She avoids my eyes. “No, it’s not that. I mean”—she shrugs—“I know what you’re thinking, and you’re partially right. I’ve never been one to say no to a hook up.”
Anger flares quick and hot. “No, fuck no. I never thought that about you.” Did I? Well, I don’t anymore. Unless, is that all this is?
“It’s okay if you did.” She pulls a rubber band from her hair and shakes out her messy braid. “I’m not going to lie. I like using my body for pleasure, and I’m not above giving it just because I know I can.”
I swallow back the sour taste her words evoke.
“But a girl has to draw the line somewhere, right?” An awkward giggle rumbles in her throat.
I sit with one ass cheek to the tailgate and rub the back of my neck, trying to force blood back up and into my brain. “I don’t understand.”
“I’ve never had a man, um, go down.”
“What?” No fucking way. Curiosity sizzles through my blood. “Never?”
“Nope.” She dips her chin and twirls a long strand of her hair. “I know you probably don’t believe me, and that’s okay, but it’s something I’ve been saving.”
“For who?”
She cringes. “You’ll think I’m stupid.”
I angle more towards her, my fingers itching to comfort and erase her insecurity. “Not at all, but no shit, I’m curious as hell.”
“I was raised that a woman should save herself for her husband. Obviously, I messed that up, but I thought if I could save one thing for him, that would be it.”
“Huh.” I climb up into the truck bed and sit next to her. “So everything else—”
“I’ve done. Yeah.” She picks at a loose thread on the button of the flannel shirt.
“But never—?”
“No. Men only care about getting off, so it’s never been a problem before.” She shrugs.
“Sounds like you’ve been with the wrong men.” My fists numb and my jaw aches.
She blinks up at me. “Stop staring at me like I’ve grown a second head.”
I move my gaze from her, wondering what the hell I must look like from her perspective and not wanting to make her ashamed or embarrassed.
“What are you thinking?” She whispers and concern etches her question.
“I think”—I meet her stare—“you’re pretty spectacular.”
With the light from a billion stars, I watch her full lips pull into a grin. “You do?”
“Yeah, Trix, I do.” The feel of her name from my lips is off now, like something has changed between us. She’s no longer Trix the exotic dancer, but a girl, a woman who is saving a very intimate part of herself for only one man—one very fucking lucky man who will end up being her partner for life, protecting her, shielding her from heartbreak, cherishing her love, and ensuring her happiness.
“Hey, can you tell me what your real name is?” I have to know. With every bit of my soul, I want to know who this woman is outside of the G-strings and stiletto heels.
Her face twists in confusion. “My real name?”
“I’m assuming Trix is a made-up name, you know, to create and entice the fantasy.”
She bites her lip, thinking. “Hmm. And what would you say is so enticing about the name Trix?”
Seems pretty obvious to me. She can’t be clueless about it, but she wants to hear me say it. I’ll play. “Trix is a sweet tasting cereal that melts in your mouth. It’s like candy, sweet like you.”
“Ah, aren’t you the charmer.” She holds up a finger. “I’ve also heard Trix implies I ‘turn tricks,’ like I’m a hooker.”
I shrug one shoulder, ashamed to admit it, but . . . “Yeah, that too. Creating the fantasy.”
She laughs and drops her chin. “If my dad hears this, he’ll wish they’d renamed me,” she mumbles.
“So, what’s your real name?”
She peeks up at me and smiles. “Beatriks, with a ‘k.’ It’s the Russian form of Beatrice.”
“Your real name is Trix?”
“Yeah.” She laughs, and the sound shoots straight to my groin.
“Wow.” I study her: big eyes that, even though it’s too dark to see, I know are blue with the slightest hint of lavender, full lips, and under all the blond and purple hair is a natural blond that I bet lightens bright white in the sun. “Beatriks.”
“My brothers and sisters call me Bea, like bee-ah.”
“Bea.” I tuck a few loose strand of her hair behind her ear. “That’s cute. I like it.”
I like it. I like her, and fuck if all this information about her isn’t making me even more curious.
Twelve
Trix
“Take your pick.” Mason holds up a bag. “Peppered”—he holds up another bag—“or teriyaki.”
“Hmm . . .” I’m sitting with my back leaning against the pick-up truck cab as I survey my options. “That depends. Are we going to be kissing again?”
He nods repeatedly, even closes his eyes for emphasis. “Oh yeah, there will be a lot of kissing, but”—he tosses me the peppered flavor jerky—“I can tell by the way you’re eyeballin’ this bag that you like it spicy, and lucky for you, I do to.”