After ungracefully stumbling out of my ribbons, I curtsy to the wolf-whistling crowd before darting off the stage. I don’t know where I am going or what I am planning to do when I get there, but I’m shoving the cosmetics scattered around my station into my handbag like a madman within two seconds of hitting backstage.
"Abby?" Jet questions, his one word as breathless as my panicked composure. "Did you nearly fall. . .? That was cutting it close. I don't think you should do that again. You scared the shit out of me. . ."
His words trail off when he notices me packing. “Where are you going, doll face? You have another two performances.”
“I. . .I’m. . . This. . .”
I can’t get my words past the panic curled around my throat. I don’t know what is more distressing, wondering if my cover has been blown or my near-death experience. Considering I’d rather be dead than caught, I’d say it is my first worry.
“Abby. . .” Jet follows me into the dressing room, darting between a dozen topless dancers on his way.
I flick on the outdated bulb before moving to the section reserved for my clothes. Although Pete's first three hundred dollars went toward two outfits, the remaining eight spread sparingly on three feet of hanging space belong to me. I paid for them out of my profits, hoping a change-up in outfits would keep the regulars entertained until I devised more daring routines.
“Stop and think about this, Abby. You need the money.” Jet isn’t prompting me about my dire financial state because he is concerned about Pete’s profits. He is reminding me because he has become more a friend the past three weeks than a coworker.
I stop shoving my clothing into my open gym bag when he adds on, "Running won't get you anywhere fast. It hasn't in the past; it won't now. It's time to face your past, Savannah."
I clamber backward, shocked and void of a reply.I never told him my real name—not once.
“Oh. . . come on. Don’t be scared. It’s me. Lollipop Jet.” He digs a cherry cola pop out of his pocket before shoving it into his grinning mouth. “Look in my eyes, Savannah. Tell me what you see? It isn’t a man who will hurt you.”
He steps back, placing an unthreatening amount of distance between us before raising his eyes to mine. It feels like I’ve been kicked in the stomach for the second time tonight when the reason behind his familiar eyes comes to light.How did I not see this earlier? Have I been walking around with blinders on?
“Jeffrey. . .?” My words are as unconfident as my facial expression. “Jeffrey Moat?”
I see Jet’s tongue curling around his lollipop from the broad grin he is giving me.
“But you moved to Cali years ago. Your dad is a lawyer.” I scan our location. Although Vipers glistens like my skin after a dusting of body glow, it is still a strip club. No amount of sparkle can alter that fact. “Youshouldn’tbe working at a strip club.”
“Why not?” he asks, chuckling under his breath.
“Because. . . because. . .”
I’m stumped. I work here, so how can I give a valid point without degrading myself?
“You’ve lost alotof weight.” I roll my eyes.That’s the best you could come up with?Anyone would swear I was meeting with the ladies who use to run our primary school PTA, not a boy I went to school with until grade seven.
“And you’ve gained a few pounds. . . in a good way.” Jet’s last sentence comes out in a hurry, unfazed by my snarled growl.
I groan for the second time when his eyes fail to deviate from my chest.
"Sorry. Old habits die hard." If he weren't smiling, I might have believed him. "You were always a looker back in the day, Savannah. I’m glad to see nothing's changed."
His compliment removes some of my worry. “When did you move back to Ravenshoe?”
I can't believe how different he looks. When we were young, Jet wasveryoverweight. He wore thick-rimmed glasses, and his left shoe was padded because one of his legs was longer than the other. He didn't look likethis. . .hot enough to fight off three to four eager women every night. The Viper's female clientele don't arrive at precisely 6 PM every night for cheap drinks. They come for Jet.
"A couple of months ago," Jet answers, reminding me that I asked a question. "I ran into some trouble in Cali, decided to start afresh. You?"
He asks his question without any stipulation. If I don’t want to answer, I don’t have to.
“Same.”
He nods, not deterred by my short reply. “So you inevitably knew tonight would happen, right? You can’t come home and not expect to see old faces. It would be nice, but very unlikely.”
Sweat slicks my skin. “You saw Brax too?”
Jet nods again. "Hasn't changed, has he? I swear he's been rocking that hairstyle since kindergarten."
