Page 7 of Resist
“Surfer.” He performed a surfing manoeuvre with his arms.
“Of course it is.”
I glanced at Matt.
“Mine is Chief,” he answered with stoicism.
I smiled; it was fitting.
“Even I have one,” Corinne volunteered, although her admission seemed tense. “It’s Elmer, as in Elmer Fudd.”
My mind boggled.
“Elmer because Josh is Bugs …”
“Riiight.” I flat-lined my lips. “And, Noah, I take it yours is Slick? Is that because your pick-up lines are a little slippery?”
The room erupted with laughter, except for Noah, of course.
“I can think of something else that’s slippery.” He very obviously held his stare on the spot between my legs. “And it’s not my pick-up lines.”
Before I could respond, Noah’s chair was wrenched out from underneath him, and the six-foot wall of muscle crashed to the floor.
“DIMPS, WHAT THE FUCK, MAN?” Noah scrambled to his feet, now chest-to-chest with Lucas.
“You don’t say shit like that to a woman.”
“I should bruise that pretty face of yours—”
“SIT DOWN, the two of you.” I glared at them both. “There’ll be no bruising of any faces.”
They stood their ground for the smallest of seconds before stepping apart, Noah picking up his chair and repositioning it before taking a seat.
I nodded to it. “Slippery little suckers, aren’t they?’
His eyes narrowed but then his face surrendered to an emerging grin.
“And please, Lucas,” I said, once again finding his steamy stare. “Don’t pull a stunt like that again. You all have to work together. I won’t have you fighting each other.”
Shock registered on his face, followed by hurt, followed by anger. I chose not to acknowledge it, instead addressing everyone else.
“If no one has anything else to say, we’re done here. We’ll reconvene tomorrow. You’re all free to go. Except for you, Noah, I’d like a word.”
Everyone bar Noah stood and headed for the exit, and I noticed Lucas lingering at the door before closing it behind him, the sharp slam of wood against metal my cue to approach Noah.
Placing my hand on the back of his chair, I leaned in and hovered like a furious storm cloud. “Listen carefully, because I’m only going to say this once. You and your cock were not put on this earth to objectify women, so fucking cut it out. I won’t stand for it, not toward me and not toward anyone else without a Y chromosome.”
He remained silent, his icy blue eyes chasing mine, so I continued. “The measure of a man is not by how he sees himself but by how others see him. And right now, all I’m seeing is a backward-talking, superficial boy who lacks respect.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, but he remained silent.
“I don’t want boys in my revue. I want men. Good men. Respectful men. Men that women fantasise about day and night.”
Noah’s defiance lifted when he broke eye contact and looked down at his hands, so I softened my voice and tilted his chin up with my finger. “You wanna remain in this revue? Then be the type of man you’d want your daughter to fall in love with. It’s that simple.”
The taste of coffee coatingmy tongue and making love to my throat first thing in the morning was by far the greatest moment of euphoria one could ever experience. Coffee was magic; a unicorn … liquid rainbows, which said a lot considering I’d long stopped believing in fairy tales, at least for myself.
I took another sip from the mug cradled in my hands and closed my eyes, quietly moaning with delight. Said ‘coffee effect’ was bliss, powerful, almost powerful enough to mute the sound of clanging crockery and early bird discussion by the many hotel patrons and waiters surrounding me. Said coffee cured everything but noise.
