“I get that, man. I just don’t want you to be alone anymore, andshewouldn’t either.”
“I know.” I clear my throat, and Logan takes it as a cue to change the subject.
“So what’s this teaching gig you were talking about?” he asks, changing the subject.
“I got a call from Richard Harris, my old professor a couple weeks ago. Only now he’s a Dean. He’d heard I’d been teaching in Floridaand asked if I wanted to teach literature here at the University.”
“That’s awesome, man. I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks.” I smile. “So, how’s your mom?”
“Yeah, she’s good, she’s actually dating herself, met some hotshot lawyer or something who swept her off her feet. She’d love to see you.”
“I’d like that too.”
“Have you seen your parents yet? Or Victoria?”
“No. They don’t know I’m back yet. I think I’m going to go see them tomorrow.”
The mention of my family sends a pang of pain and guilt coursing through me. I hated leaving them, even when they begged me not to, I couldn’t stay. They needed me just as much as I needed them deep down, because they were grieving too.
In three years, I haven’t seen my family once. I’ve spoken to them over the phone and seen them through a computer screen, but it’s not the same. I know I have to go and see them at some point, but the reception I’ll receive still remains to be seen, especially from my sister.
Tori was angry when I left, angry that I’d upped and left without a goodbye, and for the first few months she refused to speak to me all together, so seeing her in person for the first time could end with me having a bloody nose and a split lip. When Tori is angry, she doesn’t hold back. She’s like a volcano waiting to erupt. But I wouldn’t have my sister any other way.
After dinner, Logan and I sit on the couch with a couple of beers, catching up on three years apart before I eventually retire to bed ready for tomorrow. My first day in a new job, returning to the same place I met Grace for the first time.
What tomorrow will bring, I don’t know, but I can feel it deep in my gut, something I can’t quite put my finger on, telling me that things are about to change.
Chapter 3
Quinn
“You excited for college to start tomorrow?” my boss Samantha asks, she’s tall and slim, soft waves cascading down her back, all the way to her tailbone. Where bosses are concerned, Samantha is one of the good ones.
“Actually, yeah, I am, it’ll be good to get back into the routine. Oh, that reminds me, I won’t be able to make some of my shifts because of classes and stuff, so I was wondering-”
“We can go over your class schedule and see what shifts work best for you, don’t stress. Between you and me, you’re our best employee, and I’m not prepared to lose you, okay?”
“Okay, thanks.” I smile, blushing slightly.
“No problem,” she says before walking away.
After my shift at the restaurant ends, it's a five minute walk to the club. It’s kind of handy not having to walk far, especially at this time of night. At eleven o'clock at night, in mid-September, it's freezing, the cold wind seeping through my coat and under my clothes.
The doorman, who I learn is called Joey, lets me in, and I head straight for the dressing room where a few other girls sit in front of the huge wall of mirrors, fixing their makeup and their hair. I find a chair to sit while I dig through my bag to find the new set of underwear I bought this morning before my shift at the restaurant. I bought quite a few in different colours and styles with the money I made a couple of nights ago, but finally decided to wear a simple black lace bra and matching G-string that sits high on my hips.
As well as shopping for underwear, I updated my collection of makeup and bought a home waxing kit. In hindsight, it’s not up there with some of my best ideas, it hurt like a bitch, but being as smooth as a new-born baby was one of the requirements of the job.
I get dressed quickly, and even though Paula said not to be self-conscious, it’s easier said than done. No one has ever seen me in such little clothing, and it’s going to take a while to be fully comfortable.
I find a free seat and begin getting ready. I apply a heavy layer of foundation, a smoky eye, and line my eyes with thick charcoal black eyeliner before staining my lips blood red. Yeah, I had to watch a YouTube tutorial to get my makeup to even look half decent, not really having used it before, save for the need for concealer to cover the occasional zit breakout. I then curl my long silky black hair, so it cascades down my back in thick loose curls that bounce with every turn of my head.
I look sexy.
At any other time I would love how I look, how sexy I feel when I run my hands over the delicate lace that encases my breasts. But here, it only makes me nauseous.
“So what brings you here, girl?” the redhead beside me asks. “I’m Ginger, by the way.”
