Page 46 of The End of Summer

“I guess it wasn’t on-brand for her studio. All the girls have fake names. She calls them Cherry and Saffron and Indigo. Instead of their real names, which are Cheryl, Maria, and Kim.”

“What’s Arrow’s real name?”

“Funny. I have no idea. I always just assumed it was Arrow.”

“Well, I like the name Gretchen.”

“Thanks,” she replies. “I’ve never had a problem with it. It’s my grandmother’s name.”

“It’s pretty.”

She smiles, setting her fork and spoon down into the bowl and pushing the chair away from the table. “So, you working tomorrow?”

“No. I don’t think so, anyway. I only snagged tonight’s gig earlier this afternoon.”

She nods. “I have tow lot in theafternoon.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s where I hang out so the girls who were too drunk to drive can come pick up their cars.”

“I thought they came in on a party bus.”

“Three of them met the bus there. So I’ve got those ones to wait for.”

“Is there another party tomorrow night?”

“Yeah,” she confirms. “Not as crazy as tonight. Sunday night parties tend to be a little more tame.”

“Would you like some company?”

“At the party?”

“No,” I laugh. “At the car pickup thing. I could hang out with you if you didn’t want to just sit there alone.”

Gretchen smiles at me with her eyes. “It’s your life, Brady. I can think of like a million things I would rather do on a Sunday in the summer than wait for three hungover girls to come get their cars.”

“You really know how to sell it.”

“I’m happy to have you there. But no pressure if you change your mind,” she clarifies. “Now, at the risk of never seeing you in a thong again, I’m going to head home.” She stretches her arms up over her head, revealing a sliver of her stomach. “I’m exhausted, and my ass hurts. I need to take some Aleve.”

Inside, I feel a pang of panic.I don’t want her to leave,I realize. “Did youwantto see me in a thong again?” I ask, then immediately regret it.What the fuck?Thisis your A-game?

“I’ll be honest. The thong didn’t do it for me. I mean, you’ve got a nice –” here, she waves at my posterior, “but I’m not really into guyswearing thongs.”

My mouth develops a mind of its own by making things worse as I blurt out, “So, whatareyou into? Boxers? Briefs? Commando?”

She looks up at me. I can’t help but notice how short she is without those stupid heels on. “I’m into dancing,” she says, giving me a look that suggests she could be into a whole lot more thanjustdancing. “Like I said, you’re an excellent dancer, Brady.”

I feel my cheeks get round as my mouth curves up. “Maybe we’ll dance together again sometime,” I say.

“I’d like that – but not for money.”

“No, not for money.”

“I’d rather you be dressed.”

I laugh. “Me, too.”

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