“Marcus.”
“Marcus,” I snapped and watched his very fine lips twitch.
Whatever.
I carried on.
“You and Smithie will have no problems from me.”
“I didn’t suspect we would.”
“Good,” I returned. “So thank you for…” I lifted a hand and flitted it through the air, watching his shades move to it and stay locked on it in a way that made me feel funny, “your kindness, but there’s no need to take it further.”
When I dropped my hand to my lap, he rocked back on his heels, his shades returning to me.
He didn’t say anything for a long time, he just looked at me, and I fought squirming.
Finally, he spoke.
And when he did it, his deep voice wrapped around the words warmly, communicating that warmth to me.
“Daisy, I’d very much like to take you to dinner.”
“Thanks,” I returned sharply, using my tone to fight back that funny feeling that just kept growing. “But no thanks. I don’t need a pity date, not to mention…” I lifted my hand again, this time to gesture stiltedly to my face, “I’m not feelin’ good about goin’ to some fancy place and bein’ on show.”
“I don’t pity you,” he told me.
“Really?” I asked, cocking my head again, feeling my hair move and seeing his head shift slightly so I knew he watched it. “A girl who got the skin scraped off her ass in a parking lot because some guy tore her clothes off, threw her to the blacktop, and banged the shit outta her when she was only kinda conscious?” I righted my head and nodded. “Right. I get it. You don’t pity that kind of girl. My kind. I work a pole, I got it comin’.”
I stopped talking, but I’d done it so heatedly, I’d stupidly not paid close attention to him while I was doing it.
So when I stopped talking, I had no choice but to pay attention because the entirety of Marcus Sloan had changed. Every inch. Every molecule. The change filled the air and circled around me, drawing me into its snare like I was Snow White reaching for the apple, even knowing the dangers that lurked if I took a bite.
“I misspoke,” he whispered, his words slithering over my skin, not like a snake.
Like silk.
And they kept doing it as he kept speaking.
“I don’t pity you. I’m very sorry for what happened to you. What you endured. Very sorry, Daisy. However, I don’t wish to have dinner with you because I pity you. I wish to have dinner with you because you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
Yep.
My mouth dropped open at that too.
“It’s too soon for you,” he murmured. “I apologize. We’ll take this slow. To that end, I’d be honored if you’d have lunch with me on Friday. Somewhere quiet where you won’t feel on show.”
“It’s Wednesday,” I told him something he likely knew, but it being Wednesday, no way my face would be okay to go to lunch anywhere by Friday.
Not at all.
Definitely not with a man like him.
And taking it slow meant taking it slow. Friday was only two days away. That wasn’t slow!
“Yes,” he agreed.
“I…you…uh…”
I stopped talking.
“Friday,” he decreed.
“No,” I whispered.
He seemed to lean toward me.
At that perceived movement, I scrambled off the bench and took a big step back.
His hands came out of his pockets and he lifted them to his sides.
“Daisy, I won’t—”
“No,” I shook my head. “No more flowers. No lunch on Friday.”
“Please, I simply—”
“No.”
It came out strangled.
Then I turned and ran.
But I heard him order curtly, obviously not to me, “Make sure she gets home safely.”
And whoever it was did just that if the Mercedes trailing me in my Porsche was anything to go by.
Crap.
Damn.
Shit.
I stood at the window in my apartment staring down at the Mercedes that didn’t move from sitting at the curb in front of my building.
Crap.
Damn.
Shit.
Okay.
Whatever.
Shit happened. Then it stopped happening and you moved on.
Whatever this was with Marcus Sloan would stop happening too.
And I’d move on.
I turned away from my window.
And all I saw was daisies.
* * * *
“I’m likin’ it but it needs some sparkle,” I told Chardonnay late Friday morning while sitting in the dancer’s dressing room at Smithie’s as she modeled her new stripper duds for me, doing it busting some moves.
It was pasties, a G-string, and platform stripper sandals.
She still needed sparkle.
“Daisy, where am I gonna put sparkle?” she asked, staring down at her mostly nude body.
“Glue gun the shit outta some and put it over your coochie, girl,” I advised. “Boys’ eyes go there, least that’s covered and they’re not lookin’ at your tits. Well, at least not all the time.”
“This bears contemplation,” Chardonnay murmured.
This bears contemplation.
This bitch slayed me.
Her name wasn’t Chardonnay. It was Penelope. She was pre-med, a senior, already accepted to medical school. She was also the shit because pretty much everyone knew she was stripping and she didn’t give a crap.