Page 20 of Filthy Hot

“Do you know from experience?” I ask.

She doesn’t say anything immediately. I can almost hear the sadness just in her breathing. Something has changed in the climate of the vehicle, and as much as I want to ask her details, I feel bad enough as it is for whatever she’s thinking about.

“I did,” she whispers eventually. “Once.”

I really want her to elaborate, but I decide it’s not my business. If Bren wants to tell me, she will. I’m not someone who pries into people’s business, as much as I want to know every single detail.

And I do. I want to know everything about everyone. This is part of my issue with life. I’m nosy as hell, and it’s gotten meinto trouble more times than I can count. So, instead of asking anything else, I press my lips together and shift my attention to the window.

“Were you born here?” I ask, changing topics.

Bren hums. The Jeep bounces a few times with the potholes and dips in the road. “I was born here, raised, went to schools here, and now I work here. I’ll die here, too. Probably fat and old, wishing I had appreciated my body and youth more.”

“In your vision, do you marry or have kids?” I ask.

She snorts. “Babe,” she says with a laugh. “I’m a stripper.”

I shrug, my gaze still fixed out the passenger window. “Yeah?” I ask. “So, what? You’re not the first young girl in the world to strip to pay the bills. Doesn’t mean you can’t ever get married and have a family.”

She’s silent again, and I worry that I’ve fucked up yet again. But then I hear her let out an exhale. The air in the car isn’t as intense as it was a few moments ago talking about the men of the Dark Horse MC. So, maybe I haven’t completely fucked up with her, again.

“Yeah,” she whispers. “I guess you’re right. I just don’t know what man is going to want anything to do with me. I’ve been on that pole since I was sixteen years old. I’m thirty,” she says in a whisper as if she should be ashamed of what she’s doing.

“Bren?” I call out as she pulls into the small diner's parking lot and finds a spot.

Turning my head, I watch as she shifts the Jeep intoParkand then turns to face me. Her gaze searches my own for a brief moment.

I’ve probably screwed up with her. I’ll be surprised if she even takes me back to my car after this, but then something changes. She reaches out, curls her fingers around my wrist, and holds me as her gaze searches mine.

“Being a stripper doesn’t make you incapable of love, of a life.”

“Every single man here knows exactly what and who I am, Kyle. You’re new to town. You can reinvent yourself. But I am who I am.”

Wrapping my other hand around hers at my wrist, I squeeze and look up into her eyes.

“If I had stayed in my hometown, I would have forever been Kyle Stewart. The abused-by-her-parents, neglected, white trash girl I was as a kid. Or the abused-by-her-boyfriend woman, a boyfriend of fourteen years who couldn’t be bothered to ever marry her. Although, thank God for small favors on that.”

“What are you telling me, Kyle?” she asks.

“If you don’t like where you are, move.”

She arches a brow, then lets out a laugh. It’s almost like a cackle, and she pulls her hand from between mine. She turns her head to look out of the windshield. Everyone else is already here, but Bren doesn’t care.

I have a feeling that Bren waits for no one and doesn’t give a fuck if people have to wait for her.

“You’re right,” she breathes. “I can just leave. Nothing is holding me here except for my own fear.”

“That’s funny,” I whisper.

“What?”

“Fear is what drives me to leave a place,” I say, confessing so much and yet nothing all at once.

It is funny. She’s right. Instead of saying that, though, I smile as I reach for her hand, squeezing her once, then push the door open and jump out of the Jeep. She does the same, and together, we walk into the diner, neither of us saying anything else about it the rest of the night.

There’s no time to discuss anything about our futures or our pasts as soon as we arrive at the table with everyone else. Thegroup is loud, joyful, and fantastic. I’ve never had a group of friends before.

This is all a first for me, and I am loving every second. I don’t say much, and I don’t have a whole lot to add to the conversation, but I enjoy every second of it. I enjoy being part of a group.

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