually be able to tolerate you, Miss Evans.”

“The feeling is mutual, Jesse James,” I replied.

He held open the clubhouse door for me. “Mmm, I love it when a chick gives me a nickname.”

Ignoring him, I headed inside. It momentarily felt like returning to the scene of the crime after our altercation from the other day. With the jukebox blaring a heavy metal tune in my ears, I surveyed the much smaller crowd. “Are you planning on me teaching Willow here?” I asked, trying not to sound horrified. I couldn’t imagine trying to teach phonetics over the music and the clanking of beer glasses.

Deacon laughed. “No, White-Bread. I don’t expect you to work in the middle of all this bullshit.”

“Thank you for being so considerate,” I replied tersely. I chose to ignore the fact he had once again called me white-bread.

“Actually, it was my mother’s idea. She thought it might be better if you guys had a place of your own to work. Some shit about making it seem more like real school. She made us fix up one of the guest rooms.”

I bit back a smile at the words about his mother. It was amusing thinking of any woman barking out orders and him scurrying around to obey her. But I was sure if there was any woman who could bark orders at Deacon, Beth Malloy was that woman, and I admired the hell out of her for it. “That should be fine.”

Across the room from us, Willow sat at one of the round tables. She was swathed in a frilly pink boa, and a glittery pink tiara sat on her head. Seated with her were two young men in their late teens or early twenties who wore cuts similar to Deacon’s. The table was set for a tea party. What caused me to do a double take was the fact that the two men also sported boas and tiaras. When they met my gaze, they both appeared to be in the seventh ring of hell.

Deacon chuckled at what must have been my bewildered expression. “They’re prospects for the club, so they have to do whatever we order them to do.”

“And today’s order of business was a tea party?”

With a shrug, Deacon replied, “Willow wanted one.”

Adjusting my bag on my shoulder, I eyed him. “But why aren’t you playing with her?”

He shot me a look of absolute disbelief. “Why the f*ck would I do that?”

“Because she’s your daughter. Fathers often play with their daughters.”

Deacon shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “I wouldn’t even begin to know how to play with her.”

“And you think those poor guys do?”

At that moment, Willow bounded over to us. “Miss Alex!” she squealed before throwing her arms around my waist. Mine and Deacon’s conversation was forgotten with Willow’s enthusiastic greeting.

“Hi, sweetheart. How are you?” I asked as I squeezed her back.

“Good. I’ve been waiting all day to see you. I finished all the work you left me.”

“You did?” I asked with surprise. While some of the worksheets were review activities of what we had been doing, I’d never expected her to finish so fast.

“Uh-huh. I’ll go get them.”

As Willow sprinted away, Deacon shook his head. “You bring out the f*cking chatterbox in her. I swear, she doesn’t hardly say two words to me.”

“Do you ever try talking to her?”

His brows drew together as he brought his hand up to scratch his neck. “Not really.”

“Even if she doesn’t talk to you, she’s a very good listener.”

“What the hell would I talk about with her?” he demanded, sweeping his hands to his hips. His usual scowl was back, and he looked at me like I had asked him to solve a difficult equation rather than something as simple as telling him to talk to his daughter.