another lesson learned.
Had she really expected to hear anything different? No, not really. Not when the answers had been the same for entirely too long. Everyone liked her work. Her photography had promise. She had talent, a unique eye. But everyone seemed to be looking for someone with more experience, more published credits, and that was the one thing she didn't have. Not even freelance experience.
Well how was she supposed to get experience when everyone wanted her to have experience before giving her a chance? One break, one shot. That was all she needed. Just one tiny little break, one tiny little chance.
Volunteering at the hospital, taking the pictures, broadening her expertise with the different computer programs out there…all of that had helped. But she couldn't use those pictures—wouldn't use those pictures. They were private, meant for the kids and their families. So none of that counted. Which didn't matter, because that wasn't why she was doing it.
But everything else had come at an expense. The expensive laptop, the different programs and add-ons, all of it. And even though they were expenses she couldn't really afford, they had all been worth it.
At least, that's what she kept telling herself. But she couldn't afford anymore expenses, not when she was trying to save enough to move out, get her own place. The divorce had cost more than she thought it would. And the trip to New Orleans had been a splurge she probably shouldn't have taken. But she wanted to celebrate her new freedom, wanted to visit someplace exotic and different and exciting. So she didn't regret it—couldn't regret it. Any of it.
But God, how she wished it was easier to save. She wanted her own place. Some place nice, that didn't have holes in the walls and floor or rust stains in the toilet and tub. Some place that didn't smell of stale cigarettes, cheap perfume and even cheaper booze.
Guilt weighed down on her as soon as she had the thought. Her mother was trying, in her own way. Nicole knew that. Just like she knew her mother didn't have to let her move in here. It was an adjustment, for both of them.
No, her room wasn't much, barely large enough for her single bed and makeshift desk. But she didn't have much, and it was a hundred times better than living on the street. A thousand times better than where she'd been before.
That didn't mean she was willing to give up, to resign herself to the same life her mother had accepted. And maybe Nicole hated her job, hated working at the club and fending off unwanted advances and knowing that the men who came in thought she could be bought. But the money was decent, cash tips at the end of each night, some nights better than others.
Nicole propped her elbow on the plywood then rested her head in the palm of her hand. Yeah, some nights were definitely better than others—when she didn't overreact and throw money back in someone's face. But how could she have known Mat's intentions had been innocent? Not just innocent, but actually honorable. At least, she'd thought they could be called that. He was so different from other men in her experience. Real, genuine. And he'd been so shocked, appalled even, at her accusation, at learning what she'd first thought when she'd seen the large tip.
So what did she do? Throw it at him and accuse him of thinking she was a whore, someone who could be bought. And if that wasn't bad enough, she turned around and acted the part later that night when he'd done nothing more than offer her a ride home.
Heat spread throughout her at the memory, tingling along her nerves and settling into a damp pool between her legs. What was wrong with her? She'd never acted that way before, never done even half of what she'd done the other night. Never even thought about doing things like that before. Sex had never been about her pleasure; it had been about being controlled.
She wasn't sure what surprised her the most: the fact that she'd done the things she'd done, or the
Had she really expected to hear anything different? No, not really. Not when the answers had been the same for entirely too long. Everyone liked her work. Her photography had promise. She had talent, a unique eye. But everyone seemed to be looking for someone with more experience, more published credits, and that was the one thing she didn't have. Not even freelance experience.
Well how was she supposed to get experience when everyone wanted her to have experience before giving her a chance? One break, one shot. That was all she needed. Just one tiny little break, one tiny little chance.
Volunteering at the hospital, taking the pictures, broadening her expertise with the different computer programs out there…all of that had helped. But she couldn't use those pictures—wouldn't use those pictures. They were private, meant for the kids and their families. So none of that counted. Which didn't matter, because that wasn't why she was doing it.
But everything else had come at an expense. The expensive laptop, the different programs and add-ons, all of it. And even though they were expenses she couldn't really afford, they had all been worth it.
At least, that's what she kept telling herself. But she couldn't afford anymore expenses, not when she was trying to save enough to move out, get her own place. The divorce had cost more than she thought it would. And the trip to New Orleans had been a splurge she probably shouldn't have taken. But she wanted to celebrate her new freedom, wanted to visit someplace exotic and different and exciting. So she didn't regret it—couldn't regret it. Any of it.
But God, how she wished it was easier to save. She wanted her own place. Some place nice, that didn't have holes in the walls and floor or rust stains in the toilet and tub. Some place that didn't smell of stale cigarettes, cheap perfume and even cheaper booze.
Guilt weighed down on her as soon as she had the thought. Her mother was trying, in her own way. Nicole knew that. Just like she knew her mother didn't have to let her move in here. It was an adjustment, for both of them.
No, her room wasn't much, barely large enough for her single bed and makeshift desk. But she didn't have much, and it was a hundred times better than living on the street. A thousand times better than where she'd been before.
That didn't mean she was willing to give up, to resign herself to the same life her mother had accepted. And maybe Nicole hated her job, hated working at the club and fending off unwanted advances and knowing that the men who came in thought she could be bought. But the money was decent, cash tips at the end of each night, some nights better than others.
Nicole propped her elbow on the plywood then rested her head in the palm of her hand. Yeah, some nights were definitely better than others—when she didn't overreact and throw money back in someone's face. But how could she have known Mat's intentions had been innocent? Not just innocent, but actually honorable. At least, she'd thought they could be called that. He was so different from other men in her experience. Real, genuine. And he'd been so shocked, appalled even, at her accusation, at learning what she'd first thought when she'd seen the large tip.
So what did she do? Throw it at him and accuse him of thinking she was a whore, someone who could be bought. And if that wasn't bad enough, she turned around and acted the part later that night when he'd done nothing more than offer her a ride home.
Heat spread throughout her at the memory, tingling along her nerves and settling into a damp pool between her legs. What was wrong with her? She'd never acted that way before, never done even half of what she'd done the other night. Never even thought about doing things like that before. Sex had never been about her pleasure; it had been about being controlled.
She wasn't sure what surprised her the most: the fact that she'd done the things she'd done, or the
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