A few minutes later, she returned with a brown paper bag folded tightly at the top. “God bless the dude who brought me dinner in under twenty minutes.”
While Nat grabbed chopsticks from the drawer, Lyla wiped down the tiny kitchen counter with a damp cloth and washed her bowl.
Nat peeled the lid off her chicken tikka and took one whiff before shoveling a bite into her mouth and groaning like she washalfway to orgasm. “God, that’s good. You sure you don’t want a bite?”
Lyla, who was now drying and putting away her bowl, shook her head. “I’m fine.”
But she wasn’t. She suddenly looked exhausted. A pang of guilt hit me—she was probably crashing after the adrenaline rush I’d given her.
Nat jabbed a piece of chicken with her fork and grinned. “You know, I was thinking…I wouldn’t totally mind being kept by some rich, brooding mafia prince. I mean, just imagine the perks—helicopters, diamonds, a driver who calls me ma’am.”
Lyla shook her head and hung the dish towel over the oven handle. “Please. I’d rather starve. I don’t want to be anyone’s pet. The idea of being some guy’s property makes me want to throw up.”
Nat snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Unless it’s in the bedroom. Don’t think I haven’t noticed those books you read. Girl, you aresoabout those Mr. Morally Gray types.”
Lyla turned crimson. Her whole posture changed—chin lifted, mouth tight—like she was ready to deny everything, but her face betrayed her.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she mumbled, trying to back out of the kitchen.
Nat lunged for her backpack.
“Oh my God,no!” Lyla shrieked, laughing as she tried to grab it back.
Too late. Nat had the bag in hand, and the book was already out.
Lyla tackled her with just enough force to yank it away, then shoved the book under her arm like contraband. “You’re such a menace.”
Nat cackled. “So itissmut. Just admit it! You love it when the villain gets the girl.”
“Shut up.” Lyla groaned, her face still flaming.
I lit another cigarette and turned slightly, blowing the smoke out over the alley, away from the window. I was intrigued by the way Lyla’s body moved when she got flustered; it was different than when she was working at Cipher. There was something sweet about how she fought back against Nat, something dangerous in how badly I wanted to tangle with her.
Lyla yawned mid-laugh, rubbing her eyes. Nat crossed her arms.
“Did you sleep at all last night?”
“Forty-five-minute nap,” Lyla muttered, drinking the last of her water and setting the glass in the sink. “Which is better than nothing, I guess.”
Nat’s brow furrowed. “You’ve gotta stop this schedule. Club until two, Cipher at four-thirty? That’s insane. Even if you have the afternoon off, who the hell can sleep in the middle of the day?”
“I’ll adjust,” Lyla said, clearly lying to herself.
“You’re gonna run yourself into the ground. And how are you supposed to memorize lines when you’re dead tired? You’re still trying out for stuff, right?”
Lyla sighed and nodded. “Yeah, but I don’t have any auditions today. I’m going to try to nap before I have to leave tonight.”
Nat paused with her fork in midair. “Ugh. Halloween. That’s gonna be a nightmare at the club.”
“Don’t remind me.” Lyla groaned. “Three sets instead of two. No extra pay. Just,Oh, there’ll be more tips—like that makes up for it. And I have to wear one of those masks that messes with my peripheral vision. Total pain in the ass when you’re spinning ten feet off the ground.”
Masks. Tips. Spinning in the air.
I’d been holding out hope she wasn’t a stripper. That she was a bartender, doing bookkeeping, or something.
But there it was.
She was a performer.
