Beefcake & Mistakes Read online

  “Look—” He glanced at the card he held in his hand on the door. “Ms. Corrigan. You can’t just invite a minor into your home without anyone knowing.”

  Jenna shook her head, trying to regain focus. She didn’t need to be attracted to this guy, especially not with his erratic behavior. She yanked her arm free and he almost lurched into the house. “His parents know where he is. Why wouldn’t they? They’re footing the bill.”

  Jason stuck his head out of the office. “Is there a problem, Ms. C.?”

  Jenna arched an eyebrow at the visitor. “No, there’s no problem, Jason. I’ll be right in. Why don’t you get everything set up? This gentleman was just leaving.”

  And she made sure he would by firmly shutting the door in that gorgeous face.

  Bryan thought nothing could hit him harder than seeing a little boy who could possibly be his son in the grocery store aisle in his hometown.

  Boy, was he wrong.

  She, this Jenna Corrigan, was taking clients—underage ones!—into her home. Where his son was. And there was no way anyone was going to convince him that that client was there to do anything other than make time with the instructor—he’d seen the interest in the kid’s eyes. All male, carnal lust. That kid was here for one reason and one reason only and yeah, it had to do with stripping. But not as a career choice.

  What was she thinking? What were the kid’s parents thinking?

  Bryan knew what the kid was thinking. Hell, if he could have gotten a shot at someone who looked like her when he’d been seventeen—

  What the hell was wrong with him? She was a high-priced hooker—or, at forty bucks an hour, a rather low-priced one.

  And she Thought It Was Okay.

  Bryan looked at her card. Jenna Corrigan, By Private Instruction. Jesus, she didn’t even bother trying to hide what she was doing.

  He had to go to the police. He had to. He was an honest citizen. A concerned one. He’d heard about suburban housewives who turned tricks in their picket-fenced homes; he’d just never actually believed it.

  And with underage boys? And no one raising a fuss? The kid’s parents actually paying for it? What was this world coming to?

  Bryan somehow managed to make it off the porch without breaking his neck, but he was still flabbergasted when he reached his truck. Sure, the economy had been tough on everyone and maybe a baby had done a number on her stripper figure—though from what he’d seen, not much—but prostitution? And with her child in the house? His child?

  Bryan pulled away from the curb, memorizing the truck’s license plate. If the kid’s parents weren’t going to do anything about it—no, scratch that, because they were doing something about it, but not anything he’d ever heard of—he had to turn her in and save that little boy from being raised in that kind of environment.

  If Trevor was his son, it’d make getting custody easier.

  Chapter Three

  “Hey, Ms. C?” Jason did a bongo-type drum roll on her office wall. “You coming?”

  “Um, yeah.” Jenna stopped staring after the man who’d turned her world upside down with one touch of his hand.

  She shook her head. Get a grip. She had a job to do, a child to care for, and bills to pay. Daydreaming about a gorgeous guy with major attitude problems was not conducive to any of them. Besides, there was the distinct possibility she’d see him again.

  Next time she’d check for a ring.

  Jenna closed the door, double-checking the lock again. Sometimes she and Jason got so engrossed in their work that she didn’t want to take a chance Trevor would wake up from his nap and try to go outside without her knowing. Not that he ever had, but she’d heard stories from friends whose kids had wandered off to play with their best friend and were too young to remember to tell their parents. That wasn’t a scare she wanted to live through. Today’s was enough. She’d turned her back for one second and he’d been gone around an end cap.

  Jason stood up when she walked into the office. “Who was that guy, Ms. C.?”

  Jenna shrugged. “I have no idea. He needs a tutor though, so I guess I’ll find out.”

  “Was he bothering you? I could, you know.” Jason cracked his knuckles. “Have a talk with him for you.”

  Jenna hid her amusement. Jason had never been so overt with his crush before. “I don’t know who he is, but I’m fine. No need for brutality. I guess he just wasn’t aware of how much extra help costs. Not like you, right?”

