Page 65 of Indigo Sky

“Rev, you—"

“Hold on,” I whispered, lifting my hand from her car and raising one finger.

I focused on the hushed symphony of sounds around us. Engines in the distance from the highway. The whir of a nearby air conditioner. A plane somewhere far overhead. I waited for footsteps or a skittering across a garbage-can lid or something, but nothing came. I gasped, exasperated, and lifted a hand to my forehead.

She has to think I’m crazy.

“Okay,” I said. “I guess it was nothing.”

Fuck, I was so embarrassed, getting stupid over what was probably a feral cat or raccoon behind one of the businesses. This was twice in a couple of weeks I’d gotten spooked over nothing, and I thought there was little chance Kate wasn’t thinking I was an absolute moron by this point.

“Better to be safe than sorry,” Kate said as I reluctantly turned to face her. “Honestly, you never know what kinda creeps are hanging around here this late at night.”

“You’re just trying to make me feel better for acting like a paranoid jackass,” I teased, even as I suppressed a self-deprecating eye roll.

I expected her to laugh, but she shook her head, a serious look blanketing her face.

“We’ve had our share of crazies,” she said, keeping her voice low, her eyes never leaving mine.

I tipped my head curiously. “What do you mean?”

Her eyes looked beyond me toward the club. Now, she appeared just as freaked out as I felt, her gaze round and worried. She chewed at her bottom lip, no longer looking split and angry, as she fidgeted with her keys.

“Will you talk to me while I drive home?” she asked. “Like we did last time?”

“Of course.”

She nodded and turned to get into the car. “I’ll call you in a second. And then I’ll … well, I guess I’ll tell you a story.”

***

“I started working at the club shortly after it opened,” she said as we drove.

I remembered when it’d opened. It had been big news for a while. None of the uppity assholes wanted a strip joint to bring an undesirable crowd closer to the neighborhoods. And it wasn’t that it wasn’t a valid concern or anything—if the club had been near a neighborhood. But the place was situated in such an industrial part of Long Island’s northern shore that it was far enough away from where anyone lived that the point was moot. Not to mention, the clientele was typically of a classier persuasion … with the exception of the occasional college-aged losers, of course.

“I was really young back then, like … maybe nineteen or so. I knew nothing about stripping or—"

“So, why did you start?” I rudely interrupted as I turned in the direction of my parents’ house, the question begging to be asked.

“Stripping?”

“Yeah.”

She was quiet for a moment. I considered apologizing for overstepping and asking questions that were ultimately none of my damn business, but it didn’t change the fact that I was actually curious.

“You’re probably expecting some kind of sob story, huh?”

I smiled at the teasing tone of her voice. “Everybody’s got one, right?”

“Well, my tragic tale doesn’t begin until later—sorry to disappoint. I started stripping because I wanted to.”

I lifted my chin and narrowed my glare on the road. “Really? Why?”

“Are you asking because you really want to know or because you’re being a jerk?” She was teasing again. I liked it.

“No, I want to know,” I said, chuckling.

“Because I think it’s hot,” she replied confidently. “Because I like the power I hold when I’m on the stage. I didn’t grow up feeling very good about myself, and when I learned to dance and take off my clothes while doing it, it made me feel good to know people liked watching me.”

---