Burn for You Page 2

  “That’s not my problem. It’s yours,” she snaps, then glares at me. “You’re a big boy, Beau. You’ll figure it out.”

  After Paisley broke the news to me about the pregnancy, she banned me from saying anything or really doing anything different, because she didn’t want anyone finding out. She wanted peace and quiet, and I had totally agreed.

  I became so good at hiding the facts, that not even my buddies suspected I’d given up women, racing, and partying—except when I had to satisfy suspicious minds, like Remington’s. Or at least look like I was doing all that. Though giving up racing was easy, because I constantly rebelled against my dad’s wishes for a family racing legacy. Why race when I had an older brother and a younger one to do it any time Remington snapped his fingers?

  As for women, if anyone knew the truth, or believed the truth in Paisley’s case, they would laugh their asses off. Don’t get me wrong, I love women. I love how they smell, how their hips sway as they walk, and how they look in high heels, but that’s all I am—a lover, not a serial fucker.

  “Fine,” I say. “But you have to promise not to make any decisions about Mia without talking to me first.”

  Her jaw works, but when it comes to what she wants and I wants, we are at a stale-mate. We both hold the cards the other one needs. “Fine. Now get out.”

  With a heavy heart, I grab my baseball cap and sunglasses, then leave the room. When I get to my truck, I pull out my phone and stare at my new background—Mia Sawyer Montgomery, all of one day old. My vision blurs again, hot and watery.

  Rubbing a finger over the wet spot on the screen, I mentally get myself together and try to harden my heart against the baby in the picture, but it’s no use.

  God, I love her.

  Chapter Two

  Landry

  Five Months Later

  “Student loans suck donkey balls,” I groan.

  Meagan makes a little noise. “Bless your heart, Landry Basnight.”

  I roll my eyes and then make a face, because that little dig is directly related to the debt that waits for my best friend once she’s done with medical school. “Fine, Meagan Thomas. You win.” I lob a french fry at her, but she grabs it mid-flight and scarfs it down. “But that doesn’t negate the fact that I need a job. A real one, with benefits and regular hours.”

  “And one kid screaming in your ear while another one eats glue.”

  “It’s not that bad.” Though it could be. My practicum was spent in a pre-kindergarten classroom. There were a few days when I wanted to walk out and never return. But Meagan always talked me down from that if you-don’t-go back-you-won’t-graduate cliff. “It’s not like I have to cut people open.”

  “Jealous.” Meagan swirls a fry around in ketchup, and I shudder. Reason number five hundred billion why I am not a pre-med student.

  I nod. “Totally.”

  Meagan grins, tucking a strand of blond hair behind her ear. “Okay, we’ve gotten off track. Let’s take a look at the problem and then think up some answers.”

  “That doesn’t involve donating my eggs, an organ, or stripping,” I remind her.

  “I don’t see why not—you got the body for it,” she says, tapping on her phone. “You talk, and I’ll list.”

  “Okay.” I take a deep breath. “I could ask for more hours at the daycare, or at King’s. I could get a third job and hope against hope I get a teaching job right after graduation.” Early childhood education jobs were hard to come by and paid little to nothing, unless you were the lead teacher. Only to be a lead teacher, you had to have a Master’s Degree or be actively pursuing one. But I can’t justify the cost or the time to pay for graduate school for a job that’s not a sure thing. Nor can I justify that the cost would be more than what I could potentially make in the next year.

  Guess, I should’ve taken my parents’ advice and pursued a nursing degree instead. Although, my penchant for throwing up at the sight of blood would have been a major hurdle to overcome.

  Meagan glances up from her note-taking to shake her head. “A third job? When would you find the time to solve world hunger or why the Kardashians still have airtime?”

  “Oh shut up.” I love Meagan. I really do, but her reality and my reality are two very different things. If we hadn’t been roommates for all four years of college, then I doubt we would have ever hung out. She’s uber rich (though she chooses to pay for school herself with student loans), uber smart (though her choice to pay for school makes me question that a little), uber gorgeous, and uber athletic. She’s on the university’s tennis team.

