Need You for Always (Heroes of St. Helena)(39)
“I never played with Barbies,” Emerson mumbled through Harper’s fingers. “And get your hand off my mouth, you taste like crayon wax and olive brine.”
Harper dropped her hands but didn’t back down. “All I’m saying is that this is a chance for you to get yours. To forget about all of the stress, the demands of your family for a few hours, and have some fun.”
“And maybe an orgasm or two?”
“Um, how about ten? Have you seen the man? Plus after Liam, you deserve ten.” Harper’s voice softened. “You deserve to be happy, Em. Really happy. You take care of everyone else and never complain, and now there is a chance for you to take care of you.”
“For just a night,” Emerson said softly.
“Sure, a built-in expiration date. Keeps it simple and free of expectations. I mean, everyone’s going to leave at some time or another,” Harper pointed out. “But this time it doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”
Emerson thought about that and wondered what it would be like to be free of expectations. She was a pretty private person by nature, and every relationship she had was intense, which was why she was selective of the people she let in.
This thing with Dax would be physically intense but emotionally casual, and for a girl who knew how to take her mother’s vitals before she could legally drive a car, there hadn’t been room in Emerson’s life for anything frivolous. There also hadn’t been room in her life to really live. Not solely for herself.
Emerson thought about San Francisco, about that kiss in her car, then thought about the erotic statement he’d thrown at her last night and wondered if she could go through with it. If she could put aside her need to nurture and for the first time in a long time put her needs first.
For just a night.
She looked over at the cork costume on the wall, then smiled. “Does your grandma still have that vintage ’40s dress in her shop window?”
You need lunch money?” Adam asked with a grin, pulling up to the curb and making sure to park right in front of a life-sized cutout of Beefcake Bodyguard—in case Dax had somehow managed to miss the posts about it on Facebook.
“Fuck off.” Dax grabbed his jacket and stepped out onto the curb, the crisp evening air filling his lungs. A few maple leaves blew down the lamp-lined sidewalk and into the street.
It was Saturday night, nearly happy hour, and he had received a half dozen calls from curious ladies inquiring about his hosting skills, a few more inquiring about his other skills, and enough grief from Adam on the ride over to make his right eye twitch. And unless he could talk his way out of playing Beefcake Bodyguard, his night was just getting started.
“Beefcakes aren’t really my type,” Adam said. “But Ms. Lambert over at the Grapevine Prune and Clip was at the bank getting a hundred bucks in ones today, just in case the rumors were true and you were taking it all off at midnight. My guess is you won’t go home lonely tonight. The other guys at the firehouse have a poll going on how many teeth—”
Dax slammed the door and, finger high and loud, he waved his thanks and walked toward the bar. From the outside it looked like a typical small-town storefront. Gray clapboard siding, raised planter boxes filled with seasonal flowers, and a little red awning over the door. A couple of wrought iron tables and chairs sat in front of the street-side window, which had tasteful gold calligraphy that challenged one to INDULGE IN SECRET PLEASURES—ONE SIP AND ONE DIP AT A TIME.
Praying he wasn’t expected to be the secret pleasure, he rounded the alley to enter through the side door. A red carpet ran the entire length of the alley, which was already filled with customers winding down and around the back of the building.
Not just customers, Dax groaned: ladies. Senior ladies with walkers, ginormous handbags, and saggy breasts slung up in sequins. They were all flapping their cards, the same VIP card Ida had given him, waiting for the doors to open. Excitement and impatience hung thick, and Dax knew he should run.
Too bad for Ida that she’d run an ad without consulting him first, because no way was he going to be the hired beefcake. It would take a riot squad to control this mess if it went sideways. And it was going to go sideways. There was no way all those ladies were getting in. It would be against fire code, and as soon as they realized it, shit was going to go down.
He’d only dropped by to tell Ida that he wasn’t working her event, then go to the Spigot, a cash-only, manners-optional sports bar down the street where he was meeting Kyle for brews and a game.
And okay, he’d also come to see if he could catch a glimpse of Emerson in her cork costume. Maybe poke fun at her outfit, make her laugh, and charm away any residual weirdness from last night. A smart man would welcome the weirdness, embrace the distance it would create, and get out while he was ahead.
Dax was neither a quitter nor smart, because the last thing he wanted was awkwardness with the one person whose company made him feel at ease.
“Those muscles look real to me,” someone said from the crowd.
“I think he needs to take it off so we can see with our own eyes,” someone else said, someone who sounded a lot like ChiChi DeLuca. ChiChi, who had silver hair, wore orthopedic shoes, and married his grandpa last year.
“No inspecting the merchandise,” Ida said, waddling out. She looked at Dax, took in his boots, jeans, and dark tee and shrugged. “Was hoping for dress whites, more of An Officer and a Gentleman look.”