Tease Me Once by W. Winters
Braelynn
My eyes are rimmed red and burn with exhaustion, but I can’t bring myself to go into the bedroom yet. It’s pitch black this late at night and far too quiet. My mind isn’t quiet, though. It’s running in circles around the night I’ve just had at The Club. My knee rocks absently as I think about my first day … well, really all I can think about is Declan Cross.
Even when my phone pings, I think it will be him offering me an explanation of what happened. I’ve never been so close to a fight like that. If you can even call it a fight. That man didn’t have a chance in hell. Declan strode in, knocked him out and stormed out as if nothing had happened. I was stunned to say the least, and if security hadn’t escorted me out, I would probably still be standing there wondering what the hell had happened.
Checking my phone, it’s not Declan.
Scarlet: Hey, you …
I’m curled up on my couch under a knitted blanket I brought from my mother’s, and for a moment I consider not answering her. I need to talk to someone, though.
Braelynn: Hey.
I just got home a little after 4:00 a.m., and I feel like I barely survived.
Scarlet: You okay?
I try to keep telling myself that nothing much even happened, other than the last two minutes. Even if I discounted that, the office meeting with Declan was intimidating to say the least. Declan isn’t the boy I remember. I’m sure none of the Cross brothers are the way I remember, but I didn’t realize he would be so different. I didn’t know he would be so powerful, and so sexy, and …
Braelynn: I could be better. I think I’m in over my head.
My thoughts don’t stop. It’s like my mind is running faster than I can process. The whole situation escalated before I could stop it. And the waitresses have sex with people in those rooms on the lower floor. It’s not just one warning sign, it’s a big row of red flags. They scream at me to run away.
Braelynn: I could not have anticipated tonight.
Staring down at my phone, I wonder how that’s all I have to say. Maybe I’m still overwhelmed by everything.
Scarlet: It’s a lot but it’s worth it. Really. It might be rough at first, but I think you pretty much got the full gist of everything all at once.
I’m dumbstruck at Scarlet’s response. That shit isn’t normal. Rubbing my eyes, I let my head fall back as I cringe at the thought. What happened today does not exist in the world I live in.
Fistfights. Paid sex. Declan Cross.
I think about telling her I’m done. I even type out the text. Thanks so much for getting me the job, but I can’t go back. I’m in the process of deleting it when Scarlet sends another message.
Scarlet: I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the red dresses. It’s not always a hard and fast rule and I didn’t want to freak you out!
With everything that took place, I can’t even be mad about the red dress. Nothing happened.
Braelynn: It’s okay, it just caught me by surprise. A heads-up would have been nice though.
Scarlet: I really am sorry. Are you okay? Feeling good about your next shift?
Maybe I’m overreacting because of the stress and the adrenaline.
Braelynn: Tonight was a lot.
I expected a busy night learning the ropes at a new place. I didn’t expect Declan Cross. I didn’t expect him to get in a fistfight over me. And I definitely didn’t expect the red dresses and what comes with them.
Scarlet: The Club is a lot but … it pays well. I forgot to ask you how you made out?
My gaze drifts to my purse, hanging over the staircase to my right. There’s at least a grand in cash. I haven’t counted yet, but it’s far more than I anticipated. It’s more than I could have even dreamed, I know that.
The side pocket of my purse is bulging with all the bills inside.
Braelynn: You were right about the money. I don’t think I could get better tips anywhere else in the city.
Scarlet: See! I told you! So it’s all good? Forgive me for the red dress and let’s become rich bitches together!
Although I huff a small laugh and feel the first touch of relief since I left,I just can’t shake how Declan made me feel. I felt sorry for him. Curious about how he’d become that man. And if I’m honest with myself, I felt scared too. Power bows around him in his office and in The Club, and every time he looked at me, he made it clear that I had none.
Braelynn: I’m good. Declan is intense.
Scarlet: Did he hurt you??
Her question takes me aback, I even flinch at it. Until I remember the punch. Maybe he’s … maybe he’s just like that.
Braelynn: No. Should I be worried that he would?
Scarlet: I’ve never heard of any woman getting hurt. Not in the club and not by him. But what do you mean by intense? That guy? He should have listened when you said no the first time.
I type then delete. Type then delete. It’s frustrating because so much of it is simply how I feel. How do I explain this to her? This overwhelming feeling like something bad is going to happen. Something that leaves me powerless and at the mercy of a man who doesn’t seem to know what that word means.
Braelynn: He didn’t hurt me. I just … I used to know him. Sort of.
Scarlet: How?
