Page 2 of Lucky's Trouble

“You were prepared,” she says as I tug off my modest cotton dress, leaving me in only a sports bra and undies.

Once we’re more comfortable, I lock the truck, and we walk to the lookout point. It’s hot out, but we’re both summer girls, so it doesn’t bother us to climb onto one of the red rocks and sit where there’s no shade.

Rolling up my sleeves, I stretch my legs out and tip my head up. “I love the sun.”

“Same.” Myla grabs the vape resting on my leg and takes a puff. “You gonna tell me why we’re out here?”

“We’re leaving.”

She huffs. “To where?”

“Reno.”

“What?”

I lean back onto my elbows. “I got a job. And I can get you one too, if you want.”

“Doing what?”

“Dancing.”

Myla and I have been competitive dancers since we could walk. Everything from ballet to ballroom, we’ve done it all. We were even accepted to a couple universities on dance scholarships. But we had to turn them down after Mom and Dad informed us that they prayed about it and didn’t think it was our path in life.

There are levels of devoutness in the church, and my parents are at the top of the scale. To them, our only purpose is to marry a return missionary as soon as possible and start multiplying and replenishing the earth. An education would be a waste since stay-at-home moms only need to know how to cook, clean, and raise a righteous family.

“What kind of dancing?” She raises a skeptical brow.

I grin. “The kind you do in your underwear.”

“Tinleigh!” She smacks my shoulder. “We can’t be strippers.”

“Why not? The owner said we could make bank, and it would get us out of here.”

“How did you even find this place? And why Reno?”

I shrug. “Why not?”

“Seriously, how?”

“This guy has been messaging me on Insta for a while. He’s a talent scout for some big club in Vegas,” I say carefully, knowing how it sounds.

“So why Reno?”

“He says we have to start at the Reno location, and if we do good, they’ll move us up.”

Her nose, identical to mine, wrinkles. “I don’t know about this. I mean, stripping? Really?”

“We’ve taken pole dancing classes. The only difference is that we’re in pasties and a thong.” I snag the vape and take a puff.

“That was just to work on our arm and core strength, not to prepare us to be strippers.”

“What’s going to happen to us if we stay here, Myla?”

She stares into the distance, thinking. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. We’ll continue to work bullshit jobs until Mom convinces us to marry horny return missionaries who’ll knock us up on our wedding night. Then we’ll end up just like her: stuck in a loveless marriage, filling our time with church callings and raising babies.” I give her a pointed look.

“As opposed to moving somewhere we’ve never been, dancing in front of horny men for dollars until we’re too old? And then what?”

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