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“You know I can’t do that. It’ll only get worse when I come home.”
I sigh. “Then don’t go home. Just move in. We have open rooms.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Not right now. I promise I’ll go with you when you’re ready to go. We’ll do what you said and move to Henderson. Maybe I can get a job as a cocktail waitress.”
I quirk an eyebrow I know she can’t see. “You want to serve drinks to drunk gamblers?”
“Beats being locked up in this house all day.”
“Do you promise you’ll come with me?”
“I promise,” she hums.
“Okay. Call me if you need anything.”
“I will. I love you.”
“Love you too.” I end the call and decide that while I’m at it, I’ll text Olivia to tell her I’m alive and well. We’ve been texting for quite a while now, and she’s getting impatient about not seeing me.
I put her off at first because I didn’t want her to see my fucked-up face and explain the whole ‘living in a brothel’ thing. Then it was because I was doing nothing but work and intensive therapy. Now, I’m out of excuses and actually feel stable enough to come clean about everything.
Me: Hey, bestie. How are you?
Olivia: I’m amazing. I’m out at Lake Tahoe sunning myself. It’s a beautiful day.
Me: Wish I was there.
Olivia: You could be. We’ll be here for another couple hours.
Me: I’m at work. Maybe you could come by sometime and see where I live?
Olivia: Omg yes. When and where? I’m still on summer break, so my schedule is wide open.
Me: How about tomorrow?
Sundays are usually the slowest day of the week, so I figure it’s the best time to have her come. It’ll be shocking enough for her to learn I’m living and working here; I don’t need the added ambiance of a wild night at the Honey Pot.
Olivia: Sounds good. Just let me know when and where. I’ll be there.
Me: I’ll text you tomorrow. Bring a swimsuit.
Olivia: You’re living somewhere with a pool?
Me: You’ll see.
Olivia: Rude but okay.
Tucking my phone away and feeling better after the mental distraction of Mom and Olivia, I get back to work. Now that I know what I’m doing and I’ve proven myself, I’m working longer days. Most of the time, my shift is from five in the morning until five at night, but as long as I keep up with my actual work, I’m free to hang by the pool or relax in my room anytime I want. I just have to be on call when guests arrive or if someone needs me.
Rigger doesn’t stop in for lunch like I was hoping he would. It happens sometimes, but today of all days, I wanted to see him. I don’t expect an explanation about the knuckles, but since he was asleep when I woke up, I want to make sure he’s okay.
He did text to tell me he had Church. That he’d probably hang out at the clubhouse all day but would be back for dinner. I better get more than dinner. After our experience in The Kitchen, I’m looking forward to what happens next.
I’m finishing my last task of the day when Mary comes in, right on time.
“How’d today go? Any surprises?”
“No, but we had a mom bring her eighteen-year-old son in as a birthday present.”
