He forces his hands to relax. “I'm fine. Just... focusing on driving.”
I narrow my eyes at him but let it go, pulling out my bag to go through what I need for the party. The silence stretches between us, but it's not comfortable.
After a few minutes, he clears his throat. “So, uh, how long have you been working at this... venue?”
“Since I got here, so a few weeks, but I used to do something similar back home. Why?”
His jaw flexes. “Just curious. And you... like it?”
“I mean, it pays really well.” I glance at him, confused by the weird interrogation.
“Mhm.”
I don't have time to dwell on his weird behavior. I have a party to prepare for, and whatever's going on in Scotty Hendricks' head is his problem, not mine.
Chapter 7
“I probably should have mentioned this before, but I need to change.”
I glance at her quickly before turning my attention back to the road. “Can’t you do it at the venue? I should be able to get you there in thirty minutes.”
She takes a sharp breath, and I catch the way her fingers tighten on her bag. “I have to be dressed before entering the venue. Otherwise, it ruins the illusion.”
Illusion.
My fingers tighten around the steering wheel, making my knuckles go white.
The word sends my imagination into overdrive. My mind’s been spinning since she showed me the address to where she’s going downtown.
Behind Closed Doors.
The burlesque bar that Cade practically spends every waking hour he’s not on the ice.
She works there… She gave me its freaking address.
Okay, that wasn’t the address she gave me. It was basically the chicken joint directly across from it. That’s when it all started to piece together. She didn’t want to tell me where she worked because she was embarrassed, but what shedoesn’t realize is, now that I know this, I’m not going to let her do a single shift without me in the audience.
“Change all you want, Princess.”
She shivers at the nickname, but she hasn’t told me to stop using it yet.
She reaches into her bag, and I’m bracing myself to see some sexy lingerie, but that’s not what happens.
What the actual fuck?
An explosion of blue fabric erupts from her bag, and the fabric is so sparkly, it nearly blinds me. It’shuge—tulle and sequins and rhinestones, all catching the sunlight and turning my truck into a disco ball from hell.
“Watch out,” I say, pushing the fabric back toward her as it threatens to swallow my face whole. The material brushes my jaw, and I feel glitter transfer onto my stubble. Great. I'm going to be sparkling for a week. “What the hell kind of weird kink are you dancing for?”
The words are out before I can stop them.
Her head snaps toward me, eyes blazing. “It's not a kink, you absolute Neanderthal. It's a job. Some of us have to work for our money instead of having it handed to us by—”
She stops, and I see it—that flash of regret.
Something twists in my chest. It shouldn't hurt. I'm used to people assuming things about me—about my dad, about the money, about everything being easy. But coming from her? Yeah, it stings.
“Hey, I’m not saying anything about what you do for a living. I just didn’t thinkBehind Closed Doorscatered to princess kinks.”