  She had to hand it to the teenager. Dyslexia made schoolwork that much harder, and he could have skated by on his football laurels, but Jason had dreams. Big ones. Enough to promise his parents that he’d pay them back every cent of what they were paying her if he didn’t do well enough on the SATs to qualify for early decision.

  No pressure or anything. For both of them.

  “I think I finally got the hang of the math problems, Ms. C.” Jason waited for her to sit. Chivalrous, but she hoped his crush wouldn’t become an issue. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Gorgeous’ visit had opened some pheromone floodgates that hadn’t been oiled in a long time.

  “Great, Jason. The last hurdle done for our last session. I’m sure you’ll do fine on the SATs.”

  “Yeah, well, except for the essays. I don’t think I’m gonna pull that part off.”

  And there went the pheromones to be replaced with Seeds of Doubt. She’d heard that same sentiment from so many kids. The ones who came to her were usually close to failing, if not already doing so. So far behind, catching up didn’t seem feasible.

  Mindy had been like that.

  Jenna shook her head. She couldn’t think about Mindy. She’d loved her kid sister, but she was more than aware of the wrong decisions Mindy had made in her life. It’s why she now had a three-and-a-half-year-old asleep upstairs.

  Not that Trevor was a bad decision. Matter of fact, the best decision Mindy had ever made was to keep the baby. The second best was to sign him over to her when the inevitable had begun.

  Mindy had tried to make up for all her mistakes. Flighty and irresponsible, bad choices… still, she’d had a good heart.

  If only Jenna could have made her mother see that she’d at least have one family member—and sadly, the only one she had left—on her side, but the subject of Trevor always brought up the subject of Jenna’s own “mistake” when she’d been seventeen.

  She caressed her stomach, remembering what it’d felt like for those three months before Nature and a drunk driver had made Ellen’s disgrace go away. That pain was still raw. Sure, getting pregnant in high school hadn’t been the best idea, but that didn’t mean she didn’t mourn the loss. Then and now.

  “… the essays. Right?”

  Jenna shook her head. “I’m sorry, Jason, what did you say?”

  She had to focus. Jason was paying her for her time, not for her painful memories.

  “I said, too bad there aren’t any numbers in the essays.”

  Jenna caught herself before she squeezed his hand. Insecure and worried he might be, but Jason was on the brink of manhood. No sense courting disaster. She settled for a quick tap with the eraser end of her pencil on the table. “True. But you can do it. Just use the strategies we’ve worked on. Look how well you’ve done in English Comp that way. You’ll get through the essay part of the test.”

  Jason smiled, a lazy, I’ve-got-the-world-by-the-horns smile that, twelve years ago, would have had her teenage heart going pitter-pat. Had, actually, thanks to Dave Miller. And no thanks to Dave Miller that same heart had been broken that horrible morning when he and life had one-two-punched her, destroying her hopes, her heart, and most of her family. Her own smiles had gone on hiatus until Trevor had come into her life.

  Jenna reached for Jason’s notebook where they’d practiced the writing exercises. Having Trevor made all of it worthwhile. It’s why she hadn’t given him up for Carl. Why she wasn’t giving him up for anyone. The next man in her life would have to love both her and her son.

  Or he wouldn’t b
e the man for her.

  ***

  The police sergeant wouldn’t stop laughing. Neither would the deputy, the two guys on desk jobs in the corner, and the dispatcher. Even the lunchtime pizza delivery guy contributed a couple of chuckles.

  But Bryan didn’t find any of it funny.

  “So you think Jenna Corrigan is running a house of prostitution in her home?” Sergeant Benton let out a loud “whoa!” and doubled over in laughter.

  “Look, Sergeant, I know what I saw.” Bryan tried to his voice steady. “She even told me how much she’s charging.”

  That stopped the laughter. Benton’s eyes narrowed. “You propositioned her?”

  “Yes—no. Of course not. She just started telling me what she did and I was like you; I couldn’t believe it. I had to ask what she charged. It just sort of slipped out.”

