Page 27

“Shall we?”

After I aged out of foster care, this car was the only thing I could afford. It was my shelter for a few months while I saved up enough money at work—and the occasional surveillance gig—to put down a deposit on a shitty apartment. I never felt claustrophobic living in my car. After spending so much of my childhood hiding in closets and blanket forts, I welcomed the small, quiet living area. This car is my safe space. I’ve had to replace almost everything under the hood, not to mention reupholster the interior and give it a new paint job, but we were both in rough shape when I bought it.

I hold open the passenger door for her and she slides onto the camel-colored leather. As we drive, she’s fairly quiet but makes an effort at small talk. She keeps staring at my hands, I think she likes the tattoos that cover the tops, it’s not the first time I’ve caught her admiring them. Or maybe she’s looking because she hates them. Nah.

When the bar gets a little rowdy, I suggest we go for a stroll and catch some air. She doesn’t look uncomfortable, but better to err on the side of caution. We head toward the tree-lined sidewalk, the moonlight stands out even from the warm streetlights as we amble in and out of shadows. Eventually the sound of chirping crickets and our footsteps separates from the hum of conversation and laughter behind us. She crosses her arms over her chest, the air is cooler now. I shrug off my suit jacket and slide it over her shoulders, leaving me in my dress shirt and suspenders. There’s a tiny bit of ink peeking out of the back of her dress. I’m dying to ask her about her scars, but I resist. She’ll tell me when she’s ready, but fuck, it makes me twitchy.

“Thank you,” she says, tugging the lapels closer to her body. “Not just for the jacket, but for inviting me.”

“Do you like weddings?” I ask.

She tilts her head back and forth. “They’re fine. I’ve only attended a couple, the last was my brother’s.”

“Oh yeah, I remember him telling me about it while I did one of his tattoos. Hawaii, right?”

“Yup.”

“You ever think about getting married?” I ask, just trying to keep the conversation up.

Anna scoffs. “Yeah, usually right after a good panic attack.”

“Same.” I chuckle. “Well, thanks for coming to this one; honestly if you didn’t agree after this last dance class, I don’t think I would have survived that second class. How do you do that shit?”

She smiles. “Practice, I guess?”

“What made you start pole dancing?”

“Actually, my therapist suggested it. I was supposed to find my divine feminine energy.” She adds air quotes.

“And did you?”

She shrugs. “No idea, but I did enjoy the classes. It’s a great workout and helps me get out of the house.”

“Homebody?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“Very much so.” She sighs before adding, “My brother always gives me shit for it.”

“Why?”

She lifts her chin to me. “He thinks I need more friends.”

“Do you?”

Another lift of her shoulders. “I socialize plenty. There are the women at pole . . . Not to mention talking to people at work and a few other things.”

“And you’re telling me you haven’t made any friends between those three places?”

“No, I mean, yes, I have, but they just aren’t people I see outside those settings. And Rhys thinks I need to have closer friends, but I could turn around and make the same argument. His closest friends are his teammates; he travels with them, they protect each other on the ice, it’s like a brotherhood. He doesn’t have a ton of friends outside the team, though.”

“Well, good thing we’re besties, huh?”

She chuckles and glances up at me. “Yeah . . . good thing.”

“We hanging out on Monday?”

Her face scrunches up. “What?”

“It’s my day off—want to hang out?” I waggle my eyebrows at her. “Come on . . . Think of how proud Rhys will be. You can totally rub it in his face.”