Braelynn: Long story, too much to text.
I unfold myself from the couch and make my way to the small kitchen. My bare feet pad on the laminate floor.
The layout for the first floor is simple enough. I could walk circles in the townhouse. There’s a bathroom and coat closet in the center with their doors on the right. Dining room in the back, hallway on the right with a staircase, living room in the front, and kitchen on the left.
Boxes are lined up in every room. As I wait for leftover pasta to heat in the microwave, I walk through the dining room that doesn’t even have a table yet, down the hallway, trailing my fingers along the wall and running over the closet door and then the bathroom door, past the staircase, into the living room as my phone pings. I ignore it and circle back to the kitchen.
My new place is simple, just like the leftover pasta. It’s hardly enough to appease my appetite, but it’ll be enough to sleep at least. Opening the fridge door offers a stream of light, and the sight of an empty fridge apart from a bottle of creamer for my coffee.
With a sigh, I shut the door and then consider opening up a cardboard box I know has nonperishables in it. Pushing the hair out of my face, I decide not to do anything else. I need to sleep, not rearrange my kitchen at nearly five in the freaking morning.
Rubbing my eyes, I move without thinking.
The cabinet door opens, and I resign myself to a bedtime ritual I’ve used countless times in recent years.
I won’t do anything that’s going to keep me up any longer, but I put water on for tea. Chamomile will calm me down and help me sleep.
With my hands gripping the edge of the counter, I find myself looking out the kitchen window as I try not to think about the day. This lease is for a corner lot on a busy street. It’s cheap, though. The building across the street has a yoga studio on the ground level. Through a crack in the curtains I can see the polished wood floor, which takes me right back to gym class in middle school.
To Declan Cross and the first time I spoke to him, well the first time I wanted to. To the man I know is going to keep me up at night.
I can still smell the lemon polish of the floors and hear the echo of voices in the large gym.
It’s crazy how much time has passed, yet how it still feels like yesterday.
So many years ago. Our shoes squeaked on the floor as the teacher herded us out into the sunshine; it must have been late spring or summer, because it was so warm. I dip the tea bag in the hot water, remembering. Declan sat by himself. He had dark circles under his eyes and a haunted look to his face that was there more than it should have been. Even as a kid I knew, but then again, there were whispers about him and his brothers. Everyone knew.
That day in particular, his expression was ragged. I knew his mom had died, and he just wouldn’t do what we were supposed to do for class. Jump rope. We were supposed to count the jumps. The smack of the rope hitting the pavement, the chatter around us—it’s all there in my mind, just as it was then. And it all means nothing now, just like back then.
I swung the rope over my head and counted. One. Two. Three. Nobody went near him. They were afraid of him, because of his brothers. He was all alone in his hand-me-down clothes. Like mine, because all of my clothes came from my older cousins. He wasn’t so different from me.
He was wrecked. He was alone.
It hurt to look at him, so I looked down at the rope. And at my feet on the ground. One. Two. Three. But I couldn’t look away from Declan for long. That was the other thing about him. We weren’t so different, but I felt this pull to him. A similarity between us. I was afraid of the Cross brothers, just like all of the other kids, but I thought … if I could talk to him, maybe we’d understand each other.
I stole a glance at him as the rope came over my head and found him looking my way. He stared right at me, as if he’d heard my thoughts.
A shiver ran through my body. He’d caught me.
The rope fell from my hand and I could hardly breathe. He didn’t look away and I knew I had to say something. His mother, I remembered. His mother died. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, but the sound didn’t make it to him. We were too far apart. I hated to see him look so down, but I also knew it was beyond me to fix it. The fact his mother was dead … it was too much for me. How could I ever help? But I wanted him to know he wasn’t alone.
Because being alone is the worst thing there is in the whole world.
A whistle screeched to my right, scaring me and ripping my eyes away from Declan. The coach rattled off statistics about the number of jumps and who’d gotten gold and who’d gotten silver and bronze.
As if I cared and as if any of it mattered.
When I looked back at Declan, he wasn’t there anymore.
I turned in a slow circle, looking at all our other classmates, but he was gone.
My phone pings again and snaps me back to the present. With my tea in one hand, I grab my phone in the living room, once again wishing it was Declan, but it’s a string of messages from Scarlet.
Scarlet: Did he hurt you before? Hello? Hey, where did you go? You okay? You sure it’s okay?
Braelynn: Sorry. Just made some tea for bed. He didn’t hurt me, Scarlet, I promise
Scarlet: I thought you might have passed out. If he did, you would tell me, right?
