Stroke (A Miami Lust Novella Book 2) Page 6

  “Not nearly as impressive as...”

  “Our dinner's getting cold,” I bark, interrupting his comment and shaking the pizza box. I know he’s going to be crude about his dick size. “We’ll talk to you later, Dante.” We shuffle inside the door quickly and close it just as fast before he can comment any further. We both look at each other and start laughing.

  “Was he about to comment on the size of his dick?” she asks in bewilderment, swallowing a final giggle and putting on her serious face just to ask the question.

  “Yes, he was. He thinks he’s funny; always teasing, joking, and flirting. He’s one of a kind, that’s for sure,” I explain. “He’s a math genius, though. Don’t let his joking manner fool you. When it comes to numbers, he’s a super nerd and will blow your mind.”

  “Aww— I think he’s adorable, in a little brother kinda way,” she teases me.

  “Alright,” I groan with a dejected tone, “let’s eat and not talk about my baby brother and his dick.”

  Chapter 8 – Cassee

  After dinner last night, Mat surprised me by taking me out to the club so that we could meet with Lindy, the dance manager. He told her earlier in the day about the new shows for the renovation party, and she was as excited as I was hearing the news. We exchanged numbers and promised to get started on our collaboration right away. She’s picking me up shortly and we’re gonna go shopping to gather ideas.

  Lindy is about my age, and so funny. She’s also very talented and quick-minded; I could tell just from watching her face as we spoke that she had a million ideas ready to pop outta her head. I also got the chance to watch her backstage with a few of the dancers...wow, she blows my mind with her dancing skills. I know people don’t think stripping is really dancing, but she explained that most of these girls are trained dancers. They do it for the love of the craft, and who would argue that the money isn’t a bonus.

  Being backstage with the dancers really makes me long to be a part of a show. My dream has always been to see my creations on people and not just myself— ever since I used to make clothes for my Barbie’s and parade them in front of my gramma. She would clap and make a big deal of taking their pictures and ordering her favorites for her “shop”. Those were such great times. Sigh. I can’t believe she isn’t here to see my dream come true. I also can’t believe Mat is giving me this opportunity. I’m so excited I could squeal.

  He wanted to introduce me to his older brother last night as well, but Mat said he’d been in a bad mood lately and wasn’t approachable...something about the renovations and a woman. Mat thinks he’s in love, but won’t admit it. Now why would you not admit that? And why would that put you in a bad mood? Men, I don’t think I’ll ever understand them.

  My phone chimes with a text and it’s Lindy.

  L: Parking now. You ready?

  C: Yeah. Be right down!! :)

  I race out the door letting my excitement press the elevator button fifteen times coaxing it to hurry. While riding the elevator, I must confess. I Google’d “dance wear for strippers” last night and was surprised to see almost 7 million results. I browsed the top websites and got lots of ideas— I just need to know the themes. Hopefully Lindy has more thoughts on that. Basically, it all looks like a cross between bikinis and fancy lingerie with Velcro. I know I can improve on what I saw in the pile I repaired.

  Lindy is waiting outside her car and waves to me. “Girl, we are gonna have fun today!” she exclaims as I approach.

  “Yes! I need some fun in my life,” I say, high-fiving her and throwing my bag in her backseat. She drives a Mini Cooper, and I just know my long legs and my bag are both not going to fit in the front together. “Where are we going first?” I hop in and she opens the sunroof. This is gonna be so much fun hanging with a new girlfriend today.

  “We are headed up north, near Fort Lauderdale, to where most of the strippers in Dade County get their pieces,” she confesses. “Miami has a great nightlife scene, but not enough shopping options for club and dancewear.”

  “Well, that’s just ridiculous,” I scoff. “We need to change that.”

  “No, you need to change that,” she teases. “My expertise is dancing. Yours is fashion.”

  “Exactly. With your dance costume background and what needs to work for this industry combined with my fashion sense and material knowledge, we could make a great partnership!” I explain, practically squirming in my seat.

  “Alright. Don’t count your chickens before they hatch,” she says. “I’m a practical girl. Let’s see how this first collaboration works out and then we’ll talk about it. Okay?”

