Sinful Desires Vol. 3(8)

That was it.

I pulled back, glaring at him and I shoved his hand away. “We're in public, Brock.”

“Look around, Piper.” He gestured towards Julien. The red-head was grinding on his lap. “Doesn't seem fair that I came to a strip club and can't get even a little action.”

I climbed off of him, hands clenching into fists. “I'm not letting you feel me up because you decided you wanted to bring your girlfriend to a strip club with you.”

He stood, holding his hands up, palms out, in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, fine.” He reached for my hand. “We can take this back to my room.” His eyes flicked over to the red-head who was finishing up her dance. “Let me see if she wants to come too.”

For a few seconds, I actually thought he was thinking of Julien and wanting his friend to have a good time. Then Brock spoke again.

“You two can dance for me and Julien.” He pulled me against him. “Get us all worked up and ready for what comes next.”

I took a step back, distancing myself from him. “I just want to go home. Alone.”

Anger flashed across his eyes. “You have to be joking. After all I've done–”

“You're going to want to stop there.” Julien was suddenly up and standing between us. “Don't say something you'll regret.”

Brock opened his mouth and Julien grabbed his friend's arm.

“Trust me, man. You wanna shut up right now.”

I couldn't see Julien's face, but there must have been something in it because Brock backed down.

“Fine.” He glared at me. “Let's go.”

Julien walked with me toward the exit while Brock strode on ahead, not even bothering to look back to see if we were following. My stomach was in knots, tightening with each step I took. I'd excused Brock's behavior on Saturday because he was drunk. Tonight, he'd had a single glass of wine. Was something wrong or was this how Brock really was? Had the guy I liked been just a mask?

I continued to think about it on the taxi ride back to my apartment. Julien and Brock had taken another cab back to the hotel. Brock hadn't even said good-bye. I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the window. The cool glass felt nice against my overheated skin.

Did I make a terrible mistake accepting that first date?





Chapter 7

I stared up at my bedroom ceiling, debating whether or not I was going to do what I wanted to do. Well, part of me wanted to do it. The other part kept saying that making the call meant giving in, admitting that I'd been wrong.

But I had been wrong, hadn't I? The claims I'd made, the righteous indignation about a comment that had truly been innocent. All of that had been based on my certainty that I was right.

Now, I wasn't so sure. Growing up, I'd had to rely on myself a great deal, and after my mom got sick, that self-reliance had only increased. After her death, I'd made all the decisions on my own, and any of them that didn't seem to end well, I'd talked myself into believing they'd still been the right things to do. Moving to Vegas was a perfect example of that. I'd made the choice, thinking that it was the best way to rid myself of painful memories and give myself a new start. When I'd discovered that the grass in Los Vegas was just as brown and dry as it was in Philadelphia, I didn't consider moving back or even moving somewhere else. The stubborn streak that had kept me moving at St. George dug in and I told myself that I was building character, that every artist had to pay their dues. All sounded like good reasons, but I knew they were lies.

Now I needed to know if I was lying to myself about Brock. Was he just another bad decision that I was justifying? I needed to talk to someone and with my mom gone, there was only one person I trusted enough to ask the tough questions.

And it was time I apologized to her.

I picked up my phone. It was two-thirty here, which meant Anastascia would've gotten home from work a couple minutes ago. I tapped her number on speed dial and listened to it ring. She answered on the second one.

“Piper,” her voice was cool and cautious, but not forbidding.

“I'm sorry, Ana.” I knew those words had to be said first. “I know you didn't mean those words how I took them.”

“I meant the ones about Brock.” Her tone had warmed, but she still sounded wary.

“I know,” I said. “But that's you looking out for me. I knew that all along. I just didn't want to hear it, so I used your comment about social circles to pick a fight.”

“It's forgotten,” she said, and I knew it was. We didn't hold grudges. “So, tell me what's been going on since we last talked.”

