Chapter 2: Close Call

"Are you even wearing any clothes under there at all?" Derek asked, eyeing her long pink trench coat.

"Don't be gross."

"It's a legitimate question, considering your current line of work."

"Get in the car, Derek." Casey clicked twice on her remote key and the lights on her car flashed.

Derek stopped dead in his tracks. It was a windy night, and he could smell the stink from the dumpsters behind the club on the breeze. The fumes weren't enough to budge him. "Wait, that's your car?"

"Uh, duh?"

"I am not getting in that girl-mobile. I feel like I'm losing man points just standing near it."

Sighing, Casey leaned against the trunk of her used VW Bug. The celery green paint reflected the green and pink of the club's neon sign. "I can't believe you're still this immature. Man points? Is this anything like the 'male code'?"

"Not at all. The 'male code' is something I made up. Man points are grave matters. Lose too many and you're required to watch Streisand movies."

"Wouldn't you just lose more man points because you watched a Streisand movie?"

"It's a vicious cycle."

"Ah, but you see, I'm sure you'd regain more than enough man points if the reason you're getting in the car is to get a private lap dance from a super hot babe." Casey smiled with presumptive victory as Derek stroked his chin.

"There is one flaw in your logic," he said.

"Oh?"

"Your situation requires a super hot babe, which, sadly, this situation seems to be lacking."

"Just get in the damn car!"

The Holiday Inn wasn't far from the club, one of the reasons Ted had managed to drag him there in the first place. The man at the front desk didn't bat an eyelash as Casey strolled through the doors, powder blue duffle slung over her shoulder, and a nervous Derek at her side. He had pictured the conversation in his head—he'd be a prick, she'd call him on it, he wouldn't care, she'd back down, but somehow his plan veered wildly off course.

Sliding the key into the reader, he heard the inevitable click, and the door swung open.

"No turning back now," he muttered to himself, flipping the light switch.

"Did you say something?" Casey asked, surveying the room. The two queen beds had matching hideous red and brown blankets, fashioned from the same standard issue nylon hotels seemed to favor for blankets, curtains, and chair upholstery. A desk and a chair sat opposite the beds, next to the TV which perched atop the ubiquitous low wooden hotel dresser.

"Cozy, isn't it?"

Rolling her eyes, Casey plopped her duffle on top of the dresser, pulling out an iPod dock.

"Derek, can you pull that chair away from the wall?"

He just nodded, licking his lips. This was a bad idea. The chair wasn't heavy, but he set it down with a thunk the guests below would certainly hear. Casey looked up from her iPod, shooting him a reassuring smile.

It just made him more nervous. She on the other hand, simply shrugged off her trench, grabbed her duffle and headed for the bathroom.

"I need to change. Make yourself comfortable."



"Make yourself comfortable?" Derek mouthed at his reflection. He stared at the chair with its ugly red seat and chipped walnut stain. He ran a finger over the curve of the back, and dusted off the cushion. Grimacing with imagined pain, Derek gingerly sat down. It felt like a normal chair, not particularly relaxing, but something he could sit on through a fancy dinner if he had to. It didn't feel like a chair in which he'd get a lap dance from his step-sister, but then he didn't think that there was a single chair in the world designed for that circumstance.

"Just remember," he told his reflection, "no matter how scary this gets, I need you to tough it out."

The man in the mirror simply shook his head.

The bathroom door creaked open and his jaw dropped. Her hair hung in long, loose waves down her back, and she'd taken off most of the make up from the club. She was barefoot, too, making his small hotel room feel more intimate than the tiny office they'd been trapped in earlier. But the real problem was the lacey blue bra and g-string.

"Even though this is an unsanctioned event, I'm imposing the club rules. Rule number one: No matter how I touch you, you are never allowed to touch me." Casey paused, making sure he was listening. "Rule number two: if you violate rule one, I'm allowed to castrate you. Is that clear?"

Derek nodded numbly, and she pushed play.

A woman's voice filled the room, accompanied by a slow electronic beat, but it was impossible for him to pay attention; Casey had started to dance. Hands over her head, eyes closed, she danced.

He had seen her dance several times before: as a cheerleader, at recitals, even at the strip club. But this was different. Casey had always been dancing for an audience then. Now Casey was dancing just for him.

Her hips swayed to the music. There was a pattern to them, a hypnotic rhythm of left, right, and around. She liked how intensely he watched her. His eyes were glued to her hips, so she dragged her hands up her body. His gaze followed. Her own boldness made her blush, but she tried to keep the unprofessional thoughts at bay. He was just a man, after all, and this was just a job.

Their eyes met, and Derek swallowed hard at the smile that played on her lips. He hoped she couldn't read his thoughts, but he guessed she had an inkling. With nothing but his undivided attention, Casey had him right where she wanted. Slowly she sauntered up to him, heart pounding. Close to him, the room seemed twenty degrees hotter, the flush of her cheeks spreading across her chest.

