“I’ll. . . uh. . . see you around?” I don’t know why that sounded like a question.
When Ryan nods, I spin on my heels and head to the foyer of my building.
I halt midstride when Ryan asks, "Will you stop working at Vipers?"
I exhale a deep breath before pivoting to face him. “No,” I reply, hitting him with the straight-up honesty I wish he had bestowed upon me ten years ago. “It may not be a reputable job, but it is still a job nonetheless. It pays my bills.”
A deep groove settles between Ryan’s brows. “The people you work with—”
“Are my friends,” I interrupt, stopping him before he says something he may regret.
“Jet is—”
“I know, Ryan.I know. But before you judge Jet or any of the women I work with, remember their family and friends are judging me in the same light. Anything you say about them, you are saying about me."
The torment on his face doubles. “You’re notthem, Savannah.”
Pretending we aren’t standing in the middle of a downpour, talking like strangers, I take a step closer to him. “I’m not like all of them, but I wish I were some of them.”
When Ryan’s brows stitch in confusion, I add on, “Syndi, the young brunette manning the main door. . .”
I wait for him to nod, acknowledging he knows who I am referring to.
"She works at Vipers to pay her brother's college tuition. When he gets drafted, she plans to join him at his host city. Chastity, Rowena, and Nelly are only months from graduating. And Jet. . . he's clean and getting his life back on track. Some women strip for the wrong reasons, but there are just as many who do it for the right reasons. But even then, it isn’t our job to judge them, Ryan.”
Up until only a few short weeks ago, my mindset matched Ryan’s. Once I learned more about my coworkers, I realized I had no right to ridicule them or their decisions. They welcomed me into their group with open arms, yet I was judging their choices instead of their personalities. I was wrong—both then and now.
“I’m sorry you don’t agree with my decision, Ryan, but it is my choice to make. This is my body, which means I am the only one who chooses what to do with it.”
He scrubs at the stubble on his chin before nodding, once again agreeing with me. He's not happy, but his beliefs on women having the right to choose what they do with their bodies means he’ll concede—for now.
After dropping his hand from his face, he lifts his eyes to me. “Are you going to continue walking home like you have every night the past week?”
Hiding my shock that he is more aware of my routine than he first let on, I reply, “Yes.”
His hands ball into fists at his side before he asks, “Can I drive you?”
“No,” I reply, shaking my head.
I'm not denying his request to be spiteful. I'm doing it because he looks so tired. His position puts his life in jeopardy every day. If anything happened to him, I'd forever wonder if I was at fault. I've got enough guilt on my plate; I don't need more.
Ryan’s chest puffs high as he sucks in a large breath. The rain hasn’t let up the past fifteen minutes, but we stand amongst it, not the least bit enticed to seek shelter. I’m happy for the downpour to hide the wetness brimming in my eyes, and Ryan uses it to cool his flaming cheeks.
After what feels like an eternity, Ryan says, "Sorry, let me rephrase it in a way you will understand. Iwilldrive you home every night."
The demand in his voice shouldn’t be exciting, but it is. Ryan isn’t an overly cocky guy, but a lack of confidence has never been his weak spot. He exudes self-assuredness, but without the arrogance that usually comes on the side.
“Thanks for the offer. . .”
The remainder of my sentence rams into my throat by Ryan spinning on his heels and stalking away from me.
“Just like I have no right to tell you what to do, Savannah, you can’t moderate my decisions. I’ll wait for you out back tomorrow.”
“Ryan. . .” I pace closer to him, equally angered and pleased by his determination.
He continues walking, acting as if he didn’t hear me.
“Ryan!” I shout, annoyed by him ignoring me.
