Page 1 of That Girl is Trouble

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“Think I could borrow that pink thong you got stuffed in your bag?”

Crinkling my nose, I pull my attention away from the mirror. I’ve been trying and failing to make the wing tips at the edges of my eyes symmetrical, and I’m about ready to rub off all this fucking eyeliner and accept defeat.

Doesn’t help that the music is so loud tonight it’s shaking every surface in the building.

“Jade, babe, I don’t think we’ll ever be so close that I’ll be okay sharing my underwear with you,” I say with a laugh.

Jade flicks the end of her dark green wig over her shoulder, a frown tugging at the edges of her black lipstick-lined lips. “Come on, Kat. I couldn’t get to my laundry this week. Everything’s all stretched out.” She pulls a lacy red number from her bag and presses it to her face before abruptly jerking back. “And doesn’t smell so fresh.”

I snort. “You’re disgusting.”

“You love it. Say yes, and I’ll fix your makeup. You’re all lopsided.”

“Fine.” I sigh. “But you can keep the panties. They ride up my butt.”

She laughs and pulls up my chin to examine my hack-job makeup attempt. “Thongs are supposed to ride up. That’s kind of the point.”

“Yeah, but this one rides up too much. Know what I mean?”

“Not in the slightest. Hold still and close your eyes.” She holds my face steady as I let my eyes flutter shut. The smooth glide of the liner pen traces along the bottom of my eyelid and then flicks up. “Open.”

I blink and glance up at my friend. Jade is one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met. The girl’s makeup is always flawless, and whether she’s wearing jeans, baggy sweatpants or sultry red lingerie, she always looks put together.

My sister Triss is like that. Unrumpled and held in tight, like some invisible force is keeping her hair all smoothed down and her shirts perfectly pressed.

Naturally, Jade’s hair is a deep auburn, but she keeps it tucked up under a long green wig—one of the things she does to keep people from recognizing her.

In small towns, people talk. It wasn’t as bad in South Bay. That town is run by bikers, so the gossip tends to be quieter. Hushed whispers between old ladies at the diner. Side glances at the grocery store. But in Eden Hills, there’s no fear of some big bad biker catching you talk too much shit. This is cottage country. Run by elitists with deep pockets and second homes. The gossip here is loud and vicious.

It’s not easy working at a strip club when you live in a place like this.

“There,” she says, running the tip lightly over the edge of my other eyelid. “All fixed.”

I study my reflection. Both eyes are now adorned with a perfect cat eye—jet black, sharp tip, a sleek curve hugging my lash line. The rest of my makeup is heavy, the false lashes like little weights tugging on my eyelids. I don’t look like myself, but this is the costume I put on four days a week.

I hadn’t intended to start taking my clothes off for money. It just sort of… happened. I needed a job, and Jade knew a place.

Of course, I couldn’t actually become a stripper. That would be ridiculous. But Jade swore I’d love it, so I figured I’d humour her. Show up just to say I did it. But that first night, when I watched the dancers on stage, how they moved, the way they completely owned the room. I was sold.

Suddenly, the idea of getting naked in a room full of strangers held a surprising amount of appeal. It got my heart pumping, my skin buzzing.

The therapist my sister made me see after my mom died told me I was an attention seeker. That I’d do things a girl my age had no business doing because I wanted to be noticed. But she got it wrong. I think I just wanted to feel something. I’ve been alone my whole life, suffering in the quiet, and the moment I got a taste of feeling, like really feeling, I couldn’t get enough.

Bad things, dangerous things, forbidden things. Those are what make a person feel. They’re a reminder that we’re still here, that we’re still alive.

Back when I lived in South Bay, it was Jesse Turner who gave me that. Dark hair, tattoos, piercings. A little too old. A love for anything and everything wild. There was no more quiet after I met him, only fast rides and quick thrills and bad things that felt too damn good to stop. Even when I knew it wouldn’t last, even after I realized we were no good for each other, I couldn’t quit him. Running with a man from the Soldiers of Sin MC, a Sinner, was the biggest thrill of my fucking life.

And then it was gone. He was gone. Three bullets in his chest protecting my sister.

Triss says that when people leave us, they take a piece of us with them. Sometimes it’s a fragment, a small bite, barely noticeable. Other times, it’s like they take everything. A piece so big that there’s nothing left. Like my mom after my dad died. He took all of her, I think. So much that she didn’t want to be here anymore. It was easier for her to swallow a bottle of pills than to keep existing in a world without him.

I don’t know how much of me Jesse took with him when he died, but it’s been almost two years, and the feeling he gave me, the one that made me hot and cold at the same time, that set me on fucking fire, has all but vanished.

At least, that’s what I tell myself. No man will measure up. Nothing will ever compare to what I felt at the back of Jesse’s bike.

The lie sends a twinge of guilt poking at my stomach, and I drop my focus from the mirror. I can’t look at myself when I have those thoughts. Jesse died protecting someone I love. I owe him everything. But sometimes I can’t help who drifts into my thoughts when I let my mind wander a little too freely.

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