POWERHOUSE

Salem isn’t my usual, go-to type. Usually, I fall for blondes with huge tits.

Dolly Parton was my fantasy as a young boy, but there’s something so daringly unique and drawing about her, that I find myself basically stalking her. Her darker strands, dancer build with smaller breasts, along with those startling hazel eyes, captivate me. More than a handful is a waste, anyway.

I volunteer before anyone is asked to pick the girls up from their classes at Dream Dancers Studio, Aspen’s business that the club backed and is a silent partner in. I do this just to get a glimpse of her, I’ve lost my manhood since meeting Salem. I’ve nearly become obsessed with her. I go to bed and wake up with her on my mind.

She even manages to invade my dreams.

Today, when I pick up Oakley and Juniper, I’m determined to ask Salem out. I’ve never dated before; I’ll have to do some asking around to find out what’s considered a suitable first date place to take her to.

I’ll ask one of the old ladies, I don’t want to give the guys a reason to razz me.

I have a reputation for fucking faceless women and sending them on packing—no attachments, no strings, just a fuck and go.

When you’re connected to someone on that sorta intimate level, they have the power to hurt and destroy you, which is why I’ve kept a wide berth and usually steer away from relationship commitments.

I’m cordial with the women, but never allow them to believe our pairing will go further than the one night I offer them. In fact, I’m quite clear about my intentions; I’ll show them a good time while they ride a biker’s cock, but they needn’t expect to hear from me again.

Some say I’m an asshole. I can’t help the way they look at me, I know differently. I guard myself, and my heart, never allowing anybody to have the power over me to shred my soul the way the only woman I’ve ever loved did—my mother.

It’s amazing to me how fucked up she left me. The woman who was supposed to love me unconditionally ended up loving herself more. So now, I protect me, myself, and I above all else.

My brothers and their families have my loyalty, but until I met Salem, no woman has ever broken down the steel walls that surround my heart.

But with her, I want it all.

And have it, I will.

There’s no question in my mind that for some reason, she’s been calibrated with me in mind. My southern grandmother would bless her heart because I’m not an easy man, and she’s gonna need a strong resolve to not give up on me as I navigate my way through this thing called trust.

Whoever was foolish enough to believe I deserve a life partner is insane.

I won’t break her, I’ll treasure, adore, and cherish her, because somewhere, somehow, she’s changed my point of view.

In other words, I’m completely, and utterly, fucked. I’m not sure what it is about her, but I’m determined to find out why she tugs at my strings unlike any female before her.

Salem is what they call a game changer.

* * *

Sitting in my truck for forty-five minutes before class lets out has played havoc on my nerves. I’m still going to ask her to go out with me, but every line that’s rummaged through my head seems cheesy and could get my balls crushed by a knee to the groin.

“Just be yourself,” I mutter. “And cup your nuts if your mouth gets away from you and you make an ass out of yourself.” After all, my family jewels must be top priority.

With a sigh of annoyance, I exit the truck and head into the dance studio. A slow melody rings through my ears as it plays from the record player… the class is winding down.

Out of my peripheral vision, I see Aspen, and the smile spread across her cheeks is nerve wracking somehow, she knows exactly why I’m here and it has less to do with the two little aspiring ballerinas and more to do with their luscious instructor. Shaking my head, I plaster my eyes on Salem’s hips as they sway and pivot one way, then the other.

This time, it’s me who’s smiling as I watch with apt attention as the youngsters mimic her rhythmic moves.

With Salem the movement is tempting, alluring, desirable, and corruptive to young vulnerable minds.

“What, pray tell, just put that frown on your face, Cole?” Aspen whispers, hassling me as she silently makes her way over to me.

The damn woman is light on her feet and moves like a stealthy ninja, for fuck’s sake because I didn’t hear her approaching me.

Do I dare tell her where my mind just went?

“Should the little ones be doing that?” I ask, waving my hands in their direction.

“They’re cooling down,” Aspen giggles. “Keeping their muscles loose and limber so they don’t seize. I’m not understanding what the issue is.”

“You're okay with your girls learning to tempt a man by rotating their pelvis that way?” I quiz her, appalled that this is considered to be an appropriate maneuver for minors.