  I throw my bottom lip out and pout for just a second with my big puppy-dog eyes, making her laugh. “No wonder Mateo looks at you the way he does,” she blurts out, covering her mouth suddenly and pretending to have not said that last statement by looking away and paying attention to the traffic.

  “What are you talking about?” I ask. After a few moments of silence, I reach over and smack her on the thigh and beg. “What way? Tell me now! He doesn’t look at me in a certain way.”

  “Girl, you must be blind,” she declares. “His eyes get all moony with every word that drips from your lips. I don’t know if it’s those legs, the hair, the accent, those damn eyes, or the internal essence that you exude...maybe it’s everything, but he’s crazy gaga for you.

  “We’re just friends. Well, he’s my employer,” I tell her, looking away in the middle of my lie. I’ve never been a good liar.

  “Well, I’ve seen his pants tent in the front around you, and the way he fought to cover you up the other day when he mistook you for the new dancer— he’s lost it over you. I’d explore that, if you can. He’s a nice guy to catch.

  “He took me to the beach yesterday, but only because I’m new in town and without a car,” I assure her. “He is a nice guy, but I’m not sure if I’m staying. I’m only here to clean out my grandparent’s condo, get it on the market and only then go out-and-about to start my life.”

  “And why does your life not get to start until the condo goes up for sale?” she asks genuinely. “I hate to break it to you, but your life started twenty-three years ago. See how long you’ve been missing out?”

  And damn it if she isn’t right. I’ve always held back from making decisions based on future events. Never sure if it was the right move. I relied heavily on my grandparents for decision-making. Most of those events never came into play. Is that because I never took action? My whole life has been planned by my grandparents, and they aren’t here anymore. It’s time I take the reins and start living my life, personally and professionally. I’ve contemplated this issue a thousand times in my head and know that I need to take consistent action to make it a reality.

  “Hey,” she says, snapping her fingers in my face to gain my attention back. “I didn’t mean to make you search for the meaning of life in the last few minutes.”

  “No, you’re right. If I want it, I need to take it. Starting with Mat,” I announce, stretching back into my seat and enjoying the sun on my face from the sunroof. And now I feel great with that decision made. Even though I already made a move on him, I’ve been on the fence about doing more. Now, it’s set in stone.

  She turns the radio up when “Despacito” by Luis Fonsi comes on, and we both pretend to belt out the Spanish lyrics while really screwing them up. We laugh and car dance all the way up the highway. I never knew having girlfriends could be so much fun. We arrive at our first destination and I breeze through half a small notebook making little doodle drawings and combining several separate pieces together as a set. Lindy makes suggestive notes about my sketches as we pass through the store.

  We quickly make our way to the next few destinations down the street, and my love of footwear springs forth. My fingers caress and rub a few pairs that are adorned with glitter and fake gemstone roping— to the point where I seriously contemplate buying them all. But in the end, we go home empty-handed. My mind is reeling with a thousand
images right now, and I need to get into the zone of narrowed concentration. She drops me at home around dinner time and we promise to get together by the weekend to go over what I’ve drawn up.

  I quickly pull up Mat’s number in my phone, excitement bubbling up in me as I wait for the call to connect.

  “Hi,” he says, answering the call quickly. I love that he has me programmed into his phone already.

  “Hi. Guess what?” I ask, slightly laughing, waiting for one of his outrageous responses.

  “Do you really want me to guess?” he asks laughing. “You do remember the last time you wanted me to guess?”

  “Yeah, never mind. We’ll play that game later. So, Lindy and I went shopping today for ideas for the new shows,” I squeal, tapping my feet on the floor in excitement.

  “How do you go shopping for ideas? Did you buy any of those ideas?” he asks chuckling so I can hear the humor in his words. It melts my heart how playful he is.

  “No, silly. It’s called window shopping. I mix and match pieces in my mind or change top and bottom sets around in some way. I sketch them roughly, and then turn the sketches into mock-ups with material. That’s how it works,” I explain.

