DANE SINCLAIR
TUESDAY WAS LAUGHING so hard he almost fell out of Dane's car when he opened the door to get out. Wiping tears from his face, he handed the crumpled pink paper to Marissa.
"I can't wait to get my legal pad." He looked at Dane. "You gonna let her do all that shit?"
"First, don't cuss. It's against the Center's rules. Second, it's her list. I'm an employee, just like you."
"Third, it's impolite to speak about me like I'm not standing here. And fourth, Dane isn't going to let me do anything. He's just supposed to protect me from..." Marissa waved her hand. "Stuff."
Dane crossed his arms. For the thousandth time, the thought entered his mind that he should ditch this crazy job. Never again would he worry about being in a rut. A normal, stable, boring bachelorhood sounded like heaven compared to life with Marissa. But he couldn't leave her. God knew what she'd think up next.
Besides, he didn't have Marissa's faith in Tuesday. Dane worked with boys like him almost every day. Time, effort, and constant supervision were all necessary components of getting street kids to reform their ways.
They all arrived at the Center in survival mode—and the need to survive blurred the lines of ethics. It was hard to have principles when a kid didn't know where he was going to crash or when he was getting his next meal.
"Hey, buddy!"
Dane turned and saw Brent walking toward them. Terrific. The sex-god had arrived.
"Hello, Marissa."
Dane resisted the urge to scoop out his friend's eyeballs with a dull spoon. That dickhead was taking too long and too close a look at his princess.
"Hi, Brent. How are you today?"
"Much better. The view's improved in the last couple of seconds."
Marissa blushed. The rosy color tinted her pale cheeks so prettily Dane felt like punching Brent. He added "cutting out tongue" to his list of Violent Things That Would Happen To Brent if his supposed best friend didn't stop flirting.
"So you hangin' around to see Dane in action?"
"I'm very interested in seeing what the TeenCenter is like." Marissa grasped Tuesday's arm and pulled him forward. "This is my friend, Tuesday Jones."
Brent extended his hand and shook Tuesday's. "Are you here to enroll in the sports program?"
"No way, man."
Dane looked at Marissa. "Let's go inside. We'll get one of the volunteers to give you and Tuesday a tour while Brent and I talk about some business."
"If you get a moment, would you mind asking Brent about—"
"Yes, damn it. I'll ask."
She smiled. "Thanks."
An enthusiastic Marissa and a reluctant Tuesday followed one of the volunteer clerks through the TeenCenter's main doors. Dane and Brent entered the office they shared.
The room was fairly spacious—Dane's desk, shelves, and files occupied the left end, Brent's, the right. In the middle was a living room-type area Brent used to counsel the teens and, occasionally, parents.
Two couches faced each other and two wingback leather chairs faced each other, making a furniture square. Against the wall was a table with a coffeemaker, coffee-making supplies, and a stack of Styrofoam cups.
Dane closed the door, then walked to one of the couches and collapsed on it. "What the hell am I doing?"
"Excellent question. Who's the girl?"
"A rich runaway who thinks having sex is like getting on a really cool roller coaster ride."
"Uh...what?"
Dane sat up. "She's got this list. She thinks the best way to experience life is to buy stuff, and have sex, and go to the zoo."
"Go to the zoo?"
"Yeah. I agreed to be her bodyguard for this whole week. I'm in hell, Brent."
"Bodyguard?"
"Would you stop repeating my sentences in question form?" He sat up and looked at his friend sitting on the opposite couch. "She's paying me ten grand to help her out with the list and guard her body."
"What a body."
"Yeah."
A moment of silence passed as both men contemplated Marissa's curves, then Dane remembered about the one-night stand. "I'm supposed to ask you if you'd consider having sex with her.
Brent's eyes bulged and his mouth dropped open, then he shook his head and grinned. "Can't we date first?"
"By the way," said Dane conversationally, "if you even think about going to bed with her, I'll have to kill you."
"Why would you...you like her, don't you? Why don't you have sex with her?"
"I said no. Just like you're going to."
"You want me to turn down no-strings-sex with that gorgeous woman because..."
"I said so."
"You like her."
"I don't like her. She's paying me to protect her so I'm protecting her."
"You don't like her?"
Dane stood up and went to the coffee machine. Knowing Brent, the coffee in the pot had been made earlier in the morning and was now burnt swill. He poured some into a cup and dosed it with liberal amounts of sugar and powdered creamer.
"She's young. Naïve. Running away from something...or someone. I've been trying to convince her that her first sexual experience should be special—worth something."
"Holy shit. She's a virgin?"
"Yes."
"Where did you meet her?"
"Paradise Club. She was trying to get drunk." Dane told his friend the rest of the story, including how they ended up outside a convenience store waiting for him. Brent didn't bother trying to hold back his laughter. Tears streamed down his face.
"Some friend." Dane sipped the coffee then grimaced at the sweet-burned taste. "This is disgusting." He threw away the cup and returned to the couch.
Brent managed to downgrade his guffaws to chuckles. He wiped his eyes. "Maybe I can get through to her. I'll take her out for some dinner, get her side of the story, and talk some sense into her."
Dane didn't want Brent anywhere near Marissa. Knowing her, she'd have Brent promising all sorts of sexual favors. The idea of her sharing herself with anyone but him, no, with anyone, period, made his gut clench.
On the other hand, Brent was a counselor, and a damned good one. He could influence Marissa to tear up the list—or at least he might be able to get some information about who she had escaped and why.
"All right. But if you get horizontal with her, I'll rip off your arms."
"Don't worry, Dane. I won't touch her."
"Yeah, but what are you going to do if she touches you?"