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She shrugs. "Anything is possible, Aubrey," she says, drawing out my name.
I pay the bill and we both get up to leave. I'm stuffed and I know I'm going to sleep like the dead tonight, which is what I need in order to be prepared for school tomorrow. The fresh air helps revive us just a little as we walk back to our apartment.
At one of the street corners, there's a young man standing with a cardboard sign in one hand and a Styrofoam cup in the other. It's hard to read the chunky block writing, but I get the gist of it. I reach into my pocket and pull out whatever’s left and drop it in his cup.
"My stomach is so full," I say, holding myself when we round the corner.
"I look like I'm about to give birth," Nat says.
I chuckle and look at her. She's my height and just as thin, but she does look ready to pop after eating so much.
"I can't wait to pass out. This week is going to be long." I pause. "Thanks, Natalie, for last night."
"Will you stop thanking me," she says, but I can't help it. I need her to know I appreciated it.
"I'm sorry, but I had so much fun and I just want you to know that. It helped me let loose, like I didn't have to stress about things for once."
She's quiet for a moment. "You know, you could party like that all the time and rarely ever have to spend money. You could give up your laundromat and nanny jobs."
I shoot her a glance. "The nanny job pays really well. I can't give that up."
"Not better than what I make, I can tell you that right now."
"A shot girl?" I ask, not bothering to hide my skepticism. "Where are you serving shots to get the kind of money you bring home? And how much are these shots?"
"If I tell you, you have to promise me you won't judge me."
"For being a shot girl?"
She rolls her eyes. "Let's pretend I never said shot girl." A devious smile curves her injected lips.
Seven
We get back to our place, shower, and get ready for bed. The day was a complete waste, but I shouldn’t feel guilty about it. I need to remember going out like I did last night and living the VIP life is something I never do, and probably won't be doing again anytime soon.
Easier said than done.
I scoot under Natalie’s comforter and wait for her to finish getting ready. I’m curious about this job offer she has. A shot girl job that isn’t a shot girl job, and it pays better than both my jobs combined. Sign me the hell up! The wealth in New York City is astounding and I am a total—shameless—paper chaser.
"Listen," Natalie says as she climbs in next to me, "if I tell you about my job, I don't want you to shoot me down. I want you to take time to consider it, then give me your answer. It's not for the delicate Debras of the world, but you won't make money like this anywhere else. I think you could handle it. It's a mind-over-matter job, so to speak. It requires the utmost discretion too. You don't talk about it. Kind of like Fight Club."
I frown. "Is it legal?"
She shrugs her shoulders like she isn't sure. Her mouth bunches up and I already have my answer. I’ll take that as a no.
"Depends on who you ask. I have a license for it," she says, but her voice is raised, and she's clearly not completely sold on her response. I give her a droll stare.
"Okay. Illegal. Got it. Next."
"It's not illegal, though, like strippers use it." She worries her lip.
My brows bunch together. I just stare because I have no damn clue where she's going with this.
"Are you a secret stripper? A street walker? It would make sense with all that money."
New York strippers get paid big bucks, but only if they're good. Some even travel to put on shows.
"No," she says, sitting up and crossing her legs. Oh shit. She's about to get serious.
