I open the car door before he can respond, listening to the long huff of breath he lets out as I get in and slam it behind me. Starting the engine up as Zay stands there and watches. He doesn't try to stop me though which kind of pisses me off. Guess that white knight meter isn't as loud as he thought it was? Because I sort of feel like I'm drowning here.
“Stupid,” I mutter under my breath as I start up some Nine Inch Nails and crank the volume.
At least the drive to the strip club is nice, rain drenched and shadowed by trees for the first half, fields where cows come out to graze in the mornings for the second half.
I head south past the community college and take in a deep breath as the round building comes into view, one entire wall of tinted windows facing the highway. On the roof, a cheesy fake top hat sits tilted to one side. Even though I'm early, the parking lot is already mostly full and I frown, feeling a tug and pull at my insides that makes me queasy.
Suck it up, Brooke, I tell myself as I pull into my usual spot near the top of the short windy driveway that leads to the cement lot. Get yourself together.
Since I have about an hour to kill, I tilt my chair back and close my eyes, letting the car rumble beneath me and the music play. There is no way in hell that I'm going in there early. Nope. Not a snowball's chance in hell.
After a couple songs from NIN, I switch over to old school Metallica and sit up, checking my phone for messages. There are a few new ones from my friends in Berkeley and a brief Facebook message from my mom with a few pictures of her and dad at the Edinburgh zoo.
I smile briefly as I respond, using a few of the ridiculous selfies Zayden took with my phone to show him off to my girlfriends. Even with the photos, they'll probably never believe that I finally took the plunge and did it with some random stranger from the park. It seemed like a bad idea from the start … seems like an even worse idea now.
I snort and shove my phone in my purse, climbing out onto the wet pavement in my heels and heading towards the back door. Inside, a few of the girls are changing costumes and they smile at me as I walk in, the gossip pausing for a brief few seconds before they readjust to my presence.
“He told me I had to get rid of the dog,” Tiffany complains as she sweeps blond hair over one shoulder and fixes the booby tassels she's wearing. Yep. That's my world now. When I went to UCB, I was a part of the work-study program and got to work in the campus bookstore. Up here, there were no work-study positions available, so … it is what it is. And anyway, there's no way I could've paid rent and supported the girls on that kind of part time work anyway.
“Why?” one of the other women asks, her long dark hair in tiny braids, eyes watching me as I move over to the single bench in the center of the room. There are lockers on either side and a set of small steps leading up to the club. One of the big burly bouncer dudes stands right outside the curtain, arms crossed over his front like he works for the secret service or something.
“Because,” Tiffany starts, standing up and adjusting the little black tutu she's wearing. “He knows I love that damn dog more than I love him.”
Robyn laughs her ass off as I slip my trench down my shoulders and hang it up in one of the rusting teal lockers. The place is clean, but it could definitely use some repairs. Guess as long as it's raking in money, the owner doesn't much care.
“What's wrong with you?” Tiffany asks, coming over to press the back of her hand against my forehead. “You don't look all that great.”
“I'm fine,” I lie because I wish I were fine. Or that I was back in Berkeley. I suck in a deep breath and sling my purse into the locker. “Just tired is all.”
“Sure, sure. Boy trouble, right?” I look at Tiffany with my brows raised.
“Not everything is about boys,” I tell her and then it's her turn to raise her brows at me.
“Well, not everything is, but that face, that look of disappointment, that's got man trouble written all over it. Who else in this world do we depend on that could let us down so thoroughly?”
“I'm not depending on anyone,” I say, more fiercely than I probably should. But I'm not. I always take care of my own business, always have. My parents were supportive, sure, but I was always second place to Ingrid. I felt like the backup heir, the just-in-case kid. Even now, based on my mother's text message, she still hasn't grasped how hard this is for me.
Oh, and she said she had several voicemails from Monica that she hadn't wanted to listen to yet because, you know, Monica always has something to say. Can't wait to hear about my aunt's gossip this time.
“That's a girl,” Tiffany says as she moves back and smiles at me. “And well you shouldn't. Now, if you'll excuse me …” She takes a mock bow and disappears up the steps and into the club, the thumping bass beat teasing the soles of my feet through the floor.