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“I’m—”
“Don’t.” Stepping in front of him, she cut him off. “You’re about to say you’re sorry, and I don’t want the sympathy.”
“Okay, no sympathy.” He understood. Sympathy was too much like pity. “How about admiration?”
“How about nothing? I did what I had to do. Trust me, I didn’t do anything special,” she said, turning away.
Except that Stuart didn’t trust her, or had she forgotten? Had he forgotten for that matter?
They kept walking until they reached the State House, the moon reflecting off its golden dome. Around the corner, Stuart spotted a trio of staggering silhouettes making their way from Park Street station. Patience was walking a few feet ahead. Her curves made her the perfect target for drunken comments. Stepping up his pace, he positioned himself on her right, creating a buffer. The group came closer, and he saw that two of the three were women teetering on high heels. The pair clung to the shoulders of the man in the middle, a pasty-looking blond who looked like he spent most of his time in dimly lit places. Their raucous laughter could be heard from ten feet away.
Stuart stole a look in Patience’s direction before slipping his arm around her waist. She looked back, but didn’t say anything.
As luck would have it, the trio reached the signal light the same time as they did. The man made no attempt to hide his ogling. “Come join the pah-ty, baby,” he slurred, alcohol making his Boston accent thicker. “We’re gonna go all night.”
Patience’s body turned rigid. He tightened his grip on her waist, letting her know he’d keep her safe.
The drunk slurred on, oblivious. “This dude knows what I’m talking about, doncha? Life’s too short. Gotta grab the fun while you can. I did.” He slapped one of the women on the rear, and she let out a giggly yelp. “Me and these ladies are just getting started.”
Just then, a public works truck drove up, its bright headlights lighting their slice of the street.
“Oh, my God,” one of the women cried out. “I know you!” Pushing herself free, she stumbled closer, her oversize breasts threatening to burst free from her tiny camisole top. “You work at Feathers. I danced right after you. Chablis, remember?”
Patience didn’t reply. She stared straight ahead. When the light changed, she stepped off the curb and started walking. Stuart had to step quickly to keep up.
“What’s the matter, you too good to talk to me now? That it?” Chablis asked as she followed. “Hey, I’m talkin’ to you.”
A crimson-nailed hand reached out to grab Patience’s shoulder, but she quickly turned and dodged the woman’s touch. “You have the wrong person,” she hissed.
When they reached the opposite side of the street, Chablis looked to make one more attempt at conversation only to have her friend tug her in the opposite direction. “Come on, baby,” he slurred. “We don’t need them. We got better things to do.”
“Yeah, Chablis,” the other woman whined. “Give it up. That witch ain’t owning up to nuthin’.”
“But I know her,” Chablis insisted, as if her knowledge was the most important discovery in the world. As she let her friends drag her away, she continued to swear and complain about being ignored. “She always did think she was better than us,” Stuart heard her mutter.
“Sorry about that,” he said to Patience.
“It’s no big deal. They’re just a bunch of drunks.”
Perhaps, but the pallor of her skin said they’d upset her more than she let on. Poor thing had probably had her fill of drunks by this point.
A beer can came hurtling in their direction, rattling the sidewalk a few feet shy of where they stood. “Hey!” Chablis yelled, her voice sharp in the night. “Does your boyfriend know he’s dating a stripper?”
Stuart might have laughed if Patience hadn’t stopped in her tracks. When he looked, he saw the color had drained from her face.
A sick feeling hit him in his stomach. “She’s got you confused with someone else, right?” he asked.
Even in the dark of night, Patience’s eyes told him everything he needed to know. There was no mistake.
Chablis was telling the truth.
CHAPTER SIX
“IT’S TRUE, ISN’T IT?” he asked. “You were a—a...”
Stripper? He couldn’t even say the word, could he?
Stupid Chablis. Patience never did like the woman. For a second, she considered blaming everything on the rambling of a drunken trio, but one look at Stuart’s face snuffed that idea. The thought had been planted in his head, and no amount of denial would chase it away. Eventually, he would dig up the truth. No reason to drag the ordeal out longer than necessary.
