Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 57707 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 192(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57707 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 192(@300wpm)
Simone leaves, and I try not to think about Maya in a strip club. My mind shifts. Maya is stripping, but it’s a solo show. She sways her hips slowly and temptingly from side to side for me, stroking herself from her hips to her breasts and back again. She sinks her hands into her tits, emphasizing her voluptuousness.
I push the thought away or try to. Damn, she’s hot.
CHAPTER SIX
MAYA
As usual, I feel ready to collapse when I walk through the door. Lacey, one of Mom’s nurses, rises to meet me, a magazine in her hand. She’s clearly been waiting to leave. I know that her mom takes care of her kids, but she doesn’t like to push her luck.
“How’s she been?” I ask, typical of our usual quick conversation when we cross paths like this.
“Quiet,” Lacey says. “I think she’s depressed, but she won’t talk to me. She didn’t even want to do the crossword today.”
I nod, ignoring the pity in Lacey’s eyes. It’s not a cruel kind of pity or anything like that. It’s not like she’s judging me either. It’s more that she knows there’s no coming back from something like this. It’s more that she, like Mom, doesn’t want me working myself to death when it’ll all be over soon anyway.
“Thank you,” I say, probably firmer than I needed to. I’m just getting sick of that look, and my feet are sore from my shift. “See you soon.”
“Bye, Maya.”
Once she’s gone, I go to the downstairs bedroom to check on Mom. She’s sleeping, her machines beeping and humming. This is the only time she looks truly peaceful these days. I like to lean against the doorway and watch her. This story isn’t going to have a happy ending. She’s too far gone for that, but I’ll take as many small, happy moments as possible.
I don’t think I’ll open the back door tonight. Weirdly, I don’t want to see Loki. I don’t want to think about the dog home or Tristan. It was weird sitting in the car with him. He kept looking at me, even though he tried to play it off, and I found myself thinking, wondering.
I’ve got too much on my mind to worry about him or any man, for that matter.
I lie on my bed, the mattress springs digging into my back. I won’t let myself complain about something like that, even in my head. I can’t think about anything except for the look in Lacey’s eyes just now and how, in bed, Mom looked so small and fragile, ready to let go.
Turning over, I shove my face into the pillow. Riley always says I should try living and going into the world, but I prefer analyzing from afar. That’s why I want to think about Tristan sitting across from me in the car and then remember being there. There’s no awkwardness as I picture his head of shiny black hair, a little long and wild, his shadowy beard covering a strong, sharp, jaw.
His arms were tense as he handled the steering wheel, especially when discussing the stripping stuff. A warm sensation dances over my body, teasing me and tempting me. The feeling tries to make me slide my hand between my legs and think of his expression—patient, not arrogant, interested.
But I can’t be interested. If, somehow, I get a follow-up call about the job, I can’t let it be about anything other than that. I can’t forget about all my responsibilities.
“What do you mean, fired?” I snap, feeling like I’m about to scream when my boss looks at me like an idiot for even asking the question.
“No money,” he snaps in his usual blunt way. “No money, no work. Okay? No contract, you go. Okay? Yes?” He waves his hands as if the world is out to get him. He loves playing the victim. “Please, go now!”
He’s right. There’s no contract. I’ve got no right to protest. Or maybe that’s not true. Perhaps I have the right, but it’s just silly thinking I’ll ever use that option. He’s fired so many people like me. He must know we’re not going to kick up a fuss.
Leaving the restaurant, I check my phone because it’s a natural reflex in this situation, not because I expect there to be anything noteworthy. But to my surprise, I got a call from the dog home. It’s Simone from yesterday asking me if I’d like to come in for a follow-up talk.
There are tears in my eyes, I realize, as the screen blurs. I angrily wipe them away. What use is there crying? Anyway, fate, the world, or whatever, has dropped another opportunity on my doorstep the same day—no, the same hour—another was taken away. Who else is that lucky?
That’s the story I tell myself as I walk down the street. I won’t take the bus. I’m worried I’ll break down and make a fool of myself.