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But her eyes were kind.
“They hassling you?”
I shrugged.
“You know you could make triple the money at least if you got up on the stage. You would blow most of these other bitches away. You don’t even have to dance,” she said with a cackle.
I knew she meant it as a compliment. But it was the last thing I wanted to hear at the moment.
“I don’t think I could do it. Thanks though.”
“Sh, huh?”
I nodded, not wanting to insult her by saying it went against my values.
“Hey, you know what makes it a lot easier?”
“No, what?”
She pulled me into the dressing room and held up a bottle of tequila. The good stuff too. Clear, not yellow. And not a brand I’d heard of before.
Which basically meant it was fancy as hell.
“Mother’s milk!”
I watched numbly as she poured out two shots into dixie cups.
She handed me mine and I took it. I didn’t want to be rude to the nicest person I’d spoken to in days. Besides, its not like I had to drive home.
I could ride a bike after a drink or two.
I actually cracked a smile at the thought.
That was almost funny.
I downed the shot. And the next one she handed me. Then I thanked her and headed back to the floor. Another guy reached out to touch me as I passed his table and I wiggled out of the way, giggling.
Bambi was right.
Mother’s milk was a huge fucking help.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Clay
I sat in the darkest part of the club waiting. I knew she was here. I didn’t want to believe it but I fucking knew it was true.
After all, the private investigator I’d hired had told me so. Even showed me a picture of Nevada tottering around in high heels and a skimpy cocktail waitress uniform.
With too much makeup on her young and pretty face, she’d looked like a child playing dress up. But her body was all woman. She’d get eaten alive in that outfit.
It had cut me like a knife.
My father and I had gone to the motel, but Dana and Nevada were long gone. The clerk had been unhelpful once again. So had calling around to the other inexpensive places to stay.
It had been weird to see my dad in a place like that. Cheap. Shoddy. But even weirder had been the look of worry on his face.
He actually fucking cared about her.
Like, a lot.
We’d gone home and shared a bottle of booze.
The next day, I’d hired a private detective – with my father’s blessing.
It had led me here. Nevada was working in a fucking strip joint. Not as a dancer, but still… My blood boiled as I sat there.
She won’t take my money, but this was okay?
Half-naked women were everywhere but I barely even saw them. I was looking at the men in the place. Wondering if they’d touched her. Talked to her. Tried anything.
Because if they did, there would be hell to pay.
A girl with her hair pulled back in a chignon came in from the back. She was laughing with one of the strippers. Her long neck and graceful shoulders drew my eye.
I knew her, even in the darkness across a crowded room.
Nevada Jones.
She looked older somehow. Jaded. And that’s before they sent her over to take my order. Before her eyes turned cold and hard as she stared at me.
“What can I get you?”
“Nev, what the fuck are you doing here?”
She looked up from her pad.
“I’m trying to take your order.”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
“Do you know what you want? I have other tables to attend to…”
My jaw ticked as I stared at her. She shrugged and turned on those ridiculous high heels. I watched her hungrily as she walked off. I could sit here all night. And the next night.
There was no way I was leaving her alone in a place like this.
Eventually she’d break down and talk to me.
She fucking had to.
Chapter Forty
Nevada
He was back.
Again.
The second night in a row that Clay sat in the back, away from the stage. And glared at me.
I felt like there were two holes burning into my back as I leant over my table and took the orders of a group of middle-aged business men.
The tequila Barbara kept in the back room was working wonders. I was almost having fun. I even started to enjoy the attention from all these men.
They wanted me.
They desired me.
Me.
Turns out, I could be with a lot of guys if I wanted to. Not just Clay. Older guys. Men. Not that it was surprising really. But I’d never had real grownups pay me the least attention.
It was heady.
Or maybe that was the tequila talking.
I was sashaying across the bar when he grabbed my arm.
“What the fuck are you doing, Nevada? Are you getting off on this?”
The bouncer was over there in an instant.
