OGs: Deep Down (9 page)

There were other children in Arnie’s, but Sam stayed close to him, talking a mile a minute like always, not caring for the other kids. He’d noticed the same thing in the gym; she didn’t seem to know how to relate to children.

When they made it to Cynthia’s place, he pulled into the driveway and cut the engine. He hadn’t been there for ages. It was a rather small but solid old house with white wood siding, dark shutters, and a wraparound porch that stood on a big, charming piece of land, which looked kind of abandoned. Upon close inspection, he realized that the house didn’t look any better; the whole place seemed run-down. Cynthia had died several years back, and with no one looking after the property, it had fallen into disarray. Paint was peeling in many places, and some windows didn’t close properly. One was broken, covered with brown tape. The gutters were rusted, the driveway cracked, and the porch was tilting to the right.

When they reached the porch steps, Sam did an elaborate left-right-then-left-again dance until she got to the last.

“Steps are wonky,” she said without looking behind. “Avoid the right side on the second one and the left side on the last. And don’t step on the third at all.”

Wonky? That was being generous. The steps were shit, plain and simple. They bent and creaked like hell, and a stern look would make them fall apart. Somehow he made it to the porch in one piece and in time to see Sam grabbing a key from under the carpet and opening the door.

“You’re keeping the key under the carpet?” he asked, appalled, forgetting in a second all about the porch steps. The security risks in this old place were bad enough; leaving the key in such an obvious place was just overkill.

“Nothing to steal. And Mom says this isn’t New York. Or LA. Come in,” she said, waving at him.

Alden wasn’t a big city by any means, but this house was on the outskirts, off the beaten path, and the only close neighbor they had was Greta, an eighty-year-old lady who, although in as great a shape as Rebecca, wasn’t Chuck Norris.

Well, on the flip side, if the thugs tried to use the key and come in through the door, they would have to deal with the death-trap porch steps.

Chances were high they wouldn’t make it in alive.

As he stepped into the house, he almost tripped on some boxes on the floor.

“That’s our new TV table and dresser. We bought them from IKEA, but we haven’t put them together yet.”

Mike lifted his left eyebrow. The Kyra he knew hated puzzles and couldn’t follow instructions worth a damn. She was fucking cute trying, though, all disheveled and blowing at her bangs and muttering.

Mike shook those memories away and looked around, and something tightened in his chest. Yep, his first impression had been spot-on. This place was run-down. It was clean, but everything in it was at least as old as Mike. Well, excluding those IKEA boxes. And some of the clothes lying around. Apparently, Kyra was still as messy as she used to be.

“This was my Grandma Cynthia’s house,” Sam explained.

“I know.”

“You do?” she asked, interested. “You’ve been here before?”

“Sure. Many times, baby girl. When your mom and I were small.” And not so small. Until she’d turned eighteen and moved out, Mike had spent quite a lot of time here. And in the yard.

“Gram Rebecca said you and Mom were very good friends. Did you play together?”

In spite of everything, Mike chuckled. “Yeah, we played together. Sort of.”

That last part had been a mistake, for Sam latched on to it right away. “What do you—”

He was saved from more of her questions by a knock on the open door. “Hello…anyone here? Sam?”

Greta.

“Oh, Mike, you’re here,” she said as she walked into the living room.

“I was tonight’s designated driver for Miss Samantha.”

The girl scrunched her nose. “My name is Sam. Samantha’s a girl’s name.”

“You’re a girl, sweetie,” Greta reminded her.

“It’s a girlie-girl’s name. I’m not a girlie girl,” she insisted. “Marcy’s a girlie girl. And she sucks.”

“Okay, okay,” Greta conceded with a laugh and then turned to Mike. “Are you staying for supper?”

“No.”

“Yes,” Sam answered almost instantly.

Mike shook his head. “Got to go, baby girl. I need to go help my dad close the gym.”

“But I wanted to introduce you to my teddy bear.”

“Honey,” Greta started, “you can show him your teddy bear another day. Now let’s run you a bath while I make your supper.”

Sam didn’t seem to be too pleased but grudgingly agreed. “Next time?” she asked, her face hopeful, as she headed for the stairs.

“Next time, baby girl.”

She smiled.

