Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 43837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Inside the diner, most of the well-worn leather booths are empty of hungry customers.
Kathleen smiles at Barbara when she slides a vanilla milkshake toward her, and I take the menu she gives me with what I know is a bemused frown on my face.
“She’s always ravenous after shows,” Barbara explained as she filled my mug with coffee. She gives Kathleen a small wink as she turns to head back to the counter. “Always vanilla.”
Kathleen holds the glass in her hands, looking over the rim at me. “Vanilla is uncomplicated.”
“Come here often?” I ask her casually as I take a sip of my bitter diner coffee.
Kathleen lets out a delicate snort as she unwraps her straw. “I actually work here,” she proudly states as she pushes the straw into the milkshake. Her fingers are long and pretty.
“Really?” I wonder, but I hope I sound more impressed than judgmental.
There must be some reason she’s working two jobs, and she seems pretty young.
She’s supposed to be twenty-one to be working in the club, but I doubt she’s even that.
“Yep,” she answers me in a sing-song voice, taking a long sip of her creamy-looking milkshake. She looks as if it’s something she doesn’t get very often, and the thought makes me angry. “I don’t only serve grubby men and women in the dark. I work tables here too, so they have the pleasure of seeing my ass in the light.”
She sounds a little sad. I keep my eyes on her, thinking carefully about my next words. She’s got a sharp tongue, just like she did when she was a kid.
“It’s okay,” Kathleen states as she leans over the table a little. “You know, you’re the first person to hold a conversation with me and not stare at my backside.”
“I mean, I think that would be difficult to do with you sitting on it,” I counter as I wrap my fingers around my coffee cup and bring it up to take another sip of the hot liquid. Outside the window, the dark of midnight swirls with wet and cold fall air.
Kathleen lets out a pretty laugh, showing her round, white teeth. “So,” she says, licking her tongue over her pink, plump bottom lip. “What were you doing in the back of the club tonight? Other than coming to my rescue, I mean?”
I can’t help but grimace. “It’s my sister’s bachelorette party. I told her she could have it here, and it’s been difficult to get away from. I was hiding back here.”
“Riley or Robin?” Kathleen asks me as her silver fingernails tap across the table.
I look at her in surprise. I didn’t even know that she knew I had two sisters.
She shrugs, blushing. The pink is pretty across her smooth, round cheeks. “I remember my dad dated Robin for a few months after my parents split, and Riley was always around too.”
“Riley,” I tell her quickly, rubbing a hand over my chin. “She insisted I join the party, and she really only got me to come because Robin threatened to send a stripping candy gram. They’re already friends with the girls at the club.”
“Oh, but those candy grams are fun. The girls love doing them.” Kathleen grins at me as she says, “Robin always had a good sense of humor.”
“Not for me, they aren’t,” I tell her with a playful grin, though I really am serious.
I never really approved of the strip club, and I always hated when my mom would bring me around my uncle when I was a kid. It felt like he was taking advantage of the women that worked for him. He would watch them with leering eyes, and I would look away from it. It never seemed right to me to treat women that way.
Right now, I feel that same streak of protective indignance for Kathleen.
“Hey, so what did you want to ask me earlier?” she asks as she looks up at me with those big, light eyes and dark lashes that frame pale green irises. “You said that you wanted to ask me something, right? So what exactly was it?”
I clear my throat, shuffle my weight just a bit, guiltily looking down at my coffee mug. Now I don’t want to ask her. She’s going to see it the wrong way entirely.
“Oh,” Kathleen says softly, and a weight drops in my stomach. “Right, of course, it’s the old ‘how did you end up here’ question, right? That’s what everyone wants to know. Of course, that’s what you want to know too.”
“Not entirely,” I admit, staring at her. “I just want to know what happened.”
Kathleen scoffs, and her eyes glitter. I can see that spark of a temper that her father always carried. “I know what you want to say. I don’t need charity.”
“But you’re working two jobs….,” I begin, trying to convince her.