Page 117 of A Ballad of Betrayal and Beauty

“Hiya, handsome. What brings you in here tonight?”

I turn toward the voice and there she is. I jolt forward, my hand coming to my chest. Did I die? Am I in heaven? Or is this hell? What other reason would there be for gazing upon that gorgeous freckled face? Those eyes as blue as the sky? It seems to hit her too and she freezes in place.

I don’t know what to do or say or think. How is she here? How is she in Vegas at a strip club of all places?

“Dusty?”

Her unblinking eyes dart over my face so fast they nearly blur. “Key.”

She straightens, her mouth gaping like she can’t string together any words. I don’t blame her. Neither can I. She blinks, then spins and walks away.

My legs move on instinct, following as she weaves through a crowd of people, and I have to dodge them to keep up. I can see where she’s headed, and my heart, which is already sprinting, starts to constrict.

“Dusty, wait! Please,” I call over the noise.

A waitress with a tray full of drinks slows her down and I reach forward to grasp her wrist. Finally she stops, but pulls out of my grasp, her eyes panicked and scanning our surroundings.

“Don’t grab me,” she says frantically, “or they’ll throw you out.”

I hold my hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just . . . I needed you to stop.”

She bites her lip, and I’m flooded by memories of us as teens when she would get anxious and do this exact same thing. It feels like I’m back there, in that humid, dank cabin in the woods.

“You’re . . .” I start, but I hardly know where to begin. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

She drops her head and crosses her arms. “Yeah, well?—”

“What are you?—”

I take in her clothes. How she’s wearing quite possibly the smallest black bikini I’ve ever seen with a neon green fishnet dress overtop, leaving nothing to the imagination.

“Wait, you’re working here?”

Her jaw tenses. “No, I just came for the free buffet. Of course I work here.”

“But,” I start, licking my lips that have turned to sandpaper. “Why?”

“Why do you think?” she grits out. “It pays money. I have bills that require money. Therefore this place pays the bills.”

“Oh, well, sure. Yeah.”

Her nails tap rhythmically on her arm as the silence stretches on between us, punctuated by some awful disco song in the background.

“Look, are we done here?”

My mouth drops open at the hostility. Why is she acting like this?Sheleftme. “Did I say something wrong?”

She closes her eyes and sighs. “No, just—I’m working and I can’t be doingthisright now.”

It hits me like a truck. She works here. Sheworkshere.

“Dusty, tell me you’re not—” She avoids my eye so I push on. “You’re a stripper?”

None of this makes sense. She left me to make something better of herself. She wanted to be an actress. Or work with movies. And while I would never shame the girls whodochoose this life, did she seriously leave me at that bus station to spend her nights working as a stripper?

She doesn’t say anything, and the anger that builds in my chest is suddenly bubbling over.

“You—this is what you left for? Working as a stripper in some sleazy, bullshit club in Vegas?”

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