Page 68 of Triple Play

“Oh. Okay.” A long pause. “Do you still dance?”

“No. Busted my ankle. Had to quit.”

Another “Oh.” Then quiet.

“Would you say something?” Say something, do something, get angry. It’s his bewildered silence I can’t stand.

“It’s not a big deal,” Blake says finally.

As if a significant fraction of my life isn’t a big deal. “I did it for six years.”

His eyes widen as if he’s realizing this wasn’t some rebellious lark. It was—is—my career. He nods to Felix, who’s currently attempting to ease himself out of the conversation as much as a six four guy can ease while also sitting down. “You don’t seem surprised,” Blake says.

“We were talking,” Felix says. “I misunderstood when M—when Shira said that she danced. I guess I assumed and she, uh, confirmed.”

Blake’s mouth pinches skeptically. “You assumed she was a stripper?”

“If she was, so what?” Felix draws himself up—puffs up, really. “It’s not like we aren’t in the entertainment industry too.”

I’m not ashamed. What I said to Felix in the ancient history of two entire days ago. It just never occurred to me that he wouldn’t be ashamed either. That he was, in some way, proud of me. I guess people can surprise you. Or maybe Felix has been like this from the second I met him—when he was John and I was Melody—and I’m just now letting myself believe it.

Blake’s still looking at him, startled, blue eyes wide like I’ve really managed to shock him. A faint pulse jumps at his jaw: Tension? Anger? Embarrassment at being played?

A familiar panic comes over me. That Blake won’t understand. That I’ve been dressing myself in someone else’s metaphorical clothes—that I was so convincing as the good girl he was dating—he won’t want the real me.

We should just leave.

No, I should just leave.

I’ve left before. Hell, after all this time, it’s maybe my best skill. Walking away is easy as long as you don’t look back. If we’re going to break up over this, at least we should make it a clean break, even if this swirl of emotions inside me is decidedly messy.

What I need is a plan. I start a mental list: get my suitcase out of Lilac, see if there’s a club or two that’ll let me dance for a few nights to save up some travel money, less the cost of buying some heels and an outfit at a side-of-the-highway sex shop. If they even have those in God’s country. Before I might have asked Felix for a loan, but I won’t now that I know the farm’s in trouble. Guess I really am on my own again.

I thought Blake was different, even if some part of me whispered that I knew he’d be like this. That I’ve been holding back from him because he’d be like this. How I’m no one’s amazing daughter now that he knows the truth. Or at least fifty percent of the truth.

I’ll have all the entire ride north to cry. No sense starting now. I gather my purse. “Okay, well, it was a fun trip, but if I’m going back to Boston, I probably need to?—”

“Back to Boston?” Blake cuts me off, then shakes his head like he’s clearing it. “Sorry, I’m confused.”

“You obviously aren’t good with this, so I should just go.”

“I don’t want you to leave.” Blake motions to the restaurant around us. “Just give me a minute, okay?”

We do, sitting here, and I try not to read anything into the expressions that flick over his face, but I can’t help it. Anger? Worse, pity? Finally, he settles into a smile, not the media-trained one, but the softest version of it. People will always surprise you. Except if it’s bad, I don’t know if my heart can take it.

“You danced?” Blake says finally.

I nod.

“Were you good at it?”

I laugh. “Yeah, pretty good.”

“You enjoyed it?”

“I liked the money and the other girls.” I shrug. “And some of the customers weren’t so bad.” I don’t trust myself to look at Felix—but he shoots me an amused glance. That secret that no longer feels like a ticking clock, but like a landmine that we’ve only just managed to defuse.

“And you didn’t want to tell me because…”

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