  “I’ll tell you what’s slipped, Lassiter.” The sergeant slid his chair closer to the desk, rested his elbow on it and jabbed a finger toward Bryan’s head. “Your brain. You got hit one too many times on the head playing college ball. Good thing you never played pro. I knew Jenna’s dad my entire life. That girl isn’t hooking.”

  Bryan reined in his temper. Sam Benton’s son, Matt, had played backup QB all four years of high school when Bryan had been the starter; there was a lot of resentment there. Always had been. He should have known he wouldn’t get anywhere with Sam. And he hadn’t even mentioned Trevor yet.

  “And you might want to think this whole pot-kettle thing. After all, we know you’re peddling smut. You’re not one to talk.”

  More temper-reining. He was not peddling smut. The dancers were well trained. Sexy without veering toward lewd. The club had standards—including not putting four-year-olds in the line of sexual fire.

  Speaking of which… Bryan checked his cell. He was going to be late for that meeting with Gage and the guy who owned the property next to the club if he didn’t hurry. Gage’s fiancée had come up with the idea of having both male and female dancers, which had not only put the kibosh on some townspeople’s claims of sexism, it’d doubled the club’s demographic. Now they had couples showing up for date nights, and the money was really starting to come in, so they needed more space.

  Maybe he should hire Jenna. Keep her off the streets, so to speak. At least, then, he could keep an eye on her.

  And maybe a hand or two, just to remember what she’d felt like that night—

  Yeah, so not going to happen.

  “So you’re telling me you don’t believe me?”

  The sergeant leaned back in his chair and stretched the waistband of his no-descript uniform pants. “Damn right, son. You might be a genius on the football field, but when it comes to Jenna Corrigan, you’re dumber than a chicken in a foxhole. Jenna’s no more hooking than I am.”

  With the sergeant’s beer gut preceding the rest of him by a good foot and a half, that statement was met with more laughter.

  Bryan did not like being laughed at.

  He stood, knowing his size was intimidating, and he stabbed a finger onto the desk in front of the sergeant for good measure. “Look, Sergeant, I’m a concerned citizen. I know what I saw and heard, and I reported it. You have to investigate.”

  The sergeant raised an eyebrow at him. “I don’t tell you how to do your job, Lassiter, don’t tell me how to do mine. I’ll follow procedure, just like always. But I don’t have to be thrilled to let Jenna know there’s a nut job on the loose in this town.”

  Let’s see how much of a nut job the sergeant thought he was after interviewing the kid who was at Jenna’s right this very minute.

  An image of that young kid, all sweaty and horny, leering at Jenna, tied Bryan’s stomach in knots. Jesus. He was not jealous of a high school kid.

  Of course not; he was worried about Trevor. That’s what this was about. His son. His possible son.

  No. Trevor was his. He knew it; he just didn’t know how Trevor was his son. He would have remembered sleeping with Jenna. She was exactly the type of woman he liked—well, except for the stripper part. Yeah, it was double standard, but Bryan didn’t share. Never had. Never needed to. He’d always gotten women, and just because he’d had his choice didn’t mean he’d gorged himself to the point of not being able to remember something as intimate as making love with them.

  Now there was an image. Jenna, beneath him, all hot and sweaty and writhing and—

  Shit. Bryan shoved his hands into his pockets to hide his growing hard-on. He needed to get out of the police station or Benton would think he was the one who needed to be investigated.

  Chapter Four

  “Hey, Jenna!” Sergeant Benton grabbed the railing as he hit the third step to her porch. An improvement. Usually he grabbed it on the first. His diet must be working.

  Jenna lowered the watering can. The Mellors’ elm kept most of the sun’s damage off the impatiens. The flowers could wait a little longer.

  “Hi, Sarge.” He’d been “Sarge” ever since Trevor had started speaking. It was the closest he’d been able to manage and Sarge had been fine with it. “What can I do for you? I’ve set out yogurt and apples for Trevor. Would you like some?” The ruse was her contribution to his diet whenever he stopped by—which, in the time since she’d moved back, was pretty frequent and directly attributable to Trevor. She’d often wondered if one of Sarge’s sons could be Trevor’s father.

  But she hadn’t asked. Didn’t want to know.