“Careful, Cole. Your alpha is showing,” Aspen teases me. “But honestly, is that what you really think? Or are you upset because a certain attractive teacher is alluring to men as they pass by?” She waves her arm toward the heavy, yet clear glass that allows the community to see the class without the protection of the sheet rocked walls, “or is it because bystanders see the children’s.” She vigorously clears her throat before picking up her statement where she left off, “Salem’s activity.”

“I think that the guys and I need to reconfigure the design of this place,” I utter, completely ignoring how she’s trying hard not to laugh at me. These are valid concerns as far as I’m well… concerned. I need to figure out how to bring it up at church first because those fuckers will probably laugh me out of the room. “There are some pretty sick people in this world, Aspen.”

“Of that, I have no doubt. Met a few not too long ago,” she reminds me.

“That you did,” I agree, placing my arm over her shoulder and tugging her toward me. “But they aren’t a threat to you any longer.”

“But there’s still a threat looming over the club. A few if memory serves,” she prompts.

She’s not wrong about that. We have the Crumley brothers and Master’s missing sister to still contend with.

“I’m gonna give you a check you can take to the bank and cash… we’ll take care of them too.”

“Only if y’all find them before Pops does,” she remarks, rubbing her swollen, pregnant belly.

The action bothers me. I turn her in my arms to where I can look at her face when I ask her, “Do you need to get off your feet? Some water maybe?” Glancing down past the huge basketball that is her stomach these days, I see her legs and feet don’t look particularly swollen, but we can’t be too certain. “Are you sure you’re not retaining fluid?” I start to crouch to check for myself then think better of it in case she opts to use one of those feet to nab me in the gonads.

“What is it with you men?” She huffs. “I know my limitations, Cole. I won’t do anything to harm either me or this baby.”

“Of that, I have no doubt,” I agree, mirroring her prior words.

As the music shuts off and little feet pitter-patter across the floor, my attention turns from my friend to my soon-to-be woman. She sashays across the room, removing her ballet slippers and replacing them with a pair of fluffy house shoes. As she heads in our direction, the unicorn heads atop each of her feet bobbles causing laughter to burst from me.

“What? These?” Salem asks, pointing down at her feet. “They’re all the rave. Don’t ya know I’m hip?” she giggles. “They were a gift from my students for my birthday, how could I not wear them.”

“Your birthday? When was that?”

“Today,” she meekly answers, ducking her head as her cheeks blush. Unbeknownst to her, it’s a tantalizing and alluring look on her delicate features.

And this just gave me the perfect excuse to take her out.

SALEM

“Your birthday, huh?” Cole probes, his voice masculine and husky, causing a shiver to traverse up and down my body. His throaty tone, on its own, causes the women of the world to quiver and solicit his desire.

I’ve seen how the females on the street bat their eyelashes and push up their assets with desperation to gather his unsolicited attention, yet he either doesn’t notice, or dismisses their advances without a glance shot in their direction.

The problem lies, that they’re all drop dead gorgeous and I’m plain… just a hair above what the tabloids view as being average in looks and build—even with my dancer's physique. I’m nothing spectacular, which means if they don’t catch his regard, what chance do I have of getting him to look at me twice?

“Yeah,” I shyly answer his question.

“Well, we need to do something to celebrate,” he remarks, causing my heart to skip a beat.

“Wh-what?” Unsure if I heard him correctly or not, I clear my throat, and ask, “Did you just ask me out? Like, out-out?” My words fumble out of my mouth like an undereducated, stuttering simpleton. No wonder the opposite sex scurries away posthaste after sharing a few words with me, I freak out and stammer when a good-looking man hits on me.

I’m a walking, talking advertisement for how to lose a man in mere minutes. I’m the “don’t do that” example mothers use when talking to their daughters. “Watch Salem, see how she epically failed. She's the epitome of what not to do when trying to draw in a future spouse.”

“I did,” Cole confirms with a saucy smirk curling at the corner of his top lip.

“A date-date, or the two of us hanging out as friends, kinda date?” I’m in awe, even if it’s only as an acquaintance type of get together.

I’m flabbergasted… utterly giddy like a geeky teenage nerd who was asked out by the star quarterback.

