Gastown Girls

MILES

“There has to be something we can do!” I barked, staring up through the skylight, the buzzing suggesting there were more than one drone hovering above my boat.

“We’ve been in contact with the port security. They’re working with the local police, but the rules on drones aren’t clear. There’s not a lot of legislation in place yet.

“The paparazzi can’t fly a drone over a celebrity’s home, but you’re docked in a public space. So, I’m not sure how that works.”

“It’s an invasion of privacy. I can’t go outside on my own fucking yacht.”

“We’re working on it, Mr. Maines. We’ve added two more guys to patrol the dock.”

I disconnected the call before tossing my phone on the bed.

Why couldn’t the fucking paparazzi find someone else to harass? I had enough to deal with.

The divers were delayed. They were still in Italy.

And I was stuck in Seattle. I’d never be able to charter a private boat now. The paps would probably chase us up the fucking coast.

And I couldn’t leave Hannah on my yacht by herself.

Hannah.

When did I stop thinking of her as the ~stripper~?

Hannah Taylor was the sweetest, most beautiful girl I’d ever met. When she set that plate of meatloaf and mashed potatoes in front of me, I thought my heart was going to burst right out of my chest.

She takes her clothes off for a living. A whore is a whore, no matter how sweet she is.

I wandered out to the salon. The drapes were closed and the overhead lights dimmed, as per my instructions.

Hannah was curled up in the corner of the black leather sectional sofa, her eyes trained on her phone.

Her breasts spilled out of her pink V-neck t-shirt, her white yoga pants showing off her sexy camel toe.

Who the fuck picked out her clothes?

Everything they sent for Hannah seemed too small and a tad slutty. I made a mental note to call Dean and give him shit for assuming that a stripper would dress like a slut outside of work.

The outfit Hannah was wearing after the party was very conservative. She didn’t strike me as a woman who walked around with her tits on display.

Huh? She’s a fucking stripper! She plays with her bare tits on stage every night.

“Hey, there,” I said, leaning on the door frame.

She glanced up from her phone, her gorgeous blue eyes swimming with tears.

“Are you on Twitter?” I asked.

“I can’t help it,” she whispered, sniffling as she searched for a tissue.

I stepped into the adjacent powder room and grabbed the tissue box from the vanity.

“Thanks,” she said with a weak smile when I tossed the box onto the sofa next to her.

“You need to stop reading that shit, Hannah. Trust me. Nothing good will come from reading the crap people write about you.”

“Why are people so horrible?”

“Fangirls can be pretty vicious. A lot of them are batshit crazy. Why do you think I have a bodyguard?”

“How am I supposed to go back to my life? The entire world knows where I work!

“What if people come into the club to harass me? What if your crazy fans wait outside for me and attack me because they think I’m your girlfriend?”

“My publicist made it pretty clear that we aren’t in a relationship.”

“Nobody believes it,” she sighed, shaking her head.

“I’ll make a public appearance with another woman or something. My publicist will take care of it. That’s her job.”

“I knew this assignment was a bad idea,” she muttered.

“Why did you take it?”

“Money, of course.”

I dropped down on the opposite end of the sofa, stretching my legs out on the coffee table. “How long have you been a stripper?”

“Five years.”

“Why do you do it?”

“It pays the bills.”

“There are lots of other ways to pay the bills that allow you to keep your clothes on.”

“Don’t judge me, Miles.”

“I’m not, sweetheart. I’m just trying to understand.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I’m a nice guy.”

“Are you really?”

“You don’t think so?”

“You called me a whore and made me sleep in the basement.”

“It’s called the hull,” I clarified. “And I apologize for making assumptions about you based on your job.”

“I’m not a whore, Miles.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“My parents died five years ago. Dad went first. Cancer. Mom died a few weeks later. Massive heart attack. Classic broken heart syndrome.

“They were high school sweethearts, married for thirty-two years.”

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.

“They were dreamers who never planned for tomorrow. When they died, they left us with nothing but piles of debt.

“I was working in a bakery at the time. But I couldn’t support my two sisters on minimum wage.

“One day, I came home from work to find an eviction notice on our door. I had a meltdown in the hallway outside our apartment.

“Deedee, that’s Diamond, the stripper your drummer has a thing for, she had just moved in next door. She found me on the floor. I was desperate. We were going to be on the street.

