Wesley said nothing, just held the jump rope out to her.
She snatched it from him and walked away a few paces.
He watched her to a count of fifty. When she paused, he spoke. “Will there be alcohol?”
Daphne shrugged. “I won’t drink any. I haven’t had any booze or drugs since I left rehab. You know that. You’re up my ass all damn day.”
“It’s not that I think you’re weak and going to backslide, Daph. It’s that it’s a tough situation. You’re a recovering addict. The last thing you need is to put yourself in a situation where you’re setting yourself up for failure.”
Okay, he’d officially pissed her off at this point. She’d gone from hurt and confused to angry. “You’re being unfair. Weren’t you the one who said I needed to reconnect with family? Now you’re saying I shouldn’t? Which one is it?”
Wesley shook his head and walked to the dumbbell stand. “You’re mad at me and you’re not listening to what I’m saying—”
“Oh, I’m hearing every single shitty word,” Daphne snapped. “I hear everything you say. And I seem to remember you saying something about how I needed to grow. So how about you let me fucking grow a little?”
“You’re mad,” he said as he turned around and handed her the weights. The look on his face showed he was clearly surprised at her reaction. “Daphne, it’s my job to coach you—”
“Don’t you worry, I never forget that I’m just your job,” she said bitterly, snatching the dumbbells from him.
He was silent for a moment, then sighed as she began to do angry arm curls. “All right, Daph. If you feel you’re strong enough to handle going to this party tonight, then go.”
“Haven’t I been perfect for the last year? Haven’t I eaten every single carrot stick you’ve tossed in my direction and avoided ice cream because you said it’s a gateway drug? Haven’t I worked out with you every stupid day?” Her arms pumped faster and faster, fueled by her anger. “Can’t I go out and spend one evening hanging with my sisters? Gretchen’s getting married. I’m never going to have this moment again.”
He blinked slowly, his hard face impassive. Then he nodded. “All right, then. You want to grow? Go to the party tonight.”
“Thank you,” she snapped back at him. “I will.”
“Fine.”
“Fine!”
“But you’re going to work out first,” he cautioned, and then picked up a heavier set of weights. “Fifteen more curls with those and then we’re going to do a second set with these.”
And for some reason, his bland acceptance irritated Daphne almost as much as his initial denial.
***
Daphne’s personal sedan pulled up to Hunk-O-Rama a few minutes after seven. Even from inside the car, she could feel the thumping bass coming from inside the club like a heartbeat. The bouncer at the door wore a Santa hat and a tight red bodysuit that didn’t leave much to the imagination. Outside, women were laughing and chatting, and Daphne gave her wig one last pat. “You think the sunglasses are too much?”
“The sunglasses scream celebrity in hiding,” Wesley said from his spot next to her in the car. “Then again, you are a celebrity, so it’s not inappropriate.”
Daphne grimaced, pulling them off her face. “Yeah, I just didn’t want tabloids catching me going into a strip club, you know?”
“I doubt anyone’s following us,” Wesley said in a bland voice. “The streets were pretty clear when we left and I haven’t noticed anyone tailing us. Want me to go walk the perimeter before you go in?”
“Nah. I’m pretty sure you’re right. Besides, it’s close to Christmas. There’s lots of other celebrities doing exciting things right now, I imagine.” She hesitated, then gave Wesley a smile. “All right, I guess I’m going in.”
“I would say have fun, but I think we both know that’s a bad idea.” A hint of a grin tugged at his solemn face.
She patted his arm. “I’m stronger than you think.”
His fingers brushed over hers in a brief, startling caress. “I know you are, Daphne. It’s not your strength I’m questioning.”
That small touch left her flustered.
“Have fun,” he said a moment later, and then got out of the car so he could jog around and open her door for her.
She clutched her coat tightly to her body and emerged into the cold streets. She gave Wesley a quick smile and put a hand to her smooth brown pageboy wig. It was hideous, which meant it was perfect for not wanting to be recognized. She hoped.
Those hopes were dashed when she moved to the front door.
“ID please.” He held out a gloved hand.
Well, shit. She pulled out her ID and handed it to him, glancing impatiently into the club. Maybe he wouldn’t notice her name.
“Oh my god,” he declared, taking a dramatic staggering step backward. Then, he peered at her face. Stripper Santa grinned broadly. “Daphne Petty? I love you! I dance to two of your songs, you know!”
She put a finger to her lips, looking around to see if anyone else had noticed.
He grimaced. “Shit! Sorry! Are you undercover?”
“I’m meeting my sister for a bachelorette party.”
“Shit, right! Of course! I just . . .” He pulled out his phone. “Can I get a selfie with you? Please? This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“Of course.” Because who wouldn’t be flattered at that?