  I’m middle class, pretty intelligent, not hideous, and my version of athletic is a mean game of tennis on my little brother’s Wii game, or a family night of bowling.

  Meagan’s eyes light up, and she playfully smacks her own forehead. “I almost forgot. My Aunt Kimmie has a nanny employment agency. She caters to the wealthy, some of the Carolina Panthers, and a few of the politicians that live in Charlotte. One time, she even placed a temporary nanny with Chris Hemsworth when he was filming an Avengers’ sequel.”

  We both let out dream sighs. “Oh, Thor.”

  “Loki’s not bad either.”

  I give her a conspiratorial grin. “A Loki and Thor sandwich is the best.”

  Meagan places a hand on her heart. “I’d never go hungry or be sexually frustrated evah again.”

  I snicker. “Amen, sister.”

  Meagan grabs my phone and types in a number. “Anyway, here’s her name and number. Call her. She could have something full time or part time.”

  “With Chris Hemsworth?”

  “Anything could happen,” she says with a shrug.

  “But not to me. If she has a job available, it will probably be for some middle-aged doctor. Or someone else very staid.” I check the time and grab my purse, searching through it for a twenty. I snag it and stand up. “I have to go. My shift starts in an hour.”

  Waving me on, she says, “My treat.”

  I narrow my gaze. “It can’t always be your treat.”

  She sighs. “Landry—”

  Leaning down, I hug her and manage to slip the twenty on the table at the same time. “Don’t you Landry me. I can’t be in a one-sided relationship.”

  “No wonder you suck as a girlfriend,” she teases.

  “A boyfriend is required to be one of those,” I grumble, straightening. “I’m exceptionally bad at keeping one of those.”

  “Because you don’t suck?”

  I gasp in mock outrage. Although, my lack of boyfriend is due to my former four years of a heavy class load due to not wanting to pay for an extra year, and a work schedule that made me look like The Walking Dead most days. Something that might be hot for Darryl, but not for attracting the guys at UNC-Charlotte. “Remind me why we’re friends again?”

  “Because you know all my secrets and love me anyway.” This time, the teasing note in her voice is gone. I do know her secrets. All of them. The choice she was forced to make our freshman year, and the consequences that continue to haunt her. My heart still aches for her and what she lost.

  “Always, Meagan.” I blow her a kiss. “Don’t wait up for me.”

  “Later, babe.”

  I catch the bus and ride it to King’s. The nightclub is very popular, and the tips are amazing in the VIP sections. I work there instead of the main floor, because the manager knows she can count on me for two very important things: One—I never sleep with the patrons. Two—I always show up on time.

  “Landry, you’re in Room Four tonight,” John calls out as I walk through the back entrance, flashing a tight-lipped smile. He’s one of six bouncers always on staff.

  I blink. Room Four aka The Royal Room is reserved for the most exclusive guests of King’s, like if the new owner and his wife want to have a night out on the town, or if Beyonce and Jay-Z wants to chill, without worrying about inciting a riot.

  Despite my stellar reputation, usually other girls are sent up there. I think I’m th
e only person working at King’s who has never actually met a celebrity. By the time I get there, they’ve just left or if my shift is over, they arrive a minute later.

  “Owner or celebrity?” I ask, my heart racing as I stop in front of John.

  “Owner’s brother,” John says with a grimace.

  “And he wants me?”

  “Mr. Montgomery requested you.”

  I raise my brows to my hairline. “Requested me?”

  John winces. “Girl, if your voice gets any higher, you’ll be shattering mirrors, and then how will all those narcissistic assholes know if their swagger is just right?”

  I giggle, thinking of some of the class acts we get in here. For the most part, they’re nice, but some are exactly what John is describing. “Will you be on call?”

  “I requested it.”

  Lightly punching him in the shoulder, I say, “Knew you loved me best.”

  “Shouldn’t that be the other way around, baby girl?”

  “Chelsea would kill me if I told you,” I point out, and he laughs. He and Chelsea, one of the bartenders, had gotten married last year. She was as tough as him, could handle any guy acting the fool at the bar, and I was not-so-secretly afraid of her.