“Deedee saved my life. She took me down to the club and introduced me to Barry. He made me strip for him. I was mortified. Absolutely disgusted with myself. But I knew I had no choice.”

“Why couldn’t your sisters work?”

“My younger sister, Alexis, was in college. I didn’t want her to drop out. She ended up flunking out anyway. But she went to hairdressing school, and she’s working now.

“My older sister is autistic. She gets a disability pension, but it’s not enough. Vancouver is expensive.”

“You have an autistic sister?” I asked in disbelief.

“Yes. Her name is Cleo, short for Cleopatra.”

“How old is she?”

“Thirty-five.”

“Where is she on the spectrum?”

“She has classic autism, level two,” she replied with a curious glance.

“Cleo presents with most of the typical behaviors you might see. She lacks social skills, has trouble making eye contact, she’s severely OCD, and she can’t really carry on a conversation.”

“You might be talking about the weather, and she’ll respond with some random fact or question that is totally unrelated. She’s obsessed with numbers and measurements.

“And she has a temper. She doesn’t handle change very well.”

“I need to step outside for a few minutes,” I said gruffly. My head was spinning. I needed some fresh air.

“Oh. Okay.”

I headed for the patio door leading out to the port deck. Fuck the reporters. If they wanted to snap pictures of me having a cigarette, let them.

I pulled my smokes and my lighter from my shirt pocket and lit up. It was the first cigarette I’d had since the night of the party.

I didn’t smoke much anymore. Usually only at parties or bars, or when I was stressed.

The pier was quiet, the sea too calm, with only a slight breeze stirring up the waves. I spotted a small boat moving slowly across the dark cove.

Stupid fucking reporters. Don’t they ever go home? Can’t they sense the impending storm?

I took a couple more drags from my cigarette before putting it out in the can next to the door.

When I glanced inside, Hannah was watching me. Our eyes connected while we shared a long-lasting, intense gaze, the heat crackling between us through the glass door.

What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m attracted to a stripper. Whore or not, she still dances naked on a stage every night. And I can’t stop thinking about her.

I reached for the door handle, sliding it open slowly.

Her eyes followed me as I walked across the room and sat down on the opposite end of the sofa. I stared at the window, our eyes meeting in the reflection in the glass.

“I have an autistic daughter.”

The waves slapped against the side of the boat; our breathing was the only other sound in the room.

I held her gaze while my brain scrambled to process the barrage of unfamiliar emotions I was experiencing.

“I didn’t know that,” she said quietly.

“Neither did I,” I sighed, staring out at the dark sea. A storm was brewing, the wind picking up and jarring the boat against the dock.

“Is this boat secured well?” Hannah asked, laughing nervously.

“Yes. No worries.”

“When did you find out you had a daughter?”

“A little over a year ago, after her mother died of Covid.”

“Oh, my gosh,” she gasped. “That’s terrible.”

“Yes. She was only forty-one. In perfect health.”

“That’s very sad, Miles.”

“Yes. This girl had my baby twenty-one years ago, and she never told me. I can’t figure out why she kept it a secret. I guess I’ll never know.

“But she left a will claiming I was the father, and if anything happened to her, I was to be contacted because there was nobody else who could care for the girl.

“I had a paternity test done. She’s mine. My mother moved in with me to help.”

“What’s her name?”

“Lucy.”

She grinned. “I like that.”

“It suits her.” I smiled, thinking of my beautiful daughter. She wasn’t used to me being away this long. We’d been in lockdown for most of the time that she’d been living with me.

“What is she like?”

“She’s similar to your sister, but without the temper. And they say she’s only a level one.

“She functions pretty well in regards to her personal care and that type of thing, but she could never live on her own.

“Lucy is very calm. Nothing really rattles her. She’s OCD but she manages her anxiety quite well.

“My daughter inherited my musical talent and she uses music as an outlet for her stress.”

“Wow, she sounds amazing.”

“She is very talented. Lucy can sing. She’s been taking piano lessons since she was four. And I taught her how to play guitar. She jams with my band sometimes. Osk is teaching her to play the drums.”

“Sounds like she’s happy.”

“I hope so. She struggled when she first arrived, naturally. But my mom is great with her. She’s come a long way. I’m sending her to a camp out on Vancouver Island in August.”

“The one in Tofino?”

“That’s the one. Has your sister been there before?”

“Yes, she goes every summer.”

“Does she like it?”

