“And I had to mop up tears at the studio again,” Jae said with a groan. “This time from a five-year-old who missed her cue during the bunny hop and collapsed in existential despair.”
I snorted. “Honestly?”
Jae was a dancer through and through. He was constantly running between rehearsals, auditions, and side jobs like it was a full-time sport. We were in the same grind, just chasing it from different angles. He taught kids’ classes at a boutique studio on the Upper East Side, where the tuition cost more than our rent. The little rich kids there were all tiny divas-in-training—quick with jazz hands and even quicker with tantrums. Theater-level drama on demand. Jae always came home with the most ridiculous stories, like the time a six-year-old had demanded aquick-change assistantfor her solo recital.
The uptown moms adored him. He was a flamboyant gay man with a megawatt smile, an encyclopedic knowledge of pop culture, and hot takes on everything from Botox trends to Broadway casting rumors. He gave skincare tips between lessons and knew exactly when to throw in a compliment that would keep a mama funding her little star’s private lessons.
I leaned back and finished the last bite of pizza, savoring the way the cheese stuck to the roof of my mouth. We sat there for a beat, just soaking in the shared exhaustion like it was heat from a radiator.
“This is why we drink,” Nat said finally, raising her glass again.
“This is why I’m going to bed,” I replied, dragging myself to my feet like gravity had doubled.
“You good?” Jae asked, already half asleep.
I nodded. “I’ve got less than a couple of hours before I have to be at Cipher again. Might as well make them count.”
Nat waved me off. “Sleep fast, baby.”
In the bathroom, I scrubbed off layers of makeup and sweat, watching pink shimmer in a spiral down the sink. My eyes were bloodshot, my cheeks hollow, but I still gave myself a crooked smile in the mirror. I’d earned every ounce of this exhaustion.
My room was barely big enough to spin in, but it was mine. String lights blinked above my twin bed, and my unframed pictures from Tennessee, curled slightly, on the walls. I tugged off my hoodie, yanked on an oversized T-shirt, and collapsed face-first into the pillow.
The radiator clanked. I turned my head to breathe and glanced at the clock.
Ugh! 3:00 a.m.
At least I’d gotten a good sleep the night before. Tonight, I would be lucky to catch a nap.
The alarm hit me like a punch. My body screamed. My brain begged for a few more minutes.
I rolled out of bed with a groan, my body protesting every movement as if I’d been hit by a truck.
But there was no time for self-pity.
After stumbling into the bathroom, I splashed cold water on my face, rinsed the sleep from my eyes, and brushed my teeth in record time. Then I returned to my room and searched through the pile on the floor until I found a pair of black jeans without holes in the knees and yanked them on. The top half of my outfit took a little more thought. I dug around in my dresser and found one of my favorites—my soft pink sweater, the one with the scalloped hem, fitted waist, and cute little balloon sleeves; it always made my blue eyes pop—and hesitated before deciding to pull it on. It was pretty and feminine, but hopefully it wouldn’t make it seem like I was trying too hard.
We were supposed to wear all black at Cipher, but I’d never complied. Black was for funerals—I’d had enough of black. Carmine had reminded me every day for the first week, then stopped trying. Quickly, I yanked on my hoodie. It would help me stay warm and keep a low profile during the walk to work.
Not that it mattered, but I couldn’t help but wonder if Mr. Dangerous would come back today, if for no other reason than to see if the Tennessee girl knew how to behave. After yesterday, he’d probably pick a new place just to avoid me.
I twisted my hair into a half-decent messy bun, tossed a glance in the mirror, and winced.
No makeup. Dark circles. I definitely looked ratchet. But whatever. At least the outfit was cute.
I shoved a water bottle, my phone, a leo, and a pair of tights into my backpack just in case I got a last-minute call, slung it over my shoulder, and bit into a granola bar on my way out the door.
Cipher Coffee was waiting.
Chapter five
Cipher was already humming when I walked in. There was a line at the bar that stretched past the counter. The customers were a mix of bleary-eyed professionals and overcaffeinated college types staring at their phones. Even this early, the booths were full, the tables scattered with laptops and half-eaten pastries.
Someone had strung a garland of glittery paper ghosts above the pastry case, and there were cutouts of pumpkins and bats placed all around. Americans had a holiday for everything—even one where grown adults dressed like children, begged for sugar, and pretended death was cute. I’d never understood the point of it. But someone here clearly loved it. Carmine didn’t strike me as the festive type, and Trina barely cracked a smile on a good day, just like the rest of the locals who worked here. Which meant it had to beher. The blonde from yesterday.
Just as I moved toward the back, I saw her. This time, her eyes found mine the second I looked at her…and didn’t fucking look away.
She bit her lip, slowly, like she knew exactly what that did to a man. Then she dropped her head with a little show of submissiveness—only to peek back up through her lashes with a curve to her mouth that said she wasn’t sorry for a damn thing.