I’m ecstatic and complacent with the context of hanging out with him—getting to know him on a molecular, platonic level.

I’ve turned into that needy girl who eagerly snatches up the bread crust laid before her and is happy with the fact that she’s getting offered the crumbs. I’ll make a hearty sandwich using those discarded leftovers and eat it with untoward pride, even if it’s likely to be pieced together specks of dried mush. I’m so freaking pathetic right now I wish a hole would open up in the middle of the gorgeous wooden floors that are waxed to perfection as the heat of embarrassment rushes through me.

Aspen’s throat clearing drags me out of my self-condemnation. “I’ll, uh, leave y’all to do your planning.” She shoots a playful, supportive wink to me before rotating herself in quarter chunk spins, then wobbles her pregnant self into her office as fast as the baby growing in her womb allows, rounding up Oakley and Juniper along the way.

An amused chuckle has my eyes swiveling from my boss and friend to the Greek Adonis standing before me.

“Getting back to your earlier question, I’d like to take you on a date-date to celebrate,” Cole resolves.

“No reason to pay tribute to my birth, Cole. All it does is remind me of everything I’ve lost,” I say, my throat clogging as my voice chokes up. “My father died on my birthday, and he may as well have taken my mom along with him. She stopped living, stopped being a mother, and embraced her current nomadic lifestyle.”

“How long has it been?” he inquires, pulling me out of a trip I don’t want to take down memory lane

“Since?” I ask because that’s a damn loaded question if I’ve ever heard one. I could fill that blank with many different episodes from my past. All separate sequences of events, but each one hurts as bad as the first.

“Since your dad died. Since you’ve seen your mom. Since you’ve celebrated your birthday. I’d like to hear the answers to all of the above-mentioned questions.” He pushes, trying to unwrap the painful box that is my life. “Plus more I’ll come up with along the way, I’m sure.”

“Multiple choice, huh, Cole?”

“Changing the subject, huh, Salem?”

“Touché,” I harrumph. “Six years for my dad, five and a half years since I’ve seen my mom, and I haven’t celebrated my day of birth since the year before Dad passed. We had a get-together planned for later that evening, but I’m sure you can guess that never happened for obvious reasons.” My toes drag on the carpet as I shift in awkwardness, restlessly shuffling from one foot to the other. “My life is as pathetic as a soap opera, Cole.”

“Days of our Lives?” he asks, raising a brow. A giggle escapes me that he knows the name of one of the popular daytime airings.

“No. More like All My Children,” I wisecrack followed by a mortifying snort.

“Susan Luci bad, huh?”

“You know who Susan Luci is?” Once again, I find myself thunderstruck and taken aback by this man… he’s an enigma. “Care to share how you’ve found yourself privy to this information? The programs are typically catered to the female variety.”

“My mom was addicted to the shows. Every summer, every holiday, she’d plop me in front of the television and torture me with them.”

“Poor Cole.”

“I know, right?” He expresses this by tossing his arms up in the air and outrageously widening his eyes.

“Was it a punishment?” I taunt.

“Yes, but not because I was bad, but because it was too much of an effort to wrangle me,” he answers, but I swear I see some guilt radiating from his irises.

“You okay, Cole?”

“Yeah. It’s just hard talking about her.”

“Who? Your mom?” I continue probing.

“Yeah,” he answers with the singular word. I decide to drop it, I know how much it hurts to embark on a subject that’s painful.

Instead, I switch topics and answer his previous question, “Yes.”

“Yes?” he asks me, confused with the swift change of conversation.

“Yes. I’ll go out with you. As long as we don’t make this about my birthday. Deal?”

“Well, alrighty then. That’s a deal. Give me your contact information and address and I’ll see you at seven tonight.”

I jot down my address and home telephone number on a loose scrap of paper I find sitting on the front counter, he tears a piece off the bottom portion of the sheet for himself, writes down his contact details for me, then he grabs the two giggling girls and leaves.

My mind whirls, anxiousness stays settled in my gut, my wardrobe flashes through my memory as I mentally put together an outfit, and unfortunately, the rest of my workday drags on as slowly as sand through an hourglass.

I have a date!