“Very much. Being around other people like her really helps with her social skills. And it’s good for her to get out of the city for a week. They do all kinds of outdoor activities.”

“Cool. Maybe I’ll see you there when I drop Lucy off.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Do you have a car, Hannah?”

“No, I don’t even have a license.”

“How do you get your sister to camp?”

“Bus.”

“That must be a very long day for you.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“I could give you a ride.”

“Um, okay,” she stuttered, chewing on her lower lip.

Fuck, she was cute. And so damn sexy.

“Great. I’ll give you my number when we get back to Vancouver. But you can’t share it with anyone. You have to give me a fake name on your phone.”

“Okay,” she giggled. “I’ll call you Hugh.”

“Hugh?”

She shrugged. “That’s the first name that popped into my head.”

“You’re funny, Hannah.”

Her cheeks turned pink, and her eyes darted nervously around the room. She jumped when a loud crack of thunder rattled the boat.

“You okay over there?” I chuckled.

“Yeah,” she squeaked. “It just startled me.”

“You look like you’re about to shit your pants,” I teased.

“I’m thirty years old, Miles,” she snapped. “I’m not afraid of thunderstorms. I’ve just never been on a boat during one.”

“I’ll protect you,” I offered. “Come over here.”

She stared at the empty spot next to me, her eyes widening as she sank her teeth into her lower lip again.

“I don’t bite,” I promised. “Unless you ask me to.”

Now, she definitely looks like she’s gonna shit her pants.

She slid her butt down the couch, settling on the cushion next to me.

I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, pulling her close when a streak of lightning lit up the sky, followed by another boom of thunder.

“You’re shaking,” I whispered. “It’s just a storm.”

“It’s not the storm that’s making me nervous,” she admitted. “It’s you.”

“Why am I making you nervous, Hannah?” I murmured, burying my nose in her hair, a mixture of orange blossom and coconut delighting my senses.

“I’m not used to having strange men smell my hair.”

“Why am I strange?” I chuckled.

“Not strange like weird. Strange as in a stranger.”

“You’ve been with me on my boat for two days. I hardly think we’re strangers.”

“We’re definitely strangers,” she said.

“Well,” I whispered, tilting her chin up so I could gaze into those gorgeous blue eyes. “Let’s get better acquainted.”

I brushed my fingers lightly down her cheek, and her eyelids fluttered closed just before I pressed my mouth against hers.

Her lips softened, and a little mewl escaped her throat when I ran my tongue along the seam, seeking entry into her mouth.

A wail of sirens shattered the silence; flashing lights dancing past the starboard windows.

I pulled away from Hannah when heavy footsteps approached. She put some distance between us before Judd appeared.

“A small fishing boat capsized in the storm,” he announced, his eyes darting back and forth between us.

“I saw that boat when I was out having a smoke earlier. I thought it was reporters.”

“It probably was. Fishermen know better than to go out when a storm is coming.”

“True.”

I joined Judd at the window, watching the scene unfold. The rain was pelting down while the rescuers pulled several idiots out of the choppy water.

“I sure hope the picture of me smoking was worth it,” I muttered, turning away, a wave of disappointment washing over me. Hannah was gone.

“What are you doing, Miles?” Judd asked, placing his hand on my shoulder.

“What do you mean?”

“I walked in on something.”

“You sure did, asshole,” I grumbled.

“She’s a stripper, Miles.”

I wandered to the other side of the room to gaze out at the Seattle coastline. “She’s different. I can’t explain it.”

“Hannah is a sweet girl.”

I turned around, studying my best friend. Judd never talked like that about women. He’d never been in a serious relationship. How could he when he was glued to my ass twenty-four-seven?

“Do you have a thing for Hannah?” I asked.

“Do you?”

“I asked you first.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “She made you meatloaf.”

“Are you still whining about the fucking chicken parm?” I laughed.

“It’s not about the chicken, dickhead. It’s about what your meatloaf represents.”

“That I gave her a better room and offered to pay her the money she’s losing while she’s trapped on my yacht?”

“Sure, Miles,” he chuckled. “That’s why she made your favorite meal.”

“What are you trying to say, Judd?”

“Miles and Hannah, sittin’ in a tree.”

“You can’t sing.”

“Don’t hurt her, Miles,” he warned, before walking away.

“I thought you were supposed to be protecting me!” I called out.

He didn’t respond.