Page 9 of Her Defiant Heart (Damaged Hearts 1)

Is he for real right now? “How?”

“If no one is around, that means the parking lots are empty, the buildings are empty. Some creeper could totally attack you when you least expect it.” My eyes go wide and he immediately leans back against the seat, shaking his head. “Sorry. I didn’t want to scare you, but you know what I mean.”

“I have a tiny bottle of mace on my keychain.” And I keep a pocketknife in my purse. I deal with a lot of creepers at work. He has no freaking idea how many.

“Good.” He nods, placated by my lame declaration. “You want my advice?”

“Oh, please.” Like this pretty boy has ever had to defend himself.

“Kick them in the nuts if you’re ever attacked.”

I nod, trying my best to remain solemn. Serious. “Good advice.” The best advice is go for the eyes and gouge them out if you can, but what does he know?

“Since you’re so busy, being a big time working girl and all, you probably need a break. You should go out with me tomorrow then.”

I’m taken off guard by his request. “But it’s Sunday.” What, like I go to church? Please, it’s more like I sleep in till the midafternoon since I don’t get home from work until late.

“So? Go to brunch with me.”

Where I come from, we don’t brunch. I don’t think I’ve ever been to brunch. Sometimes we would have to skip a meal because there was no food in the house, but I don’t think that counts.

“Um, what time?” I ask, trying to sound casual. Inside, I’m a bundle of nerves.

His smile returns yet again, flashing lots of shiny white teeth. “Eleven?”

“Eleven thirty?” I counter.

“Okay. Give me your number.” He flicks his chin at my crappy old iPhone 5c and then pulls out his fancy new iPhone, opening it with a glance, his fingers poised over the screen.

I rattle off my number, noticing the way my voice shakes, how my knees are knocking together. Crap, he’s making me nervous, and I told myself I wouldn’t get nervous. He enters the digits into his phone and I immediately have a text notification pop up on my cracked screen.

Grabbing my phone, I read his message.

Tell me where you live.

Glancing up from my phone, I send him a pointed look. “How about you tell me where we’re going and I’ll meet you there?” I don’t want him to know where I live. I really don’t want him to know much of anything about me.

The less he knows, the better.

“I wanted to pick you up. Be a gentleman.” He sounds sincere, which I find unbelievable. But maybe he is. Maybe Rhett Montgomery is too good to be true.

“It’s easier if I can meet you. I have to work tomorrow afternoon.” A lie, since I’m not on the schedule. Though if I wanted to go into work and catch a few extra hours, Don would let me.

Don’s my boss. He’d let me do whatever I want if I would only spread my legs for him, but I won’t cross that line. I might not take sex seriously, but I take having sex with my boss very seriously.

As in, I won’t do it.

“I’ll text you the restaurant’s name and address. I still need to figure out where we’re going.” He slides out of the booth seat. “Talk to you later.”

And then he’s gone.

So my job that I didn’t want to reveal to the precious, perfect Rhett? I work at a dance club.

That’s code for strip joint.

I’m not a stripper, though. I’m—oh my God—a topless

server. Yes, it’s so degrading, but the tips are amazing and the money allows me to live on my own. I may live in a shit-hole, but it’s mine and I don’t have to share it with a stranger who’ll write her name on all her food in the refrigerator and have her slimy boyfriend stay over all the time.

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