  “Is he up?”

  “Not yet. I had a hard time getting him down, so I didn’t think he was this tired. But I guess you never know with kids.”

  “Not just kids.”

  “What?”

  Sarge shook his head. “Nothing. I will take a little snack, if you don’t mind.”

  Jenna held the screen door open and swept her hand inside. “My pleasure.”

  Sarge, however, was old school. His hand did a bigger sweep than hers, one involving his entire arm. “After you.”

  How could she resist? Jenna led him into her kitchen, the room she was most proud of in the house. The place had barely been habitable when she’d bought it—the main reason she’d been able to afford it. A rental for twelve years, the house had been begging for love and attention—two things Jenna had had plenty of.

  Good thing, because many times they’d had to go further than her bank account.

  “Iced tea or lemonade?” She tugged on the heavy door of the antique Philco refrigerator. It’d been too heavy to move when she’d bought the place. She’d never seen one before, so when the guy who’d come to take it off her hands told her how much it was worth, she’d hired him to fix it instead. It’d been her first monetary investment in the house other than the house itself, and had set the tone of the kitchen.

  Now a bright red, it was the perfect complement to the black-and-white checkerboard tile floor she’d laid and the white cabinets and appliances beneath the wall of windows she’d scraped, sanded, re-glazed, and painted. A chrome retro table and chairs set she’d picked up at a yard sale and scoured with steel wool butted up to the interior wall. The red vinyl on the seats matched the gingham valance over the windows. Shelves full of milk glass bottles and vases that had decorated the countertops until Trevor started to walk now filled the shelf that ringed the top of the nine-foot walls.

  “Iced tea’s fine.” Sarge sat at the head of the table—the best spot to see Trevor’s face when he came through the doorway. Sarge and his wife, Beverly, had two grown sons, but neither had any kids. Because of the Benton’s friendship with her (and Mindy’s) father, they were the closest things to grandparents Trevor had since Mindy’s mother had died, and he the closest thing to a grandchild for them.

  “Yogurt?” She yanked again and the heavy door opened.

  “You have any with blueberries? Strawberry seeds stick in my teeth.”

  Jenna sorted through the towers Trevor liked to make with his favorite snack on the bottom shelf. No rhyme or reason as to why he made his asymmet
rical stacks the way he did, but there’d be time enough for organization later on in life.

  “No blueberry. I have plain vanilla, though. I can add some banana slices if you like.”

  The sergeant waved the yogurt cup over. “Don’t go to the trouble. I’ll take it as is. Here, have a seat.” He slid the chair next to him out with his foot.

  “Thanks, but I have to get dinner started. Trevor wants ravioli tonight and I should thaw out the ground beef for the meatballs.”

  “Jenna, please. Sit.”

  Sarge hadn’t used that tone with her since that awful afternoon in the hospital when she’d come out of surgery—and her father hadn’t.

  She groped for the back of the chair closest to her. Trevor’s. But she didn’t care. She didn’t think her legs would carry her to the other side of the table. “Wh… What is it?”

  Oh, God. What was it? Beverly? Sarge?

  “I had a complaint, today. At the station.”

  “A complaint?”

  He nodded. “About you.”

  “Me?” Now that really didn’t make any sense. Who could complain about her? After the scandal she’d created in high school, bringing attention to herself was the last thing she did these days.

  “Yes. Someone thinks you’re, um…” Sarge rubbed the back of his neck. It, and the rest of his face, turned redder than any strawberry.

  “Thinks I’m what?”

  He smacked his lips, glanced at her, then folded his hands on the table and stared intently at them. “Someone thinks you’re running a… bordello. Here. Out of your house.”

  That was one she hadn’t seen coming. A bordello? A house of— “Someone thinks I’m a hooker?”

  Sarge was shaking his head. “I know. I can’t believe it either.”

  “That’s why you’re here? To find out if I am? Really? You didn’t just tell the nosy busybody to mind her own business?”

  Or did Sarge really think—

  Hell. One mistake in her past and even Sarge was willing to think that of her?