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She had to move. She’d already humiliated herself. Now, she had to pick herself up, get off this stage and take the bus home. Walk several blocks. Then, cry herself to sleep without Brooks hearing her.
And considering he was the most observant sixteen-year-old she’d ever met, and they lived in a tiny one-bedroom apartment that was going to be pretty impossible.
“Oh, babe. Are you all right?”
She opened her eyes to see Chardonnay standing over her, concern on her face. That was nice. At least she wasn’t laughing at her. Yep, she’d heard someone laugh after she’d fallen.
Who did that?
“I could use a hand to get up,” she said in a husky voice. This wasn’t good.
Not good at all.
Why did you think it would be? Why did you think your back would be able to take this?
It could have handled the dancing if she didn’t get too carried away . . . but pulling herself up and down and twisting around a pole?
No. Just no.
Chardonnay didn’t move to help her, though. Instead, she tensed, looking away.
Awesome. She guessed she’d crawl her way out of here. At least she never had to see these people again, right?
“Are you hurt?”
Fuck.
Don’t be him. Don’t be him.
She turned her face toward that cold voice.
Fuck it.
She really had the worst luck, didn’t she? It was definitely him. He was now staring down at her with concern.
He’s probably wondering how the hell he’s going to get you off the stage so he can continue with his night.
“Effie, right?” he asked.
“You know my name.” Wow.
His face softened. “It was on your interview form, sweetheart.”
Well. Hell.
Too much to ask that he’d seen her across the room, fallen instantly in love, and questioned everyone for every detail he could find out about her so he could whisk her away on his yacht.
Urgh, no, not his yacht.
“I get sea-sick.”
“What?” he asked. “Did you hit your head?”
“It would seem that way, but no.”
“Are you sure? What hurts, then?”
“Nothing. I’m fine. Sorry. I’ll just get out of the way.”
