Page 52 of Indigo Sky

"Shut up," she said, touching my elbow. "You're going to make my lip bleed again."

"Okay, sorry. I won't speak for the rest of the night." I pretended to zip my lips and threw away the proverbial key.

Another roll of her eyes and a gentle slap of her hand against my chest, and I was on cloud fuckin' nine. I was flirting, she was flirting back, and … I dunno, man … it felt like this could be something. It felt like it already was.

"Hey, I was—"

"Whoa, I thought you weren't going to speak!" she teased, her voice high-pitched and full of excitement and life and happiness and the good shit I hadn't felt in … hell, maybe forever. "Already breaking promises. Typical man."

I held my hands up in surrender, then pulled a crumpled receipt and pen from my pocket. I headed over to the bar, leaned against it, and scribbled on it. Kate tried to look over my shoulder, but I blocked her view with my body. Then, when I was finished, I pocketed the pen, folded up the receipt, and turned around to hand it to her.

"What is this?" she asked, eyeing me with suspicion.

I shrugged in response and tucked my hands into my pockets.

She continued to hold my gaze as she unfolded the wrinkled piece of paper, then reluctantly looked to read my shitty handwriting. Angry hornets took flight in my gut as her cheeks turned crimson, every nerve alive and screaming in my body as she struggled not to smile again. Then, she reached up to my breast pocket, plucked the pen from its hiding place, and leaned against the bar to scribble her own message.

Man, this entire thing was insane.

A few weeks ago, I hadn't thought I'd even see her again, let alone flirt and take a step toward dating territory. I was imagining her meeting my parents. I was imagining her in my car, in my room, in my bed, and I didn't give a single shit that my room was still in my parents' house. Not one single fuck. I just wanted her there, mixing her scent with mine and sleeping where I slept. I wanted her with me, reenacting that dance from years ago—sans clothes and this club and the audience that had surrounded us.

She turned and smirked into my watchful stare as she handed the receipt back to me. She slipped the pen back into my pocket, brushed her fingertips over my chest, and walked around me. I glanced over my shoulder to watch her head toward the hallway, likely to get ready for work. I watched the flip of her ponytailed pink hair, the sway of her ass, and the purpose behind every step.

She's gonna be trouble, I caught myself thinking.And she's the type I wouldn't mind getting into trouble for.

I unfolded the receipt and read the question I'd written down, then grinned like a fucking idiot when I read her reply.

Do you wanna go out with me sometime?

I'm only mad you didn't ask me years ago.

***

The club was dead that night. I guessed that was probably normal for a Tuesday, but the lack of business wasn't helping to ease my exhaustion. By the time midnight rolled around and the street was black and the parking lot was nearly empty, I glanced behind me through the tinted windows, trying to get a glimpse of what was happening inside. If it was as unlively inside as it was out here, I wondered if Sam would close early.

I hadn't seen Kate since opening, of course, but I was eager to spend more time with her, and that eagerness only made the time drag at an excruciatingly slow pace.

Scott came out at one point after midnight to ask if I needed anything.

"Yeah, about six shots of espresso," I deadpanned.

He commiserated with a slow nod, crossing his arms and leaning against the front of the building. "Man, you're not kidding. If I stand here for too long, I'll pass out."

"Glad it's not just me then."

He shook his head. "Nah. Honestly, I think we're all dragging. Everything feels kinda off since last night. Saul isn't here. Wendy's at home with him—"

I took my eye off the street to glance at Scott, sniffling and wiping the back of his hand beneath his nose. Dude seemed like he was battling the beginnings of a cold, but I didn't ask about it in favor of another question.

"Wendy and Saul? They live together?"

He looked up, lifting his brows. "Uh, yeah, I'd hope so. They've been married for, like, twenty years or something like that."

"Get the fuck outta here. Why didn't I know this?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "Well, I guess they don't really go around advertising it. Like, you know, if guys came in here and knew Wendy's fuckin' husband was the dude kicking ass at the door … I dunno … they'd be less likely to pay for dances." He shifted his weight from one foot to another. "That's why there's no rule against dating, but it's prohibited to let it affect our work."

"Hmm," I grunted, nodding while thinking about the note I'd written Kate earlier. The same one burning a hole through my pocket right now.

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