Her sudden change in demeanor was disconcerting. Why had she stifled herself? Not that it was any of his business. He had enough issues without trying to solve hers. “I can spare a few minutes. It’s not very often I find someone who appreciates this place. Most of my friends think I should gut it and go with an industrial look.”
“Industrial is too sterile.” The phone in her hand began to ring, and she glanced at the display. Her lips compressed for the briefest of seconds as she rejected the call. “Sorry about that.”
“Let me give you the grand tour. Here is the stage. As you can tell, it’s seen better days. Behind it, are a storage room, wait station, and pantry. If you look in the corner, you’ll see a tarp hiding three vintage podiums, the type big-band musicians used. Rumor has it Elvis Presley sang here.”
“And did you start that rumor?” Laughter followed her challenge as she raised her skirt and settled her foot on the stage. The material hugged her ass and the slit in the back showed off her legs, long and toned. Probably from the treadmill. She looked too polished to be the outdoors type. His type.
He hopped onto the stage and followed her toward the podiums when a menacing crack sounded. Alice’s heel sunk through the floorboard, throwing her off balance. He caught her about the waist, her back pressed hard against his chest. Her perfume teased his nose and her soft hair caressed his cheek. The rise and fall of her stomach beneath his hands set the rhythm of his own. “Shit, sorry, this stage has some soft spots.”
“Is the whole upstairs unsafe or just the stage?” She cocked her head; her lips close enough to kiss.
Not that he wanted to kiss her. Did he? He must be more tired than he thought to consider such a stupid act. “Just the stage.” And apparently you. You’re an accident waiting to happen.
Perfectly made-up lids lowered, blocking those pale eyes from view. “I’ll be more careful. Danger lurks in unexpected places.”
Was she flirting with him, or was his imagination playing tricks? He waited until she pulled her heel free before he dropped his arms from around her waist. He jumped to the floor and held out his hand to assist her. “Let’s not challenge fate and get off this death trap.”
“Agreed.” Alice accepted his help long enough to find her footing. She strode from the stage area to the vintage cigarette machine that someone had converted into a minibar. Next to it was a jukebox. She peered into the glass case, slanted her head, and narrowed her eyes at him. “Hmmm, seems to be a lot of Elvis Presley records in here.”
“I told you Elvis sang here. And you thought I was lying,” he said, scratching at his chin. Shit, he needed to shave. He was going to have to speed this little tour up. “The kitchen is through here.”
Niko walked through the swinging wooden doors and waited for her to follow him into the lime-green and white kitchen.
“Oh my goodness, you weren’t lying…about this,” she said, her earlier enthusiasm playing across her face as she scanned the old-fashioned metal cabinets and subway tile backsplash. Her lips parted and she ran her hand across one of the two white enamel stoves, a tile countertop between them for prep. “I love the feel of this place; too bad we didn’t know about it sooner. I already booked a venue, a feat during the Christmas season. Mitchell—my boss—is the impulsive type and doesn’t think things through. I wasn’t too thrilled with the time frame he gave me to film a show, edit it, and get it ready to air live on Christmas Eve. It was meant to be filmed and aired on Easter because, well, the timing made more sense. But—”
“Chloe could be dead by then.” The words cut into his soul and a physical pain radiated through his gut, worse than an opponent’s punch each and every time he considered the outcome. He placed a hand behind his head and rubbed at his neck. “Sorry to cut this short. I have to get ready for work.”
She opened her mouth as if to say something but nodded instead. “Thank you for the tour. You have my number. Please text me in the morning, and I’ll be here with Ronan.”
“Sounds good.” He waited until she left and took the back stairs up to the third-floor loft. Like the second story ballroom, his apartment had floor to ceiling windows along one side that offered a stunning view of the bay, and he rested his forehead against the glass, enjoying the coolness on his heated skin. He closed his eyes and inhaled, harnessing his energy for the long night ahead while he unfastened the leather chaps.
Niko pushed away from the window, wincing at the twinge of pain from a rotator cuff injury that had sidelined him and ultimately cemented his decision to quit the ring. Stripping off his clothes on his way to the small bathroom, he dropped his dirty pants and shirt in the laundry hamper. Stretching the kink out of his neck, he turned on the water. The old pipes groaned, and he stepped under the stream, groaning himself at the icy coolness until he acclimated to it. How much different his day turned out to be than he’d expected. He’d left this very shower at six a.m. and hadn’t had a minute to rest in between. Nor would he have such a luxury in the upcoming weeks. He had to roll with the punches, no matter the pressure. The thirty thousand dollars would ease some of the burden for Chloe’s medical bills. Her life was on the line, which meant he couldn’t afford to lose a contest he’d never wanted to enter.
Chapter Six
“B4, B4,” the bingo caller drawled into the microphone.
“This is it? This is your venue?” Grace whispered, touching Alice’s shoulder.
“Thank God you’re here.” Alice said, standing in the corner while she panned the elongated room with the video camera on her phone. She’d asked Grace to meet her in the basement recreational room of the American Legion hall, to scope out her venue. Twenty plus banquet tables ten deep were filled with bingo players of all ages. A woman with a line of troll dolls in front of her yelled “Bingo!” and an attendant rushed over to call out the numbers from her card.
“Yep,” Alice said out of the side of her mouth, pocketing the phone. The bingo equipment sat on a small stage next to a massive fireplace with the ugliest multicolored faux river rock Alice had ever beheld. Harsh fluorescent lights, water-stained dropped ceilings, and vinyl wood paneling completed the scene. It was a mid-70s horror show.
Grace tucked a stray strand of black hair behind her ear and scratched at her neck. “Get a load of that fireplace. I’ve never seen anything like it. And is it me, or does it smell rank in here?”
The pervasive smell of popcorn and mold tickled the back of Alice’s throat. “No, it’s not just you. This place is sad.”
“And that’s a good bingo. Our next game is the letter H,” the caller announced, and the sound of balls dropping into the bingo machine rang over the speakers. “And your first number is on the screen.”
A bingo ball was broadcast on the multiple TV sets hanging from the drop ceiling.
“That’s putting it nicely. Check out this carpet. Orange and black shag with a bad case of mange.”
Alice slapped a hand over her mouth and tried to hold back her amusement. Grace’s giggles sent her over the edge. She burst out laughing, the sound echoing in the tension-filled silence as the players scanned their cards.
Several patrons frowned at her while the troll lady hissed an exaggerated “Shhhhh!” Their disapproval amplified the ridiculousness of the situation, and Alice’s amusement increased. Tears filled her eyes as a waterfall of giggles erupted from deep inside her. Grace couldn’t hold herself back either. They were both gasping for breath with their hands clapped over their mouths.
“Come...on, we better get out of here before they pelt us with bingo balls,” Grace said.