  “You’re on in thirty. Best be getting all dolled up now.”

  Saluting John, I start for the dressing room so I can change into my uniform of fishnet stockings, tall boots, black hot pants, and a snakeskin print bustier. If I even attempt to run, my boobs will pop out and give me a black eye.

  I sigh thickly as I apply another coat of mascara. Is it any wonder I want a job where none of this would be required? Although, I have to admit I actually love the bustier, and I would love even more to have someone to wear it for.

  Before I know it, time’s up and I have to make my way up two flights of stairs. When I get to Room Four, it’s already occupied and Layla is serving drinks. One of the guys palms her butt. She playfully swats at the hand and then heads my way, rolling her eyes.

  “Watch out for Mr. Big Shot in there, if you don’t want to play,” she whispers into my ear before kissing my cheek. “But he is a big tipper and from what Jasmine said, big in other places, too. So, let me know if you have dibs, and I’ll back off.” She smacks my tail, and I paste on a brilliant smile.

  “He’s all yours,” I say through my teeth.

  A round of catcalls greets me as I walk in. Great. They’re turned on by the lipstick lesbian act.

  “Excuse me, miss?” I turn my attention to the opposite side of the room. On the plush, leather sofa sits one of the most gorgeous men I’ve ever seen. Dark blond hair, light eyes, and a mouth made for sinning greets me. But that’s not all... oh no, he has sort of a playboy businessman thing going, wearing dark slacks and a light blue, button-down shirt, with the cuffs turned up to reveal muscled forearms.

  I swallow. Down, Landry. He’s just another customer after all. Nothing to write home about. Besides, I have a job to do, and money to make.

  I sashay over to him. “What can I get you?”

  He lifts his eyes to mine, and I want to groan. It’s not fair for a man to have such pretty features. His eyes are gray and framed by lashes so thick and long that they should be on a contestant in a beauty pageant. That gaze of his stays right on my face—something unexpected in a bar and especially in a private room.

  “What’s your name?” he asks, in a slow drawl that makes me think of hot summer nights and skinny-dipping.

  Since we don’t have to give out our real names, I give him my fake one. “Lisa.”

  He grunts, one corner of his luscious mouth pulling up. Yes, I said it. Luscious. A word normally reserved for a woman, but those lips, all full and plump, are exactly that.

  “You don’t look like a Lisa,” he says, his head tilting to one side.

  “Well, you look like you’re thirsty. Would you like tonight’s special?” I ask, trying to distract him. I bend at the waist a little. Boobs always distract the straight ones. Sometimes the gay ones, too. For some reason, every gay man I know loves boobs.

  “How long have you worked here?”

  The question throws me off guard. Shouldn’t he be hitting on me right now? “Long enough.”

  “Are you a student?”

  “Until I graduate.” The less information I give, the better. I don’t need some psycho rich guy stalking me, like one had Justine. It had taken a restraining order and then jail time to keep that asshole from messing with her ever again. “You?”

  He shakes his head. “College is not for me.”

  For a moment I let my guard down and study him objectively. He can’t be older than twenty-five or twenty-six. “How old are you?”

  He smiles, and I feel my knees get all weak. “Old enough.”

  “Touché, pussycat.” My eyes round, and I want to die. I did not just say that. The phrase is something my family says when we play board games and whip up on each other. Nervous laughter bubbles up before I can stop myself. I wince and bite my lip.

  “Laughing not allowed?”

  “Sometimes it gives the wrong impression.

  He raises his brows. “I don’t know about that.”

  “You’re supposed to get her number, not her fucking life story,” a guy calls out.

  My face heats, like I’ve just been caught making out on the couch by my parents. Mr. Big Shot flashes a look of annoyance at the guy behind me and then shakes his head. “Ignore my brother.”

  “Half brother, bitch.”

  Before I can give the half brother asshole a piece of my mind, Mr. Big Shot beats me to it. “Language, Walker. Lisa’s a lady.” He flashes me an apologetic smile.

