Page 33 of A Ballad of Betrayal and Beauty

“Sorry, Becks, we’re coming right now,” I say.

“Oh, soyou’reBecks,” Logan says, his eyes sweeping up and down over her, and my blood begins to boil as I see the way she cringes back. “Sorry, I didn’t recognize you with your clothes on. That album cover photo you did is positively scandalous. I’d recognize those tits anywhere.”

Becks’s face turns beet red, but I barely register it. My fist flies before I can even think but at the last second I’m yanked back, my knuckles missing Logan’s nose by an inch.

“The fuck—” I shout out, feeling James’s arms wrap me from behind and seeing Dave pin Key in a hold. Becks is off to the side, squeezing herself against the wall to avoid any flying limbs.

“Joel, what the hell is wrong with you?” James asks as I pry him off me.

“This fucker—” I start, but I catch sight of Becks, and she subtly shakes her head, her wide eyes darting between me and James. I understand that look. She’s worried if I tell James the reason I almost punched this asshole, he won’t hesitate to commit murder. I take a deep breath and look at James. As his grip loosens, I shrug him off me then take one last look at Logan.

“It’s nothing. This guy was just hoping I might straighten out his crooked nose.”

Logan’s smug smile drops for an instant, and I can see the rage brewing underneath, but he knows better than to take on four guys in a narrow hallway with security within reach. So I back away toward the stage, pulling Key along with me.

“See you around, One-Punch Logan,” I call over my shoulder, motioning for security to escort him out. “Enjoy the show.” Then without a glance back, I walk out onto the blinding stage to calamitous applause.

CHAPTER9

What I Like About You

DUSTY

Ihaven’t heard from my mystery caller, and I’m grateful. His last call was intense, and I’m not sure what the next one might be like. Plus, I gave part of myself away. Forgetting my accent? That’s never happened before. I suppose now there’s no point in using it with him if he ever calls back. Now that it’s Tuesday, I’m grateful for my first day off in over a week. Even though my job isn’t physically taxing, it can be hard emotionally. There are days where everything is great and golden, then there are days like today where I hate myself. Not necessarily hate my job, but hate the way others feel about it, because all it does is change how they feel about me. It’s the reason I wish I could just find a normal job like any other woman in her twenties.

But I’ve been in this life now for so many years that it’s really all I know. Or rather, it’s all I know how to do well. Plus, the thought of working a nine-to-five terrifies me. I don’t have a high school diploma and thanks to my fuckup parents, I don’t have many useful skills for the workforce. I can’t type fast enough for a secretarial job, I’m not strong enough for manual labor, and anything to do with math? Forget it . . . they might as well just toss my résumé in the garbage.

My voice is rough from talking for hours on end, so I make myself a mug of boiling water, add lemon and honey, grab my Walkman and laundry basket, and head downstairs to the laundromat. When I step through the back door, I scan the room, and I know it’s silly, but I can’t help but hope, for one brief moment, that Joel might be here. He’s not. Of course he’s not. Why would he be? I basically told him to go away and never come back. In fact, I didn’t even tell him my real name. It should come as a relief that he’s not here. It’s what I wanted, but I’ll admit, now that I’m here, it hurts. Like a bruise deep, down under the skin.

Shaking my head, I walk over to my usual machine, thankfully free, and open the lid. I pull on my headphones and can already feel the comforting sound of Frank Sinatra calming my soul. Before I can reach for my hidden stash of detergent, there’s a tap on my shoulder. I turn around and Doris is standing next to me.

Her body is hunched over from her sciatica, and she gestures with one long polka dotted nail for me to lean in.

“Is something wrong?” I ask, slipping off the headphones.

“Do me a favor, love, and tell that young man to find another laundromat.”

I narrow my eyes. “Tell who?”

She waves her hand. “The one who’s been here every day looking for you,” she says, her voice like gravel.

In an instant my heart is in my throat. “Someone’s been here looking for me?” I ask.

“The man with the long dark hair,” she continues. “Told him to stop coming around unless he has actual laundry to do. This is a business, not a bar.”

I open my mouth to respond but nothing comes out, and with a huff, Doris turns and shuffles off back to her desk by the windows. I turn to stare at my clothes in the drum. Joel came back for me? And not just once but every day? Why would he do that?

He likes you!

There’s a rising heat in my cheeks as I try to reason with myself. Does he really?

The bell above the door jingles, and I freeze, terrified to look, but it seems I don’t even need to. I can feel him. Feel the heavy presence of his gaze on me, and my knees wobble as I continue to methodically toss my clothes into the washing machine.

His heavy footsteps travel across the room, and a shiver shoots down my spine as he stops right behind me. There’s a tap on my shoulder, and the rest of body breaks out into goose bumps.

“Excuse me, is this machine taken?”

I turn, and there he is. Smile radiating happiness as he stands across from me with a laundry basket tucked under one arm.

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