After the dance, I tried to analyze my feelings, and then I thought of David. He was the love of my life… or so I thought, and yet in the almost eighteen months we had been together, I don’t ever recall having such an electric connection to him such as I felt when Wyatt was watching me dance. That was fascinating to me, and the mere fact that I don’t have a shred of guilt over that connection makes me wonder if I’m beginning to finally accept that David and I are really through.
Padding down my short, narrow hallway that houses just my room on one side and a small, dingy bathroom on the other, I start pulling off my clothes… micro-stretch denim skirt, off-the-shoulder rayon shirt, slutty red bra. By the time I reach into the shower to turn on the water, I’m ready to shimmy out of the matching, bright red panties and wash the heavy layer of scummy job off my body.
The water is pleasant and soothing, but I make quick work of it, as the hot water doesn’t last more than five minutes. Another ten minutes and my body and face are moisturized and my hair is dried to a sufficient level of dampness that I don’t mind going to sleep on. I cross the hall into my bedroom and slip on a pair of cotton pajama shorts and a matching white camisole, then turn toward my bed for some much-needed sleep.
Just as I reach out to pull back my blanket, I hear a knock at the door. Instantly, I go on high alert, because there shouldn’t be anyone at my door. Best-case scenario—it’s a neighbor needing a poorly timed cup of sugar; next best—a potential rapist; and worst-case—it’s Simon Keyes, who has found out that I am not Nikki O.
I walk softly toward the front door, pausing at my couch, where I reach under the cushion and pull out my Glock 22 .40 Caliber handgun. A quick pull on the slide to chamber a round, and I have it cocked.
There’s no safety on this gun so I hold it loosely at my side, my forefinger grasping around the stock rather than the trigger. I walk to the door and curse to myself that there’s no peephole.
“Who is it?” I call out.
“Raze,” I hear back, his voice low.
I reach up and slide the safety chain off, unlock the door, and open it. And God… how can a man be that gorgeous, particularly at 2:45 AM, after spending all day and night in a slimy strip club. His hair is perfectly spiked, his black t-shirt pulled tight over a broad chest, and a darkening of scruff over his jaw and chin.
“Gonna invite me in?” he asks, and I blink at him stupidly.
“Andrea?” he prompts, and I blink once more before I give a slight cough and step back from the door.
“Yeah… of course. Come in.”
He walks past me and I shut the door, relocking it but foregoing the chain. He turns, and his eyes glance down at the gun in my hand. “Good girl,” is all he says.
I give him a nod of my head and then eject the magazine. A quick pull of the slide and the lone round pops free and clatters to the floor. I deftly pick it up, push it back into the top of the magazine, and slide it back home. Now I have a fully loaded gun but without a round in the chamber, that I can safely store back under my seat cushion and not worry about it inadvertently discharging and shooting me in the ass while I watch TV.
“What are you doing here?” I ask as I turn away from him and walk back to the couch to hide the Glock.
“Just needed to touch base… fill you in on some things. See how things are going on your end.”
“Should you be here?” I ask him skeptically. “I mean… what if Simon had you followed or something? That would look suspicious.”
Wyatt shrugs his shoulders and walks over to sit in the old recliner, his fingers idly smoothing the patch job over a hole in the armrest that is repaired with duct tape. “Nah… I’d just tell him I was sniffing around you, hoping to get laid.”
I sit down on my couch, feeling the lump of the gun under me, and cock an eyebrow at him. “He doesn’t care if you bang the hired help?”
“Nope,” he says candidly. “He sort of expects all the guys to sample. Sort of a perk of the job, so to speak.”
“And have you sampled?” I ask before I can even help myself.
His eyes appraise me, even raking over my body to take stock of my pajamas. I pull my bare legs up under me, suddenly self-conscious, which is ridiculous. He’s seen every inch of my naked body, a thought that causes my face to flame red as I sit here in close proximity to him.
“Undercover work is hard,” he says with a smirk. “We have to do things to maintain that cover. Play a role, so to speak. Sacrifice our principles.”
“And I suppose you’re all about the role play?” I ask candidly.
Wyatt gives a low chuckle and scratches at his chin, his eyes lowering to the floor. When they rise back up, he looks me dead in the eye. “I didn’t sample. Didn’t sacrifice my principles. Wasn’t necessary, as it’s not something Simon watches, per se. But if it was required of me to get this job done, I’d sample the entire stock.”
I give him a dim smile, although I’m immensely relieved for some reason that he didn’t sleep with any of the other girls. “I get it. This operation is too important. I mean… we’ve all heard of the undercover cop that has to use drugs to get in good with the drug dealers. It’s a necessary evil.”
“Did that evil,” Wyatt mutters, and my eyebrows shoot sky high.
“You did undercover narcotics?”
He nods with a hard glint in his eye. “For an operation that lasted almost a year. Was in pretty deep but it was a successful bust.”