Man. He was going to have to find a way to avoid coming here again.

He nodded to Greta and then took off, almost breaking his leg as the third porch step gave way.

* * * *

The next day, between classes, Kyra was on her way to get a bottle of water from the vending machine, when she realized around fifteen women, laughing and talking loudly, were leaving the dressing room, all of them dressed in yoga pants and matching tight fuchsia shirts, Sinful in the lead. Sinful? What the hell? Kyra must have been more dehydrated than she’d imagined, because she was hallucinating.

Then she looked closer. Nope. Not hallucinating. That was Sinful, Mike’s stripper. Even in casual wear and without makeup, she looked gorgeous. And that perky, small blonde with huge boobs was the girl who had been dancing on the center stage, and coming Kyra’s way, with her fiery short hair more messed up than usual and black- rimmed glasses, was Red.

“Kyra, what a surprise! What are you doing here?”

What was she doing here? What was the whole staff from Bottoms Up doing here? A private show? Before she could ask, Red did a 360 in front of her.

“What do you think?”

The back of the T-shirt read
We’re strippers, what’s your excuse?
The front read
Bottoms Up.

Well, if there was any doubt about who they were, that removed it.

“Not really discreet.”

Red chuckled. “We aren’t the discreet kind.”

“What are you guys doing here? Is Bottoms Up financing team-bonding activities?”

“Almost. Sinful got self-defense classes for all of us; isn’t that great?”

“Wow, she must be good.” She’d gotten her hooks in Mike very deep.

“Yes, she’s great. Always so attuned to others’ needs.”

“No shit.”

“That’s why Mike was coming to see Sinful,” Red continued, oblivious to the way Kyra was fuming, “to arrange the classes and agree about timetables. There had been some disturbances in Bottoms Up, and although the bouncers handle them, they can’t be everywhere, especially when we leave, and the club is rather isolated. Sinful had heard of Mike’s classes and contacted him.”

What?

Kyra choked on the breath she was taking. “What do you mean? I thought Mike was ‘seeing her,’ as in coming for lap dances.”

Red broke into laughter. “Get out of here! Sinful is the club’s general manager. She doesn’t do lap dances. Not that Mike would take one. I’ve seen girls throwing themselves at him. He’s declined all of them.”

She wasn’t ready to let go yet. “Maybe he’s a cheapo.”

Red rolled her eyes. “He would have gotten all of them for free if he wanted. They’re fighting to see who gets him as their sparring partner.”

Yeah, that she could believe.

Kyra tried but couldn’t stifle the stab of jealousy. “Don’t worry. He usually drags in guys from the kickboxing class and from the weight room so that the girls can practice.” Kyra had seen him doing that in the other self-defense class a couple of days ago. “You guys looking the way you do and wearing the shirts you wear, he may not have to drag anyone this time to be beaten.”

“That’s good news. I’m not in the mood for a catfight.” Red then glanced at Kyra’s clothes and frowned. “And you? You working out here? Because this looks like a man’s gym if you get my drift.”

“I actually teach here.”

Red’s eyes opened wide. “As in dance classes?”

“Nothing fancy,” she said, touching her shoulder. “Some hip-hop, modern, and then a bit of exotic aerobics.”

“Oh my God. Are you telling me that Kyra Brims from
Shake Your Booty
is giving dance lessons in Alden? You frigging kidding me? Wait until I tell the others. I’m going to check the timetable, see if I can fit in a couple of lessons.”

“Okay.” She’d just started, but her students were already a motley crew, from teenagers to housewives in their fifties. It was going to be fun to see how the strippers would fit in.

“Are you staying here, then?”

Kyra shook her head so vigorously that she almost got a dizzy spell. “No. I’m…regrouping. I’ll leave as soon as I’m a hundred percent again.”

“I figured that much. What would someone like you be doing in this small town?”

At that moment someone laughed, and Kyra turned. Sinful was standing beside Mike, her head thrown back, laughing, her hand on his arm, while he smiled and said something. Other girls started laughing too.

“How’s it going with Mr. Tall and Handsome?” Red whispered. “Still as confrontational as when you were in the club?”

Kyra shrugged. “Pretty much.”

“And he hired you?”