  “I see. Sounds like you had fun. I can hear the excitement in your voice,” he says.

  “My mind is about to explode with ideas,” I say, making an explosion noise through the phone.

  Laughing at my attempt at an explosive noise, “Great. I’m very happy for you then,” he says, “just don’t explode physically. I’d miss the hell out of you.”

  “Aww. You would, huh? I need to ask you something though,” I say, swallowing hard. I’ve always hated asking people about money. It’s such a messy topic.

  “Sure. Anything. What is it?” he asks.

  “What is my budget for this project? And do you want me to turn in receipts as I get them, or hold them all at once for one final payment?” I ask in one long quick question, practically running every word together with my nerves.

  “Take a deep breath, Cassee. They’re valid questions that you should ask,” he says assuring me. “Hmmm...let me talk to Dante about the payment and receipts part. Let me talk to both him and Thiago about the budget. I should have an answer for you shortly. Do you want me to call you back or text you with the answers?”

  “I would prefer you deliver the answers in person,” I inform him.

  “Alright,” he says. I hear him smiling through the phone. “Let me work on this then. I’ll talk to you soon. Bye.”

  I rush around the house, picking up my morning messes from clearing out my grandparents belongings. Their will left everything to me. A fact I’m sure my cousins aren’t too happy about, but it’s nothing that I can change. I’m almost done getting things settled. Most of their home is being split and donated to several local charities and St. Vincent DePaul organizations. The few things I want to keep for myself are already boxed and with my things.

  Several realtors are coming by next week for interviews and to look at the place. I don’t want to put it off too long with not knowing how the Miami market is for condos. I know nothing about this process, and am learning with each baby step I take. It’s an awful situation to have to learn something in— at times, it’s emotionally overwhelming.

  With my sketchbook in hand, I sit on the couch and round out my preliminary drawings, shading and coloring them in with final touches. I hold the red bustier sketch up to the light and already know it’s special. This one will be my masterpiece. It’s hard to know how many outfits we’ll need in all, but we’ve got plenty of time to pull it all together. I finish off the rest of the sketches and play around with more of the doodle drawings that I did earlier in the shops. Where is Mat? It’s getting really late.

  The clock strikes 11:00 pm, and I dress for bed assuming he isn’t coming. My phone is clear with no missed calls or messages. Hmmm. I guess something came up at the club and he couldn’t get away, but he could have at least called and said so. See? Men are all alike...they lack communication skills. It’s gotta be a gene that’s missing. It must be in that Y chromosome.

  I lock everything up tight, turn my phone off and put it on the charger. If he’s not going to call, then I’m not going to be available when (or more like if) he calls.

  Chapter 9 – Mateo

  She’s gonna kill me with that stubborn streak of hers — I know it. I didn’t call to let her know I wasn’t coming. One of the silks gave way with a dancer on it, and she fell down to the stage on her neck. I rode with her in the ambulance to Mercy Hospital. She’s young, single, and living here on her own. I can’t let her go through this by herself half scared to death. And I never got to finish talking with Thiago anyway. We argued over the budget. He’s being a little bitch lately. Something has crawled up his ass and he won’t shit it out.

  I sat in the emergency room with Danielle for several hours while they performed multiple imaging tests, ran blood tests and different assessments to check for nerve damage and a possible concussion. Turns out that she’s only got a concussion. Thank you, Jesus!!! She still needs to be watched for the next twenty-four hours though, so she’s back in Dante’s apartment being entertained with his shenanigans.

  In the meantime, I race to Cassee’s place to grovel for forgiveness. Zipping through yellow street lights and rolling through stop signs, the thought crosses my mind that she’s the only woman I’d do this for. That alone squeezes my chest tight. And when my thoughts stray to her leaving me soon, my lungs are paralyzed and I can’t breathe.

  I’ve tried her phone several times, but it goes straight to voicemail, which tells me that her phone is off. She must be pissed. Fuuuck!

