“There’s not a lot to tell. My mom and dad met in college, had my older brother Colt before they even graduated. I’m the middle child, and then I’ve got a younger sister named Sophia. You’ll like her. She’s the nicest one of us.”
“What about your brother? What’s he like?”
My throat tightens, and my fingers flex on the steering wheel. “Colt died when I was sixteen. He was eighteen. It was a drunk driving accident.”
“I’m so sorry.”
I shrug like it doesn’t matter. Like that wasn’t the hardest thing I’ve ever had to live through. Like I don’t hope that I go before Sophia, so I never have to feel that kind of pain again.
“I mean it,” Sam says. “I’m sorry, Dalton. That’s horrible. I couldn’t imagine losing my brother.”
“I don’t really talk about him much. Neither does my family, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bring it up.”
“Of course.” He falls silent, and I get the feeling that he’s scared of saying the wrong thing.
So I ask, “How old is Nathan?”
“He turned eighteen earlier this month.”
“What’s he like?”
“A lot like me, I guess. He’s a little less introverted than I am, but not by much. He also wants to go to medical school, which I don’t.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Like an ideal job? I’d like to be a teacher. I love kids. I’d want to teach second or third grade, I think.” He picks at a band-aid wrapped around his thumb. “Though, I’m not sure I’ll ever be allowed to do that. I’m pretty sure ex-strippers don’t get teaching jobs.”
His odds probably aren’t high, but I don’t voice my agreement.
“How long did you work for Vinnie?”
“A little over a year. I started right before I turned twenty.”
“The legal age to strip in Haversham is twenty-one.”
“I’m well aware.”
Of course he is. Why the hell did I say that?
“Look, if it’s okay with you, can we just tell your family I work as a waiter? I don’t want to tell everyone how we really met.”
“Yeah, of course. I’d never tell anyone about that. It’s your business, Sam.”
He nods but doesn’t say anything else, so I shift the topic.
“What’s your dating history up to now? Any exes I need to worry about?”
Sam laughs. “Right. The last guy I had any kind of thing with was in high school. We were sixteen. It was just hand jobs and blow jobs. We haven’t spoken in five years.”
“You haven’t dated anyone in five years?”
He shrugs self-consciously. “I’ve been busy. What about you?”
“Mostly hook-ups. I haven’t had anything long-term.”
“How come?”
“I’ve been busy,” I echo.
