Folk Around and Find Out (Good Folk: Modern Folktales #2)(66)

The Pony provided a service within specified boundaries spelled out and agreed upon ahead of time between consenting adults, all parties fully aware of the rules and requirements, with special attention paid to fairness, equitability of pay, and safety. We followed clearly defined procedures. Nothing untoward occurred in my club, nothing wrong or illegal or risky.

Rules meant I hadn’t felt discontent after a show in a long, long time. But I did this week. And I did now.

“Come on, Hank. What happened?” Beau sounded concerned. “And don’t tell me nothing. Something is obviously on your mind.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I turned my face away, swallowing around the gravel in my throat.

How did I explain to Beau that I’d used Charlotte Mitchell as my mental stand-in for all of the women last night? That I’d found myself imagining her long, athletic body, golden hair, sunny smile, and dismissive, assessing eyes in place of every person who’d touched me with their gaze and fingertips? That I’d barely slept due to the baffling, relentless, pointless ache of longing?

For the first time in my whole damn life, a situation of my own making, a circumstance built from my choices, left me unsatisfied and restless. I wanted Charlotte, to be with her, and I knew she wanted me, too. She’d said as much. I needed to figure out how to arrange things such that whatever obstacle made her hesitate was removed.

Whatever she wanted, I’d do it if she’d give us a chance. It was possible my promises had been influenced by heat-of-the-moment lunacy at the time, but I still meant them two days later. She’s not giving anyone a chance. Chewing on my lip, I pondered this quandary for no less than the thousandth time in fifty-six hours.

Okay, backing up. This was where we stood:

Fact 1: Charlotte had admitted she wanted me.

Fact 2: I wanted her.

Fact 3: She didn’t want to be with anyone.

Fact 4: Women spoke in riddles.

A grumbly sound vibrated in my chest, and my face pulled into a scowl. I rubbed my bottom lip with my index finger, remembering our kiss, the perfection of her touch, taste, her laugh and smile and gorgeous eyes. She didn’t want to meet anyone for positions? Clearly she hasn’t tried the right positions . . . or the right partner.

Not for the first time in my life, my lip curled into a sneer as I thought of Kevin Buckley. I swore to the deity who’d put Charlotte in the wet T-shirt and too-small bikini, if I ever saw that dick-sandwich again, I’d—

Well, I’d—

Hmm.

Now, let’s see. Those assholes cared about one thing: money. I’d figure out a way to collapse his business deals, short his stocks, and undercut his real-estate holdings. Yeah . . . Then I’d ruin his credit. I made a mental note to talk to Cletus Winston. He’d have some good ideas. Plus, I liked that he was a tit-for-tat kinda guy, always kept the scales balanced. Yet, at the same time, I never knew what he would want in return whenever I asked a favor. Usually, it was information.

Anything would be worth it to make sure Kevin Buckley gets what he deserves.

Beau heaved a sigh. “Fine. If you don’t wish to discuss it, I’m not going to force you. When you’re ready, you know where I live.”

“I do. And I’ll let you know,” I said, reeling in my bait. I set my rod aside. “We should head back. I got a—a busy day.”

Charlotte hadn’t worked Monday or Tuesday, but today she’d be back in the office. I covered my face with my hands and rubbed. She’d said she didn’t want to plan a future with anyone, which possibly meant she didn’t want to feel pressured. There had to be a way for us to be together without her feeling pressured by it.

But I didn’t want to pressure her. She was amazingly generous, giving, and kind. Clever and funny. Sweet. She’d stayed at The Pony and fixed my whole damn finance system when she didn’t need to, when most folks would’ve just left after obtaining the information they were after.

If anyone deserved to be made happy, it was Charlotte. I wanted to make her happy, make her feel good. Make her feel great. Make her come. Give her orgasms—lots of them. It only seemed fair. How did I get her to agree?

“Oh. That’s right,” Beau’s cheerful voice said. “Today is Charlotte’s party?”

Grinding my teeth and letting my hands drop, I nodded.

The party. The going-away party for Charlotte. I’d been informed by Hannah and the dancers on Monday evening after my set that they were planning to give her a big send-off and it was my job to bring a gift.

“Huh.” Beau laughed lightly. “Charlotte worked at The Pony less than two weeks before she gave her notice and y’all are throwing her a going-away party. She must’ve made a big impression.”

He had no idea. Three weeks ago, my biggest worry was whether my funeral suit would fit. Now I was a disaster. Because of a woman. A generous, sweet, sexy, smart, stunning, capable woman. How do I fix this? How do I arrange things to make her happy?

“Hank?”

Giving my head a shake, I muttered, “It was Hannah’s idea.” I stood and busied myself with the anchor.

“When’s her last day?”

“Uh, she’s got eight days left, which she’ll use to, you know, come in as needed to help Hannah acclimate.” Hannah had told me as much last night. Apparently, the two women had talked and settled everything without me.