  I pull into the complex drive and head towards the main door of her building. I nonchalantly squeeze through the front door when an older gentlemen leaves to walk his dogs. What a great security system they have here! It’s after midnight and I’m desperately afraid she’s done with me. Most women these days, when it comes to a mistake, you’re one and done. The problem is, this wasn’t a mistake, but a coincidence of bad timing. And I can’t get to her fast enough to explain. My stomach is in knots and I’ve got a bad sweat going on.

  I knock on her door at first, not wanting to scare her since it’s so late. When a few moments go by without any answer, I give in to the raw panic rising in my chest and press the doorbell several times in a row. I’m not going to pound on the door, even though every fiber in my being wants to. I hear shuffling on the other side of the door and then silence. No chains rattle. No bolts unlock— just dead silence.

  “Please Cassee, open the door. I need to see you. I need to touch you. One of the dancers got hurt and I went to the Emergency Room with them. Pleeeease, listen to me,” I beg for mercy. My palms press against the door and I hang my head low. She’s not going to budge; I’ve lost her. I listen intently to the other side of the door and there’s nothing there but more dead silence. Tears fill my eyes and threaten to roll down my face, and I’m so fucking tired my legs bow and give way, forcing me to kneel on the floor at her door.

  Every event today has pushed me beyond my limits. My brothers are being dicks about the cost of the bar renovations, especially with all of the added events we keep piling on. I’ve got two servers that quit without explanation, and it’s the weekend. Perry claims to need help with the private rooms since business has picked up, but those interviews didn’t go as planned today. I don’t trust easily and my candidates to interview were extremely limited. Danielle gets hurt, and now I’m groveling on the floor for a woman that I can’t live without.

  I look up at the peephole, hoping she’s still on the other side, and I stare at it. My eyes burn from the intensity of staring at it, forcing all of today’s regrets through that little glass eye. I scratch my face and feel the stubble growing out of control. My clothes are all wrinkled, and I’m sick with worry over losing her. This is not my best moment, but she must take pity on me for the lock clicks and the door slowly opens to me. I can’
t even move to get up, the weight of a thousand days is still on my shoulders.

  “You look like you’ve had a shit day,” she surmises, grabbing my hands and pulling me up from my knees. She reaches up and wipes my semi-dried tears from my cheeks with her thumbs. “Just look at the road maps in your eyes. C’mon, Mat. Come inside and rest.” All I can do is reach and pull her into me, hugging her tightly.

  “My world didn’t come crashing down until I thought you wouldn’t see me or let me explain my absence tonight,” I explain, rubbing her back and pressing her deeper into my embrace. She pushes me back a bit, looking directly into my tired eyes.

  “You know, I stood at this door mad at you. Anger was welling up in me, but then it suddenly dawned on me, you did show up just like you said you would. Don’t you see that? Yes, you’re late, just like I was late for the interview. You forgave me and gave me a second chance. How can I not do the same? she asks, hugging me tightly in return.

  “I’m a jaded man, with a shit ton of fucked up stuff in my life,” I mumble into the top of her hair, “but the one thing I never wanted to do was disappoint you.” I gently lift her chin with my fingers and press my lips to hers. She’s so soft and sleepy-eyed, I just want to melt into her and become one person. “Let’s just go inside so I can hold you against me, skin on skin, and forget about the past few hours. Okay?” She nods her head and leads us inside.

  The condo is almost packed up. Boxes are piled together and marked with labels noting their generic contents. The empty rooms echo as we make our way back to her bedroom. It’s another reminder that she’s leaving soon. I want to run, scream and make some noise to liven it up. It needs some of her spirit in it; some vitality, but instead, it’s cold, stark and depressing reflecting my mood. I’ve only known her for five days, but it’s been the best five days of my life.

  I sit on the edge of her bed and pull her to stand within the opening my knees offer. Wrapping my fingers around the waist of her pajama shorts, I pull them and her panties down to her knees and let them fall the rest of the way to the floor. Her triangle-shaped beauty is right at eye-level, but lust isn’t calling to me tonight. I simply want to hold her against me, taking all of the warmth and comfort I can steal from her in the time we have left. If her heart is wavering, I want to tip it in my direction with what I feel for her.