Dirty Secrets (Get Dirty 4)

Understanding dawns, and I feel my heart go out to him. I don’t know what the issue is between him and his wife, but the man’s obviously in pain. And those extended-stay places suck.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I had no idea. Do you miss Cindy or Cathy? Either way, you should tell them.”

He smiles as he sniffles again, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops and looking bashful. “Cindy . . . I miss my little girl. Cathy can rot in hell, for all I care.”

His words are spat out, coated in unexpected venom that makes me flinch. He sees the cringe and winces apologetically.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to sound so mean. I found out she’s been cheating on me. Lawyer said I should let her keep the house because it’s best for Cindy, but then they get to home like nothing changed, and I’m alone. Ah, fuck, it’s just a little raw right now, and I’m bitter as hell.”

My eyebrows furrow at his pain, but I find I’m fresh out of encouraging responses and he doesn’t seem to want the platitudes anyway. Mr. Duncan pushes off from the car and stretches his arms up and over his head, taking a long, shuddering breath before blowing it out as if to clear the painful thoughts.

“Enough of that drama. I really need to move on, I think.”

Again, it seems like he’s convincing himself more than me, so I shrug non-committedly. “If you’re okay, Mr. Duncan . . .”

He nods and musters up a small smile. “Hey, I heard about your new classes. Congrats on that!”

His words are polite, the same ones several other parents have given me in response to the news, thankfully. Though there’s something different about hearing them post-class from a mom with her child swirling around her legs than from a sad dad alone in a parking lot. A wiggle of concern blooms in my belly, though Mr. Duncan has always been nothing but nice to me.

“Thanks,” I say as I reflexively scan the parking lot, wondering who Dom has following me tonight.

I don’t feel the weight of Dom’s gaze like I do sometimes, and my gut tells me that he would never let me talk to a man alone in a dark parking lot because he’s way too powerful to let something like that slide. But there’s no one around but me and Mr. Duncan.

But maybe Mr. Duncan’s just trying to be nice. I mean, he hasn’t said anything that—

“You should have the class do a recital like the girls do. I’m sure the husbands would love to come see that.”

He just blew past the line of acceptable conversation, regardless of where we’re standing, but out here, what he said somehow sounds even more skeevy. My nose crinkles in distaste, but he doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

“You’re really beautiful, you know that?”

I step back, gaining space between us, but before I can answer, there’s a clanging noise as a metal bay door slams a few suites down from the dance studio. Both Mr. Duncan and me instinctually look over. Two big and broad silhouettes come into view, and then I can hear the guys’ loud chatter and laughter as they joke around.

Whew, thank fuck. I was getting a bit nervous that Dom’s guy, or guys in this case, I guess, were sleeping on the job. I don’t think Mr. Duncan would really try anything, but you can never be too sure.

“Hey, guys, thanks for meeting me,” I say, though I guess I wasn’t really expecting anyone to show their face. Dom’s guys are usually relatively discrete. Relatively being the operative word because how do you miss a big guy in an Italian suit following you down the sidewalk?

But they seem to read my discomfort and play along. The brunette who looks like he was carved from marble says, “Sure, no problem, baby.”

His phrase throws me for a second, because at Petals, ‘baby’ is code for ‘help me,’ and it’s ingrained in my head to hear ‘danger’ with the word. He should know that. Unless it’s supposed to be some Jedi reverse mind trick, like he’s telling me that he recognizes that I’m in danger? Convoluted, but as long as they’re here, I’ll take a little weirdness.

They give Mr. Duncan a careful look. He seems to catch up to the developing situation, realizing that he’s on the losing side of the scale.

“Well, I guess I’d better get going. I’ll leave you to your . . .” —he gestures at me and then to the two men— “evening. I’ll see you next week when I drop off Cindy. Thanks for listening, Allie.”

Mustering the most dignity he can, Mr. Duncan steps back and faux-casually goes over to his driver side door, getting inside. With a roar of the engine, he pulls out of the parking lot, gassing it down the street.