was no longer watching the screen. Watching him was so much more entertaining. I just needed a glass of wine. But I couldn’t, you know, because I couldn’t replace heroin addiction with alcoholism, as much as I wanted to.
He glared at me. “Can you believe that they did that? Right behind her back. Oh, that’s not cool. She better put them on the blacklist for every charity event from now to forever for that shit.” He paused. “Or cut the brakes on whatsherface’s new Mercedes.”
Suffice to say my plan backfired. I’d thought the alpha male, tattoo-covered biker would hate watching reality television.
I was so very wrong.
“And now they’re turning up to her party like they didn’t potentially fuck up her marriage. That’s just….” He trailed off, shaking his head.
I suppressed a giggle. “Okay, I think we need to watch something else,” I declared flipping the channel.
Lucky gaped at me. “No. I need to see what happens,” he snapped.
I grinned. “Some people can handle these shows. Some, like the burly biker in front of me, get too emotionally invested. I’m saving you now by cutting you off, or else you’ll be here till six a.m. binge-watching and wondering why life could be so cruel to botch Michelle’s nose job, trust me.”
He stared at me. “Michelle gets a nose job? Why?”
I laughed and shook my head. “So can’t handle it.” My gaze flickered to the TV. “Much safer,” I said, nodding to the explosions and car chases of some action flick.
He pouted for a while, and it was hilarious. I realized, after five minutes of being amused by his sulk, that I hadn’t thought about a fix. In five whole minutes. Of course, as soon as I thought of it, that was all I could think about. I scratched my arm absently.
Lucky’s bald head turned to me. “Can I ask you a question, firefly?”
“As long as it’s not pertaining to Michelle and her plastic surgeries,” I deadpanned.
His eyes twinkled but his face was serious. “Why?”
I tilted my head. “Why what?”
“Why the stripping? I know you’re good at it—fuck, are you good at it—but you’re better than that.”
His words were sobering and I realized the little fantasyland I’d been in, watching TV with him, like normalcy was something I could clutch. I stiffened. “You don’t know me well enough to know what I’m better than.”
He regarded me. “I think I do,” he protested softly. “I’m not judgin’. We do whatever we need to just to stay breathin’, to make it through this fucked-up thing called life.”
For a split second, I swore I saw something behind his eyes. Something dark, blacker than midnight. Something that rivaled my dark. But then it was gone, leaving me wondering if it was a trick of the light.
I retracted my claws. “I did it because it was the logical choice,” I said, sighing. “I had a shitty childhood. I’m sure people had it worse, somewhere, but I didn’t think so at the time. So I promised myself that I’d be better than what I’d been forced to be.”
I swallowed the ash in my throat and the memories threatening the corner of my mind. I looked into his hazel eyes; they anchored me to the moment, prevented me from getting swept away in those memories. “I’m smart.” I shrugged. “Nothing special, but I read a lot and it sticks, what I read. I went to shitty high schools but got good grades. And good schools like to even out their stats by sponsoring some hood rat to come and lift them from obscurity. It makes for good publicity and helps them push away the belief that fancy colleges are for the elite, white, upper-middle class.” I sucked in a breath. “I had hope at first. I did well, made friends, met Lily. Almost forgot where I came from.” I paused. “And then I remembered. Figured out what I was meant to be. Where I belonged. And it wasn’t on a college campus, and it certainly wasn’t in fucking medical school. No big, sad, tragic story. Just the truth. Just
He glared at me. “Can you believe that they did that? Right behind her back. Oh, that’s not cool. She better put them on the blacklist for every charity event from now to forever for that shit.” He paused. “Or cut the brakes on whatsherface’s new Mercedes.”
Suffice to say my plan backfired. I’d thought the alpha male, tattoo-covered biker would hate watching reality television.
I was so very wrong.
“And now they’re turning up to her party like they didn’t potentially fuck up her marriage. That’s just….” He trailed off, shaking his head.
I suppressed a giggle. “Okay, I think we need to watch something else,” I declared flipping the channel.
Lucky gaped at me. “No. I need to see what happens,” he snapped.
I grinned. “Some people can handle these shows. Some, like the burly biker in front of me, get too emotionally invested. I’m saving you now by cutting you off, or else you’ll be here till six a.m. binge-watching and wondering why life could be so cruel to botch Michelle’s nose job, trust me.”
He stared at me. “Michelle gets a nose job? Why?”
I laughed and shook my head. “So can’t handle it.” My gaze flickered to the TV. “Much safer,” I said, nodding to the explosions and car chases of some action flick.
He pouted for a while, and it was hilarious. I realized, after five minutes of being amused by his sulk, that I hadn’t thought about a fix. In five whole minutes. Of course, as soon as I thought of it, that was all I could think about. I scratched my arm absently.
Lucky’s bald head turned to me. “Can I ask you a question, firefly?”
“As long as it’s not pertaining to Michelle and her plastic surgeries,” I deadpanned.
His eyes twinkled but his face was serious. “Why?”
I tilted my head. “Why what?”
“Why the stripping? I know you’re good at it—fuck, are you good at it—but you’re better than that.”
His words were sobering and I realized the little fantasyland I’d been in, watching TV with him, like normalcy was something I could clutch. I stiffened. “You don’t know me well enough to know what I’m better than.”
He regarded me. “I think I do,” he protested softly. “I’m not judgin’. We do whatever we need to just to stay breathin’, to make it through this fucked-up thing called life.”
For a split second, I swore I saw something behind his eyes. Something dark, blacker than midnight. Something that rivaled my dark. But then it was gone, leaving me wondering if it was a trick of the light.
I retracted my claws. “I did it because it was the logical choice,” I said, sighing. “I had a shitty childhood. I’m sure people had it worse, somewhere, but I didn’t think so at the time. So I promised myself that I’d be better than what I’d been forced to be.”
I swallowed the ash in my throat and the memories threatening the corner of my mind. I looked into his hazel eyes; they anchored me to the moment, prevented me from getting swept away in those memories. “I’m smart.” I shrugged. “Nothing special, but I read a lot and it sticks, what I read. I went to shitty high schools but got good grades. And good schools like to even out their stats by sponsoring some hood rat to come and lift them from obscurity. It makes for good publicity and helps them push away the belief that fancy colleges are for the elite, white, upper-middle class.” I sucked in a breath. “I had hope at first. I did well, made friends, met Lily. Almost forgot where I came from.” I paused. “And then I remembered. Figured out what I was meant to be. Where I belonged. And it wasn’t on a college campus, and it certainly wasn’t in fucking medical school. No big, sad, tragic story. Just the truth. Just
Similar Books