I sighed and felt hot tears prick at my eyelids. I hadn't realized until that very moment just how lonely I'd been. I'd told myself that I didn't need anyone, that I could take care of myself, and I had been doing just that. But now I realized how much I missed having someone to talk to.

“Hon, talk to me.” Now she sounded worried.

“It all started at the reunion  .” I knew I had to tell her everything. She had to understand all of it. “Remember when I went out for a walk?”

The words poured out of me. I told her about running into Reed and sleeping with him. About how he'd asked when he could see me again and how I'd intended for it to be just a one-time thing. Then I went on about the bachelor party and how he'd ended up taking me to dinner and confessing that his marriage was a business transaction. I sobbed so hard I could barely speak when I told her how he said he wanted to be with me.

I had to take a break, sip some water and blow my nose but I wasn’t finished. I had to tell her it all.

Tears slipped out from under my eyelids as I told her I'd slept with him again only to find out he wanted me as a mistress, nothing more. I moved from that into Brock's wedding invitation, skipping the parts of that story she already knew, and then continued with what had happened after our fight. When I finally concluded with the disastrous night at the strip club, I was crying freely, all of the pain and anger I'd been storing up coming out all at once.

“So, when I called you that night, you didn't answer because you were fucking Reed Stirling?”

“Really? That's the first thing you say?” A laugh bubbled out, slowing my tears.

“Hey, it had to be said.”

I could almost hear Anastascia smiling.

“I am so sorry he turned out to be such a bastard,” she said. “I know you'd had a thing for him since high school.”

I rubbed at my cheeks. “What are you talking about?”

“You didn't hide it as well as you thought you did.” She sounded amused. “At least from me. I don't think anyone else realized it.” Her voice hardened. “I'd even thought about setting up some sort of meeting for you two. I thought he was one of the good guys.”

“So did I.” I sniffled, but the main storm had passed.

“You did the right thing, not falling for his bullshit about how he had no choice. Everyone has a choice.”

Some of the tension inside me began to ease. I'd needed to hear someone say that I'd done the right thing. I'd spent too much time the past two years around women who would've jumped at the chance to be a mistress to someone like Reed, especially after his whole sob story about his business.

“I mean, does he really expect you to believe that a bank wouldn't loan him the money to keep the business going until it started gaining traction? He's a Stirling. Any bank in Philly would be falling all over themselves trying to give him money.”

I blinked. I hadn't even thought of that.

“Thanks, Ana. I needed to hear that.” I sat up and ran a hand through my hair, grimacing as my fingers caught on a tangle.

“Don't thank me yet,” she warned and I knew what was coming. “I'm about to share a few things you aren't going to want to hear.”

I didn't bother to protest. I knew it wouldn't do any good. Besides, I might not want to hear what she had to say, but I knew I needed to hear it.

“You need to end things with Brock.” Her statement was firm. “I know he came across all sweet and Prince Charming-like, sweeping you off your feet and everything, but he is not your white knight. That was the act. What you're seeing now, this is the real Brock.”

“The one time he'd just had too much to drink,” I couldn't stop myself from cutting in, defending him.

“Still doesn't excuse his behavior. If he knows he's a mean drunk, he should be responsible enough not to drink that much.”

Her stance on that matter didn't surprise me. She'd never had patience with people who did things when they should've known better.

“As for taking you out for an expensive dinner to apologize, because I know that's what you're going to say next, think real hard about it. Did he take you out because he felt bad, or had he already planned on going out and he just called it an apology? How long does it take to get a reservation at that place?”

My heart sank when I thought about what she was saying. Alize wasn't the kind of place people could just waltz into without a reservation and get a prime table. Brock might've had some pull at some of the high-class restaurants in Philadelphia, but I didn't think that'd work here. Vegas had too many high rollers. Unless he was a regular at Alize or had some big business connections, I was pretty sure he'd have to make a reservation like everyone else. I might've been wrong, but my gut, combined with Anastascia's unwavering conviction told me otherwise.