Dance For Me (Strip in the City, Book 2)

13 • Hot Disaster

Dominick

As hard as I tried not to let myself get lost in thoughts of Tan after our one-night stand, I was as lost as a damn puppy dog. So lost that I'd slept on the couch in the private room the last three nights like a complete chump. If someone had asked me why, I wouldn't have been able to explain it, but it just made sense. Maybe in some way I was waiting for her to come back to the club and didn't want to miss her. Which was crazy.

And because I'd let myself get lost in the idea of this woman, I was having a hard time staying present at work.

This morning, I tried to convince myself that I'd imagined our whole fucking perfect night and that I was never going to hear from her again. My fist landed hard against my desk, shaking my keyboard and knocking over my pencil.

Focus, asshole. You've got a new family to meet, and they need you to act like a professional.

I opened Tyler's file and reread his application one more time–just to make sure I memorized his parents' names, his diagnosis, and the wish he was requesting–then I straightened my tie and walked out into the waiting room to grab the family and bring them back to my office.

Tyler was one of the lucky kids who beat cancer and was going to live a long, healthy life–unlike Gemma–the girl who wanted the ballet wish.

Was Tan going to send those tickets in the mail? I shook my head. Focus on Tyler. He deserved this wish after months of treatment for Hodgkin's Lymphoma.

One look at the family told me they were going to be criers. Mom looked exhausted, and dad looked irritated–which wasn't unusual–but it was the kid who I thought might break first. He couldn't look me in the eye, and a permanent frown was plastered on his little face.

He looked like how I felt right now, and he wasn't a pathetic excuse for a 32-year-old man who was pining over a girl he shouldn't be thinking about. Jesus. Whenever I told myself not to think about her, I couldn't stop.

I contemplated the little kid in front of me and wondered why he looked so upset. He beat cancer and was here to get a wish. Something wasn't adding up. After we made our introductions and I explained the process to the family, I focused on the kid. I was going to find out what was making him sad.

I rolled my chair away from my desk and handed him a lollipop. "I hear you want to visit Jam Land down on the Jersey Shore. Is that true?"

Tyler nodded. Staring at the lollipop and not shoving it in his mouth like any other kid would. "Yeah."

The word came out in one long whiny sound, which made my brows furrow together. I was the Fairy Godfather, here to grant wishes. Kids were excited to see me and talk to me. I looked up at the parents and immediately realized what was happening here. They'd hijacked his wish. Jam Land was their dream, not his. For fuck's sake, they were gaslighting an seven-year-old.

My temper flared, but I told myself to keep my cool. I'd get this sorted out. It wasn't the first time parents tried to make their kids pick a wish they wanted.

Even though I loved my job, sometimes, I really hated these kids' parents. I was man enough to recognize I had my own issues with shitty parents, so I was a little biased.

Mr. and Mrs. Gibson surely didn't put out cigarettes on Tyler's hand or leave him alone in a hotel room for days at a time with nothing more than a box of granola bars.

I grabbed a lollipop and slowly started unwrapping it, trying to distract myself. "You don't sound excited to go to Jam Land."

"He's very excited, Mr. DuBois," the mom said in an exasperated tone, butting in. She nudged Tyler on the shoulder, which irritated the hell out of me, and reminded me of when my mom and I got dragged into a Child Protective Services office, and I had to lie for her.