Page 107 of Ewan

She purses her lips, and I expect a rebuttal.

“I didn’t catch his name,” she says.

I sigh.

“What else did you see this morning?”

Visibly irritated with me, she continues.

“He stopped his car at the crossroads and sat there for a few good minutes. He only left when you exited the house to get your steps in. And by the way, I still don’t know why you have to do both. Walking on the treadmill and around the neighborhood. It would kill my knees if I did that.”

It’s not her knees we’re talking about, but that’s beyond the point.

Besides, I’m too consumed with what she just said.

He was here this morning and waited at the crossroads?

I still can’t believe what she said was real, but something tells me that it was, and my heart swells, which is wrong.

23

SCARLETT

I check everything twice.

My oversized bag, my makeup case, my brush, and the extra sweater. My keys, my phone, and my wallet.

Everything is in place.

I send Sammy a text message confirming I am on my way so she knows where I am.

Given the nature of this gig, I need to take precautions.

I don’t want to think about anything bad happening, but testosterone, booze, and money have changed the course of history quite a few times.

I leave early per Sammy’s request and check the street several times to make sure no suspicious cars are rolling down the road and I’m not being watched.

When everything seems fine, I pull out my phone, open an app, and request a car. I’d rather take a cab than drive my own car in this weather.

It takes about ten minutes for my ride to arrive.

I welcome the warmth inside the car and unwrap my wool scarf before chatting with the driver all the way to my destination.

He drops me off in front of a nice building with dark walls, a massive door, and a discreet neon sign above the entrance. Rosy Nights. A bit creepy, but it’s all right.

It’s better than Bloody Nights.

A shiver goes through me as I look at the parking lot.

A dozen cars are parked there, without a soul in sight.

“Just my kind of place,” I mutter under my breath, promising myself that these might be my last two jobs of this type for a while.

And speaking of this type of job.

I’m not a natural when it comes to dancing in my bra and shorts. It’s an acquired skill. I was a cheerleader in high school, which wasn’t that far back.

It’s been more than a decade, but to me, it feels like it happened yesterday. I loved that time of my life. It was one of the best, even more so because I didn’t know what the future might bring.

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