Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 73930 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73930 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
My head is so far in the clouds that I’m caught off guard when Lindsey confronts me in our kitchen as soon as I get home from my hair appointment.
I managed to avoid the inquisition by going straight to my room last night after Garrett and Trevor left, but I’m not so lucky now.
“What was going on last night?” she asks, her body blocking the doorway as if she’s trying to keep me trapped in the room for the conversation.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t play dumb. What was the stripper doing here again?” Lindsey demands.
“He knows my coworker. They went to high school together.”
“That doesn’t explain anything. What were they both doing here with you?”
With my water bottle refilled and a granola bar in hand, I’m ready to leave the kitchen. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
“It’s my house. My business,” Lindsey says. She loves to pull this out anytime there’s a dispute about anything.
I want to do musical performances on the side because I love playing music, but it would also be great if I could get a steady schedule going and earn enough money to afford my own place. Having roommates is getting old.
“Speaking of your house, the bathroom faucet is leaking again.” Before she can say anything else, I push past her and take the stairs two at a time.
With the need for additional income on my mind, it’s easier to focus on preparing for Rusty’s. I go over the set list one more time, practice a few numbers on my guitar, and even iron the outfit I plan to wear during the performance, a white blouse and long denim skirt. I splurged on these new clothes, along with a coordinating jacket, with the hope that feeling like I looked good would help me overcome the stage fright that I’ll surely feel. Rusty’s isn’t a big place, and the stage is just a small elevated area in one corner of the bar, but it will be my first time playing for anyone who isn’t family or friends, and my stomach flutters every time I think about it.
I’m feeling highly prepared when it comes time to get ready to leave for Club Red. I ask Garrett to text me when he arrives, so I can slip out quietly. Instead of sitting inside his car, he’s standing next to the passenger door, ready to open it for me. Before he does that, though, he pulls me into an embrace and takes me by surprise with a lingering kiss.
“Hi,” he says, looking down at me, still holding me in his arms.
“Hi.”
“Your hair looks great,” he says. “You got it cut?”
“Just a trim,” I say, pleased that he both remembered and noticed. This is the kind of thing that always made me think he’d be a great boyfriend to someone.
He waits for me to get into the car and closes the door behind me. When he gets to the club, he comes around to open the door, and he holds my hand as we walk toward the entrance. I guess this is officially a date in Garrett’s mind, even though I’m also hoping to spend time with Trevor.
It feels nice having my hand in his. It’s comforting, but also energizing, and fills me with hope that there might be more physical contact between us later tonight.
We’ve arrived earlier than the previous night, so there aren’t as many people going into the club yet.
The big guard who checked my ID last night is at his post outside the door, watching us approach. I get more of a chance to observe him tonight and am fascinated by the size of him, as well as by his looks. Tattoos cover all of his visible skin except for his face, which is framed by a dark beard and mustache, and tightly-trimmed hair that’s left thick on top and smoothed back from his forehead.
When we’re about to pass the guard, Garrett stops abruptly. “I left my phone in the car,” he says. “I’ll be right back.”
A wave of self-consciousness hits me. The guard has made no effort to hide the way he looks at me.
“Back with your friend again?” the deep voice asks.
I turn and look at him, noticing for the first time that his eyes are almost black.
“Looks like more than a friend tonight. You weren’t holding hands last night.”
“I know it’s your job to scrutinize the club’s patrons,” I say, staring back at him, “but do you pay this much attention to everyone who goes through these doors?”
He smiles, with just a hint of guilt in his dark eyes. “Only the beautiful ones,” he says.
Just then, a car drives up. Trevor’s in the passenger seat and leans out of the window to yell, “Find someone your own age, Duke!” before winking at me.