Braelynn: Of course
Braelynn: I just … there’s a difference between being a waitress and doing other things. Not that I’m judging
Scarlet: Wear black. Just tell them no. Trust me! The guys that come in know they won’t leave alive if they hurt us.
I don’t tell her I already know to wear black. Declan told me as much. Instead I take the phone with me back to the kitchen, back to my tea.
I tip a sleeping pill out of the bottle I keep in the cupboard and wash it down with a sip of hot chamomile. The ceramic clinks on the counter as I stare out of the window again. The roads are empty. I probably shouldn’t text her back what I really think, which is that those men standing guard while women sleep with clients is exactly why I’m not sure I can go back. The Club isn’t the real world. It’s too involved with illegal shit.
The safer thing is to send her back a heart emoji, which I do before heading to the living room.
Then I pull the blanket over my lap, settling back into the sofa, and reach for the TV remote. I’ve got the TV set up on a little console, but the living room is full of stacks of boxes just like every other room in this place. Not much is unpacked yet, just like the bedroom.
I flick through the channels one after the other. It’s a bunch of infomercials and late-night stuff that doesn’t catch my attention. It’s too hard to tell what’s on, and I can’t focus anyway, so I turn it off and sip my tea.
My laptop’s on the coffee table, plugged into an outlet across the room. It’s a long enough cord to pull it into my lap. When I open it, all my old searches are waiting for me in the tabs of my internet browser.
It’s just like that day at gym class. I’m looking for him, but I can’t find him. There’s not much on the internet about Declan Cross or his brothers. If you ask anyone on the street, they could tell you more than what’s available online.
The only concrete information that’s searchable are the deaths he endured, one after the other. His mother passed while we were in middle school. His brother, Tyler, in high school. Shortly after, his father died. I skim through their obituaries, which are sterile funeral home notices without much of a personal touch. It’s as if someone has left these records just so there’s something to find. It’s weird, in today’s day and age, to find nothing but an obituary online, especially for people like the Cross brothers. I run a few more searches. Declan Cross. Carter Cross. Cross brothers and Fallbrook.
They went from poor kids on the bad side of town to the men who run it, seemingly overnight. My mind reels, wanting to know what happened. What happened to Declan Cross?
Scarlet: I know it’s late, I just hope you know it’s good money, and the Cross brothers have helped me before.
Scarlet: You know, some men are bad, but others are just bad for bad guys, know what I mean?
I let her messages sink in before responding and turning back to my laptop.
Braelynn: I’ll sleep on it <3
There’s a long pause. I entertain myself by going back through my searches one more time, even though I know there will be nothing new to find.
The only way I’ll find out anything concrete about the Cross brothers—and about Declan—is to go back to The Club for another shift.
I close my laptop, put it in its place on the coffee table, and lean my head back on the couch. The chamomile is kicking in. The sleeping pill too. But my uneasiness doesn’t go away.
It’s one thing to work at a place that’s adjacent to the shady underground of the city. Oh, who am I kidding—it is the underground, if they have sex rooms in the basement. It’s another thing to go down there yourself.
And yet that’s where Declan Cross has his office. The Club is his world. I feel that same pull to him that I did on the playground all those years ago. It’s a dangerous, forbidden curiosity. We’re not kids anymore, and I know better than to trust men like him. Especially men with power.
My phone pings again.
Scarlet: Promise me you’ll give it one more chance. Okay? One more shift?
I hesitate to type out the message. Part of me wants to be easygoing and make the promise. But then … that’s why it took me so long to untangle myself from Travis. And even that’s not fully done. If it was, he wouldn’t be texting me from new numbers and saying the shit he does. Life, Travis—it’s all relentless.
Braelynn: Sleep well, I’ll message you in the morning :)
There. Not so hard. No promises made. I can sleep on my decision tonight, like a responsible adult. I’ll make my decision in my own time without recklessly agreeing to anything.
My head is hazy from the sleeping pill as I go back into the bedroom and tug the corner of the sheet down on the bed. I remember to plug in my phone, which is good, because this pill is well on its way to knocking me out. My head has barely hit the pillow before I can feel myself floating.
I dream of The Club. It’s all endless black tablecloths and couples in expensive outfits and an imposing red door. I’m not afraid of the door. I go to it, knowing I’m supposed to be there, and it opens easily, like I’ve been invited. Chills spread down my body as Declan looks up from his desk. There are no dark circles under his eyes. They’re the same stunning shade they always were. His gaze roams down my body and the door closes behind me, trapping me there, with Declan Cross.
