I assess her nonchalance, wishing I could adopt some of my own. “So he didn’t give you stalker vibes?”
She shakes her head. “Nah. He’s a corporate type. Full suit and tie. Clean-cut. He looked promising. I even tried to get him to go next door so I could coerce him for a dance later. He shot me down. Said he had a long week of work and stopped in to kill some time before meeting up with family.” She shrugs and starts to walk off. “A little uptight, but he seemed harmless.”
“That’s what all those girls thought about Ted Bundy until he started chopping off their heads,” I call after her.
She laughs and blows me a kiss. “Love you, Vi. Don’t get lured into any cars tonight, okay?”
“I’ll try not to.” My retort is dry, but my fears seem to have diminished. She waves before walking out the door of the bar to the attached gentlemen’s club to start her shift.
Skyla has been my best friend since I met her last year. Our stories are similar, in that we’ve both been through rocky divorces, we both became single moms who came out on the short end of joint custody with our kids, and we’re both working a number of jobs to make ends meet.
She’s also the only one who knows about my masked secret. Correction—a memory of Jamison’s heated gaze recognizing me at that party flashes through my mind—two people know my secret now.
I can still feel the lights beaming down on me from when I started dancing for him. And the rush that shot through me when he watched me move. Of course I knew who he was. That was why I picked him out from the crowd and sent Rhonda over to get him.
The power I held that night while dancing for my childhood best friend was as sinful as it was thrilling. He didn’t know the woman who owned his gaze was the same girl he used to watch dance growing up. That was the best part of my performance that night. He was clueless.
Even as his eyes tracked my every move.
Even when my breath hit his neck and my hands slid down his rock-hard chest.
Even when I planted myself in his lap and rode him like I’d dreamed of for too many years.
I knew what I was doing was wrong in every possible way. I took advantage of my disguise, stealing what could have been mine all those years ago. Pretending his hard body was all for me and not for the masked dancer seducing him.
He wasn’t the only one aroused that night. The heat between us alone would have been enough to make me come right there. And I might have if it weren’t for his realization the moment I pulled open my top.
I’m not sure what he recognized first. The way I moved, my scent, my eyes. I’d like to believe it was a combination of the three—that he’d recognized me because he hadn’t gotten me out of his mind, even after more than seven years apart. But the moment he said my name was like a cold shower, and the reality of the situation became all too real.
He now knows my truth, and he knows what I’ve become. It was sobering, to say the least.
I ran away from him that night, too terrified by what he now knew. In retrospect, I wish I would have stayed to talk to him, to beg him to keep my secret. He may not owe me anything, but we were best friends once. Certainly he could respect this one wish.
I’m still thinking about that night when my eyes catch on movement in the front window of the bar. The black truck is finally leaving but not before I get one good, long look at the man behind the tinted glass. Maybe it’s my imagination because I can’t make out much—just a profile of a man, nothing more. But when he pulls out of his space and the front of his truck angles toward me, I get a better view of him while he waits for traffic. Now, it all makes sense.
I have a stalker alright, and his name is Jamison Bexley.
“What the fuck, Violet? You just got here.”
“I need a few minutes. Please, Sky. Malik won’t be mad if it’s you behind the bar. Please.” I drop her hand after successfully dragging her back into the bar.
“Are you kidding me? He’ll be pissed. I’ve got VIPs coming,” she huffs.
“I’ll be back before you need to VIP. I promise.”
Skyla tilts her head in warning, shooting daggers from her eyes. “What if you aren’t? We’ll both get fired, and I need the money, Violet. This is not funny.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting the heavy emotion swirling inside me at this opportunity I cannot miss. I need to talk to Jami. I need to make him promise to keep my secret. “Please, Sky. I’m begging you for this one favor. You have my word that I’ll be back, and I promise to make it up to you.”
Tuning out another objection, I rush to my car and speed out of the lot and onto the road, heading in the direction I last saw the truck going. There aren’t many places for him to go, and if what he told Skyla was true, then the only family he’d be going to see is in Orcas Island. So I make my best guess and head toward the ferry.
My pulse only quickens when I enter the ferry parking lot and see the black truck pull up to the vessel’s drive-on line. He’s heading eastbound, toward Orcas Island. I park, exit my car, and take the walk-on lane onto the ferry. I still have time to exit if I can find him right away, but I’ll be cutting it close.
I push forward, watching as a tall figure in a black hoodie exits the truck and enters the stairwell. If there were any questions left in my mind whether or not the man in the truck was Jami, this is my biggest confirmation. I know that frame, those shoulders, that walk. It’s enough of a confirmation that I should turn around and run in the other direction, but my stubborn legs continue forward, trailing the man until he’s standing at the rail, facing the water.
My swallow feels too big for my stomach, and my breath catches in my throat. The man slips his hoodie back over his head, revealing a slicked back mane of dark-brown hair. I can see his profile clearly, leaving absolutely no question now. My heartbeat triples in time while I stare, transfixed on a man I should no longer feel this pull to.
Jamison Bexley is my past, and it was me who ruined our future.
I shouldn’t take another step toward him, but I do.
I shouldn’t be memorizing his cleanly shaven face and hard-edged jaw like he’s mine, but in the very depths of my every fantasy, he still is.
I shouldn’t get so close to him that I can inhale his rich scent as it blows with the breeze, but I take advantage of every last second.
I certainly shouldn’t attempt to ask him for any favors, but I must.
He’s too zoned out to see me, but he must feel my presence because his shoulders tense, and his head ticks like he’s about to turn around.
“You’ve been following me.” My words carry over the wind, making me sound much stronger than I feel.
His head drops slightly but he doesn’t turn to face me right away. “So you decided to follow me?”
“I’m here to tell you to stop.” This time, not even the strength in my tone can hold back the shake in my voice. Is that really what I came here to say? “Stalking is a crime, you know? I could have you arrested.”
He turns slowly, his familiar gaze practically blasting me with the heat of a blazing sun. Those eyes. Unlike everything else in my life, that smoky golden-brown haze hasn’t changed one bit. But the rest of him… I take one sweeping look at his black slacks and white button-down shirt exposed beneath his unzipped hoodie. Save for the pink tie hanging loosely around his neck, he looks almost identical to how he looked the night I danced for him.