  “Fuck off, Beau.”

  Mr. Big Shot’s name is Beau Montgomery? The name sounds familiar to me, but I can’t place it, other than brother to Chase Montgomery, the owner. “Drink?”

  “Two bottles of VOSS.”

  Water? I force my expression back to full on sexy and friendly. I practice this look in front of the mirror every time I come to work and can make it in my sleep Seriously. Meagan took a picture of me doing it.

  “Anything else?” I step back and angle my hip in such a way to let him know that drinks are the only thing I’m offering. Just in case he decides his half brother is right.

  “Yeah.” He gently grabs my wrist and pulls me closers. Heat arcs between us, from that spot we’re touching, straight to parts of me I’ve neglected over the years. I’m not alone. His gray eyes widen for a fraction of a second before growing heavy lidded. He leans forward, and my body tightens with anticipation.

  “Make sure you serve me and not Walker,” he says, his lips touching my hair. “Hell, flirt with me and sit on my lap every now and then to make it look legit.”

  I shiver and turn toward him. “I’m not... I’m not looking to do anything more than make sure you have something to drink or even eat while y’all are here.”

  Our gazes meet. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I know, sweetheart. And I’m not looking to do anything more than make sure you don’t get any unwanted attention.”

  “John will protect me.”

  “The bouncer?” Somehow, Beau manages to sit me on his thigh. He wraps an arm around my waist, his fingers possessive as they touch me. “Baby girl, the door’s been closed for the past five minutes.”

  My gaze bounces from Beau, to the group of guys across the room, and then to the door. “I need to get out of here.”

  “Hey,” he says, cupping my jaw and turning me toward him. “No one here will do anything to you. I just figured you didn’t want the extra attention. My brother’s an uncouth asshole, but he’s not the type to assault a woman.”

  I let that knowledge settle in, even as I grow comfortable sitting on some strange guy’s leg. “Can I get your water now?”

  He immediately lets go of me and I wobble, falling forward and placing my hands on his chest. It’s broad and warm under his shirt. My pinky finger inches out, close to where it co
uld slide under the placket of buttons and touch the bare skin underneath. Never in my life have I wanted to touch someone so bad.

  “You don’t have to ask for permission.” Then he bites his lip on one side and worries it, like it’s a habit. This close I just can make out a small hole in his bottom lip. He has a piercing? “But it’s damn sexy if you do.” His hands cover mine as if he’s going to push me away. But that doesn’t happen, not at all.

  Instead, we lean into one another, like planets tilting toward a shared sun. Heat pools low, a sort of slow burn that starts between my thighs and works its way up my stomach, sliding over my breasts and further still, until even my shoulders are tingling. It’s like he’s the one touching me. I want him to touch me. I want him to follow the path of the heat he’s ignited, until we’re both hot and sweaty.

  The scent of him drifts to me, all expensive cologne with an underlying of pure male.

  “I... that is...” I lick my lips, and his steel-colored eyes follow the movement. His mouth is so close now that if I were the type to just go for it, I would nibble on his lip like he’d just been doing.

  “Lisa...” His voice is husky. Mesmerizing. “Lisa?”

  Oh, crap. “Yes?”

  “I’d like that drink.” Beau’s all business now. He clears his throat. “If you don’t mind.”

  My cheeks flame while my body turns cold. What’s wrong with me? I never hit on a patron, and I sure as heck wouldn’t hit on the owner’s brother. I practically shove away from him and jump up.

  “No, not at all.” I flash a smile in his general direction. “Be right back.”

  “You picked the wrong brother, baby,” Walker laughs as I hightail it out of there.

  I yank open the door and fall against the wall, letting the breeze cool me off and my heart find a natural beat. What had Walker meant by the wrong brother? And why in the world had I let Beau get to me like that?

  Leather creaks, announcing John’s arrival. Taking a deep breath, I turn to face him, only he’s not alone. A gorgeous redhead wearing a blue and gold bustier with a pair of shorts that leave nothing to the imagination smiles at me. It’s nice and friendly, just like always.