With a grace Derek hadn't seen before, Casey spun into a backbend. She draped herself over his torso, but held her body away from his using the chair as leverage. Her hair almost obscured the view of her cleavage, but the smell of her added another dimension to the heat between them.

In the years of living on his own, he hadn't realized how much he missed her perfume. Now that he'd smelled it again, he understood why so many men were willing to pay her for attention. He clung to the edges of his seat to keep from burying his fingers in her silken curls.

Slowly, she lowered herself into his lap, hips never pausing in their sensuous twists. The stubble of his chin brushed her arm, making her shiver and almost lose her grip. Suddenly, her stubborn refusal to quit her job seemed worth anything—anything but the fluttering in her stomach. Her back touched cloth, the warmth of his body making her light-headed.

It had become obvious that he was enjoying her little show, even if he wasn't going to admit it. It was a heady feeling, knowing that he was attracted to her like this, a rush bigger than any of the cheap thrills she'd had prying dollars from paying customers. This was Derek, and right now, all he was thinking about was the way she felt.

With a gentle nudge, Casey pushed his legs apart, sliding down his thighs. He jumped when her hands trailed down after her, and really wished he could adjust himself without looking like an asshole. She looked over her shoulder to make sure he was watching, and, one-handed, unclasped her bra.



Before, at the club, it was public nudity. Here, it was private, and she was doing this because he'd told her to, fully expecting her to refuse. Arm across her breasts, Casey crawled back up the same way she'd come down, drawing her bare skin across every inch of Derek she could. She straddled him, settling on top of his hardness. Their eyes met again, and more than the music and the sensuality of the dance, more than the press of him rubbing so intimately against her, the dark, masculine look he gave her made her tremble a little.

Carefully tucking her legs underneath her, Casey wound her fingers in his shaggy hair. She pulled his head back as she pressed herself closer to him. Derek had to bite his lip to keep from groaning at the conflicting sensations—warm, soft woman versus the pain of her sharp tug. She rose to her knees, looking down at him, fighting to steady her breathing. Without warning, she released her grip, and Derek was lost in the valley of her breasts. He could hear her heart beat and could see the skin around her nipple pucker as it became erect, but he didn't move, hoping she wouldn't either.

Blue eyes bright with curiosity, she watched his face as he tried to respect the boundaries she'd set down. Derek remained annoyingly calm, not touching her, not kissing her, not running his tongue over the peaks of her nipples. Instead, Casey again grasped him by the hair, gently pulling his head back so he could answer her unspoken question.

It was boiling in the tiny room. Derek felt his skin start to burn where she pressed against him. A slick bead of perspiration slid between her breasts. The music stopped, and the silence only added to the heat.

She alternately loosened and tightened her hold on him, sending tingles across his scalp and down his spine, but his gaze never wavered from her eyes. Bringing her free hand to his face, her slim fingers played across his brow, down his cheek, and over his chin. Derek's forearms started to shake with effort as dug his nails into the plywood underneath the cushion.

Casey's thumb wandered across his bottom lip. He pleaded with his dark brown eyes for her to stop, and was only met by her pondering smile. It was Casey's version of a smirk, a contemplative twist at the corner of her mouth. Already infuriated at how calm she was, frustrated by her teasing hips, and incredibly turned on by her nearness, it was the grin that broke him.

His hands rose, almost by a will of their own.

The door clicked, and the yellow light of the hall flooded into the claustrophobically small room. "Shit man, I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"Ted," Derek croaked.

Stifling a shriek, Casey sprang off his lap and dashed into the bathroom.

Derek groaned, heaving himself to his feet. "Fuck, man, can't you knock?"

Ted just shrugged and flopped down on one of the unmade beds, drunk. Finally able to adjust himself, Derek stretched and knocked on the bathroom door. Without warning, Casey brushed past him, pink trench hastily buttoned. She took one look at Ted sprawled out on the bed and bolted down the hallway.

"Casey, wait!" Derek sprinted after her, catching up just as the elevator doors started to shut. Waving desperately at the motion sensor, he slipped inside with her.

"Case," he reached for her, but she flinched away, afraid to touch him again. "Don't be…"
"You've made your point," she interrupted, unable to look at him. "I'm humiliated. Good job."

"That's not what…"

"Just leave me alone." Arms crossed, Casey scrunched into the corner, trying to get as far away as she could.

He reached for her, but she slapped his hand away. "Casey, stop it."

"Derek, if you don't get out of this elevator I'll…"

"You'll what? Call me a jerk?" He raised an eyebrow at her.



"Ooh! Get out you…you…idiot!" Wielding her duffle in front of her, she pushed him out of the elevator and stabbed furiously at the close door button.

She could hear him calling her name as the elevator started its descent. Wiping at her eyes, she wondered how many pints of Ben & Jerry's it was going to take to make the knot in her stomach go away.