Page 17 of Boyfriend of the Hour
Dr. Hunt looked up, curiosity flaring as an eleven-shaped mark appeared between his brows as his hand dropped my wrist. “What do you mean, that’s all you have left? What were you good at? What’s wrong?”
It was more questions than he’d ever asked me in four solid months.
Another tear fell. No, this asshole did not deserve my sob story.
“You know what?” I used my free hand to swipe at my face. “No. As you said, you arenotmy doctor, so you don’t need to ask these questions anymore. And you can also keep your know-it-all, judgy-as-fuck, stupid handsome nose out of my business. I can make decisions about my own body without you, thank you very much.”
And with that, I turned to the door, leaving the doctor standing in the room, frozen like a statue, while he watched me leave.
I looked over my shoulder with the last shred of dignity I could manage. “See you never,Dr. Hunt.”
THREE
SISTERS IN ORDER OF MOST TO LEAST ANNOYING (TODAY)
#1 Lea
“It’s for the best. I’d be a shitty stripper anyway.”
Sitting at Rochelle’s battered kitchen table in the Bronx, I took a shot of the very worst tequila on the market as if to punctuate the story of Most Embarrassing Doctor’s Appointment Ever.
The next afternoon, I’d headed straight uptown as I promised, intent on helping my family as promised. Unfortunately, the idea of all that was a little too much for me to handle, so I’d taken a four-block detour for some lunch and liquid courage at Rochelle’s apartment.
Okay, so I was avoiding. Not the packing. That I could handle. But the disapproving faces of my siblings after I skipped Mass, definitely.
I coughed. Oh, that stuff burned. “Anyway, yeah. I won’t be working at Diamonds anytime soon.”
Rochelle sighed, almost as if she was more disappointed by the news than I was. “I don’t know about that Dr. Hunt, but Dr. Palmer is really good. Maybe you should ask for him instead.”
I shook my head. “No way I’m stepping foot in that place again. It’s a sign, Chelle. And I doubt I’d get approved for the financing option anyway. The pamphlet said it was for people with over six fifty credit scores. I’d be surprised if I have a number at all.”
“Kyle might advance you the money. He did for me, and not every club owner is willing to help their dancers like that, you know. It’s a good deal.”
Undoubtedly, it was. Rochelle had taken up the Diamonds owner’s offer last year and, according to her, had earned back the money three months after she returned to work.
But I just shook my head. And it had nothing to do with the way the asshole doctor had called me perfect right before insulting me. Nothing at all. “These titties just aren’t ready for icon status yet. That’s all you, baby.”
My cousin grinned, then shook her head with regret as she painted another clear coat of polish onto her nails, which were green with neon pink flowers this week. “It would have finally gotten fun working over there.”
Rochelle and I had come up together in the same little dance studio in Belmont. We were Mrs. Suarez’s top pupils and the only ones who had tried to make a real go of it in the city. Rochelle was even better than me, good enough to get into LaGuardia High School, the famous performing arts school in Manhattan. She hadn’t, however, had patience with the grind of auditions. She started working at Diamonds to pay her bills about two years ago and hadn’t been quiet about wanting me to join her.
Last summer, I’d finally agreed to meet her boss. But the day before the audition, I got the part inChicago.
That too had felt like a sign.
“I might as well just keep trying to convince Tom to give me more shifts while I look for something else,” I said. “I am gettingbetter, you know. Yesterday, I was finally able to make a Long Island iced tea without looking up the recipe.”
Rochelle delivered her patented side-eye. “Did they actually drink it?”
I giggled. “No comment.”
The customer had, in fact, sent it back. But still, Ihadmade it.
Instead of shaming me for my difficulty remembering things like that, Rochelle just chuckled with me and went back to painting her nails. That was one of a thousand reasons why we were friends.
“I might know of something else,” she said.
I perked. “What’s that?”
