Chapter 45
Kitty.
I met Ember, Velvet, and Tess at a little mom-and-pop place for brunch the following Saturday. Well, I rode there with Velvet, and the other two ladies were dropped off by their men. I wore a tracking bra, and had trackers in my shoes, and another in my purse, because Squatch is a worry wart.
I’m pretty sure the other women weren’t being tracked by their men, but I’d decided this wasn’t a big deal, in the grand scheme of our lives.
The other ol’ladies and I had planned our day out, mapping the stores we’d shop and the things we most wanted to purchase.
We were halfway through our meal when Tess told me, “I work out at a place that’s as much about socializing and being seen as it is about the workouts, which are brutal. There’s a pole class, where rich suburban housewives learn fancy tricks so they can feel like an exotic stripper. The teacher for that class also teaches a barre class I take, and she smelled pregnant a few days ago. I doubt she knows it yet. I’m betting that if you walk in and introduce yourself, inquire as to whether they need another teacher, they’ll remember you when she has to quit because she’s pregnant.”
I’d looked through sites with available jobs a few times, and been frustrated because I’m not qualified for anything I’d actually want to do. I’d considered going to college, but to be honest, I didn’t really want to. I enjoy stripping. Would I enjoy teaching other women how to do pole work?
“Thanks for thinking of me,” I told Tess. “It’s something I hadn’t considered, because I had no idea it even existed.”
“Bobcat wouldn’t be okay with me stripping,” Tess said, “and he’s a cat. I can’t imagine what it’s doing to Squatch. I figure you’ll need to make a change soon, and I can’t see you ever asking him for money, which means you need another job. This probably won’t pay even close to what you make dancing, but it’ll give you an opportunity to take on some personal trainer gigs, and that should pay quite well.”
Our day was a wild rush of shopping and laughing. Shy joined us later in the day, in time for her to buy some kick-ass boots and a shirt that highlighted her boobs and abs. Even while we got our manicures, we cut up and joked. Later, we all got ready in the bedroom Velvet shares with Mad Dog at the clubhouse — helping each other with hair and makeup, modeling the outfits we’d bought to wear that evening. There was a new sweetbutt, which meant the men without ol’ladies would be downstairs most of the night, pulling a train on her. Our men would hang out down there some, and I’d told Squatch he could have a go at her. Honestly, I figured Bobcat probably would as well, because I didn’t think cats or mongooses got caught up in monogamy, but I didn’t know, and wasn’t comfortable asking.
However, it was clear that Mad Dog would not be participating. Not if he wanted to keep his balls attached to his body. Velvet wanted the ol’ladies to make the evening special for our men, so here we were. It seemed best that I didn’t share the fact I’d given Squatch the okay to fuck the new girl, and I assume if the other ol’ladies had done the same, they were keeping it to themselves as well.
It turned out to be a fun night, with just the couples upstairs, hanging out. All the sweet butts were downstairs, and most of the brothers. Our four went downstairs a few times to watch the fun (or join in, based on Squatch’s scent), and brothers came and went — some were working at the spa or at Blaze, and took a break to come to the clubhouse and take a few turns on the new girl.
Meanwhile, the ol’ladies were all behind steering wheels, racing each other in a kick-ass video game. I hadn’t been driving as long as them, so I was at a disadvantage, but I managed to hold my own so I at least kept up with them. Brooke had sent me to a fancy driving school somewhere up north, and they’d taught me tricks I don’t think most people learn, so I had a bit of an advantage when it came to high-speed turns.
Squatch sat behind me and watched, but didn’t say anything. I’m pretty sure that night gave him the idea for what happened the next week, though, because five days later he drove home a pearl red Acura NSX — a breathtakingly beautiful sports car that (surprise!) happens to be on the list of the safest sports cars, and he handed me the key fob with a big golden ribbon around it, along with a copy of the title application in my name.
It wasn’t brand new, but it was only two years old and didn’t have many miles on it, which actually made me happier because I’d have been terrified to drive a car that cost as much as this one did when it was new.
I hadn’t needed a car when we first came back, because either Squatch or Freckles drove me. In recent weeks, since the bras had come in, I’d been driving Squatch’s truck while he rode one of his bikes.
But having my own car again felt damned good, and having a car this nice? Words couldn’t express how happy I felt when I drove it. Like I had wings, kind of. The difference between this car and my junker was indescribable.
Somehow, the tiger and the wolf formed a truce — not around an expensive car, but around what the car represented.
It seems a little shallow, in retrospect, that this car made me suddenly okay with so many of my former issues, but I think it’s more about the message. Squatch wanted me to be safe, but he wasn’t going to lock me up to make sure nothing happened to me. He’d let me live my life and give me the freedom to come and go as I pleased, and he’d find the safest way to make that happen. He loved me enough to understand how badly I needed my freedom, and I loved him enough to understand how much he and his wolf needed to take care of me and keep me safe.