But I would never fully trust it, and that was part of myplight, and his punishment.
Because all of what I’d needed when I was a little girl andgrowing up was lost to me.
I could never again be five and walking through the fairwith my hand in my father’s and have him cry, “Gotta get some cotton candy formy best girl!”making me feel loved, treasured, safe, protected…
Special.
Okay, he’d done that when I was five.
And when he’d stopped because the poker table was moreimportant than his wife and daughters, that was when I’d learned what missingsomething felt like.
And how that missing it could turn to needing it.
And how that need became seeking attention.
Not to mention how to hold a grudge.
So on Day Three with The Supreme Asshole of All Time (Mo),Sunday, one of my two days off (I had Sundays and Mondays off), Mo was stillsleeping on my couch in my room.He was also still standing backstage when Idanced (except the second dance, that was when he handed off to one ofSmithie’s guys and took a shower and changed).
And I had absolutely no idea what was going on with thecrackpot who wanted to “cleanse” me because I couldn’t ask Smithie consideringhe probably thought I was getting briefs from Mo and I didn’t want to tell himMo was the Supreme Asshole of All Time.
This was due to my desire for Mo not to get fired (orreprimanded or something) after I explained why we weren’t talking, which wouldmake Smithie do something rash, like attempt to Tase him then kick him in theballs while he was down.
Or demand Hawk fire him.
Mo was an asshole, but he was vigilant, I was still aliveand safe (ish).Not trapped in a well only to bedrugged and dragged up and “cleansed” repeatedly (though, according to thatletter, a “cleansing” sounded a lot like rape and torture, and I wasn’t realsure how that would make a girl clean, then again, I wasn’t a crackpot).
So I decided not to rock the boat.
Mo wasn’t the only person I’d run into who had a problemwith strippers.
I was used to it.
It hurt (coming from Mo).
It sucked (coming from Mo).
He was still hot as hell and I really wanted to pounce onhim.
And occasionally (all right, frequently), I remembered himtelling me I didn’t need the strips or the face mousse or the implants,remembering this while also remembering how nice that felt.
But…whatever.
I’d been wrong about him.
He was one ofthose guys.
And one day he’d be gone.
Of course, this was what I told myself.
But at night, while trying to put my body to sleep bit bybit, knowing he was right there in the room with me, and remembering how sweetit was when Mo had helped me do that, my mind often wandered.When it did, I’dend up feeling my throat close, my nose sting, and my eyes feel hot wishing Ihadn’t been wrong about him.
(Another reason for the grudge.)
Now we were in his truck, Mo driving, because I’d deviatedfrom my one-word-a-day plan and told him I had to go to the grocery store.
Therefore, we were heading to King Soopers.
