Page 4 of Their Pup to Tame

I made sure he was watching me as I raked my gaze over his body, drinking in the sight of those well-worn, thigh-hugging jeans that tapered at the hip, leading right to the strip of skin that peeked out from beneath the hem of his cropped t-shirt.

Son of a bitch, there was a darkened, bluish-purple patch of flesh peeking out of the waistband like someone had been aiming for his ribs.

“Sasquatch would be my brothers,” Phoenix remarked. “I have the misfortune of being the runt of the litter.”

“For fuck’s sake, if you’re the runt, they’d be wearing my chandeliers for top hats,” I muttered, eyeing him up and down again.

“Pretty much.”

“So why are you the one running security at the strip club, then?” I asked. “Why not stick the biggest guy at the door and let him scare the fuck out of everyone who goes in there?”

“Because size doesn’t mean he can beat me when we square off,” Phoenix pointed out. “Doesn’t mean the biggest guy is the meanest, either, though we do try to position someone at the door who can put the fear of the goddess into the idiots. “Unfortunately, whenever alcohol is involved, the first inhibition that bites the dust is fear.”

“What’s the second?” I asked, curious to learn more about how he viewed the folks he was forced to deal with at his job.

“Being self-conscious,” he said as he pulled a chair out.

“Yeah, I guess that tracks.”

It took no time at all to brew the refreshers, spike them, and pour the mixture over ice, slice the cake, and make sure each piece was liberally drenched in maraschino cherry juice and adorned with fat, red cherries.

“Have you ever thought about doing something else besides bouncing?” I asked as we settled in to eat, monster truck races on the countertop television beside the microwave.

“Yeah, but thinking doesn’t keep my wallet full,” Phoenix replied. “So, no trying to recruit me the way you did Murry and Raleigh. It’d be too damn tempting. The club has been run by my family for three generations now. I feel obligated to do my part, ya know? The shitheads will clear out soon enough, and things will be back to the normal level of bull-shittery in a week or so. We just have to weather the storm until they move on up the coast.”

“You shouldn’t have to put up with that crap.”

“Unfortunately, the people who come to the kind of place we run aren’t the sort to care about what others think of them, so they’ve got no problem showing their asses in public. Even if they get arrested, they’re laughing about it come Monday night because they know we can’t ban all of them or we’d have no clientele left.”

“Maybe you should think about attracting a better class of clientele,” I suggested.

“Oh man,” Phoenix said, lightly slapping his knee, “I can just see my uncles’ faces now if I suggested we look to attract more upscale patrons. They’d laugh my ass right outta the office. Some of the knuckleheads are a pain in the ass sometimes, but most nights it’s chill, and the dance routines are amazing.”

“Uh-huh,” I muttered, “I doubt it’s just the routines that are amazing.”

His grin said more than words, cake crumbs clinging to his lips as he shoved another moist forkful past them. I’d have to keep cake on hand for future opportunities like this, because there was something about Phoenix that had already attached itself to a piece of my heart. It grew more after every encounter, reminding me of how empty my life had been before I hadmurder mystery suppers and game nights with friends to look forward to again. Even if that was all we’d ever be, I wanted a life for him that didn’t involve constant fights and scars, especially if they began eroding that gorgeous soul of his.

Hero.

Protector.

I wanted to be the one to watch his back so maybe he’d be able to drop his guard for a change, because I’d glimpsed his pup a few times now when he’d been relaxed and playing with Murry and Raleigh.

And each time I’d longed to lure him out more and make him mine.

2

PHOENIX

“Man, it’s nice to have a tame Friday night for a change,” Malachi said, bumping shoulders with me in the shadows to the left of the stage where we had the perfect vantage point to spot trouble before it broke out in this part of the strip club.

The moment the words left his mouth, I longed to kick-start a brawl of my own, with him as the unlucky recipient of a right hook with enough force behind it that he’d be eating through a straw for at least a week.

“Fucker…” I snarled.

He slapped a hand over his face the moment he realized what he’d done. It was too late though; those words, uttered with an hour and some change left before closing time, ensured that something would pop off before the night was through.

Son of a bitch.