“His father did. Mike isn’t too pleased about it. He can’t stand having me around.”

When he acknowledged her, that was, because whenever possible, he blatantly ignored her presence. She did the same, but it was damn hard. Seeing him all the time, listening to him. To add insult to injury, Sam had taken to Mike right away and was with him all the time in the gym. And not only the gym. Yesterday, when Kyra got home, Sam had told her all about the evening with Mike and how he’d bought her ice cream and driven her home. That her shitty house had almost injured one of Alden’s favorite sons had just been the coup de grâce really.

“I think what he can’t stand is not having you, period. Look back.”

Mike was staring at her. There were a dozen strippers fluttering around him, most of them flirting, and he was staring at her. Rather smugly.

“He’s probably waiting for me to apologize. I sort of implied he was doing Sinful.”

The bastard could have set her straight, but he’d chosen to remain silent and let her think he was buying the services of strippers.

He could wait for an apology until hell froze over, for all she cared.

“Apology, blowjob, smile, whatever. He’ll accept anything, sweetie. Trust me.”

She wasn’t so sure, not that it was an option.

By then guys had started pouring in and were curiously watching the girls, the commotion growing. No wonder, in between hilarious seniors one day, and head-turning strippers the next, going to Haddican’s was becoming an all-around experience.

“I better get going,” Red said pulling her glasses up her nose and winked. “I need to check those hunks out closely to pick one for practicing.”

Kyra had ten minutes before her class would start, but she couldn’t stay there, watching while a sexy-as-hell Mike interacted with fifteen stacked strippers who were ogling him and making advances. She’d rather chew on broken glass, thank you very much.

* * * *

The last thing Kyra expected to see that Sunday through the kitchen window was Mike walking toward her house, a deep scowl on his face, a toolbox in his hand. Holding her breath, she waited for the doorbell, but when nothing happened, she went to the front door and squinted through the peephole. Mike was inspecting her porch steps.

Without thinking about it twice and feeling quite belligerent, she opened the door. “What are you doing here?”

Mike didn’t look up. “These steps are shit. I’m repairing them.”

She knew they were in bad shape, but having him tell her that didn’t sit well.

“Not your steps. You don’t have to. I don’t want you to—”

He sneered. “I know you don’t want or need anything from me. You made that perfectly clear the other night, but I’m doing it anyway. Not for you. This fucking place is falling apart. You have a small kid here, not to mention my grandmother visiting all the time.”

Her throat clutched, her face scalding hot from his blunt words. He was right. Her kid shouldn’t be living in these conditions.

She’d received her first paycheck from the classes at the gym. A very generous one that couldn’t include any payment for the mirrors, but when she’d complained to Dan, he’d laughed and said,
“You’re the first person I’ve hired who complains about getting paid too much.”

“But—”

“Who’s the boss here, Kyra?”
he’d asked.

“You.”

“That’s right, sweetie. I decide how much you get paid.”

And with that he’d left.

Even with getting that big paycheck mere days ago, it was almost gone or already assigned to groceries. She didn’t have any money left for the porch steps. The words burned coming up, but she said them nevertheless.

“I don’t have money right now. I won’t be able to pay you until next week.”

“Don’t fucking insult me,” he growled, looking up at her. “You know me better than to assume I’d take your money.”

She wasn’t sure what she was going to say, but at that instant Sam came running from behind her.

“Miiikkkeeee,” she yelled and threw herself at him. “What are you doing? Oh, this is fun. Can I help? Please?”

For the first time since he arrived, he smiled. “Sure, baby girl. If your mom is okay with it.”

“Mommy?”

Kyra hesitated. “We shouldn’t bother Mike.”

“I won’t bother him. I swear. I’ll be nice. Please?”

“All right, but you need to be careful. And stay away from the hammer. And the nails. And the wood to avoid splinters.”

Sam pouted. “What do I do, then?”

Mike smiled at her daughter. “Lots of things. First, we’re going to my truck to get some stuff. Then you’ll stand on every step I tell you to and jump. Let’s see how resistant the better ones are. What do you think?”

“Cool.” Sam beamed and sat beside Mike. “Who teached you this?”

“My Dad
taught
me. And I used to build houses for a living, too.”