Page 23 of Cold Foot Revenge
The thing about clouds—they were supposed to come and go, but as she sat in the passenger’s seat of Dylan’s truck, she realized her real life hadn’t eased up in a very long time.
Tonight, there had been no clouds over her.
As he drove them closer to the hotel, where her car was parked, she realized she really didn’t want to go back to the routine. Dread work, hate the drive there, harden her heart as she pulled her duffle bag full of barely-there costumes from the trunk of her car, mentally prepare for whatever happened that night, hate the men there, dance without passion, wish her shift was over, make not-enough money, feel trapped, hate herself on the drive home. Rinse and repeat the next day. And the next. And the next.
Tonight, Dylan had told her to just breathe, but he hadn’t told her how damn fresh that breath of air would be.
“What are you thinking about, Yote?” he asked easily.
She dragged her gaze from the city buildings blurring by to him. He kept taking his eyes off the road to look at her. His blue eyes were full of curiosity, and something more.
“I’m not excited about my shift tonight and I think you are to blame.”
He nodded and pulled his attention back to the road. He was quiet for a minute and looked lost in thought. Finally, he asked, “Are you usually excited for your shift?”
She thought about it. Really thought about it. “No,” she admitted. “It feels different tonight though.”
“And you need someone to blame?”
She crossed her arms over her chest and gave her attention back to the city. He said stupid mature things that made her think about her feelings. It was annoying. She didn’t like thinking about her feelings. Her life actually required that she didn’t have feelings at all. He wouldn’t understand anything about that though.
“We’re different.”
She thought he would argue, but he didn’t. “You’re right.”
Never in her thirty years of life had she ever heard a man say that word-combination before. Feeling like it was a trick, she glared at him, waiting for him to say, ‘Just kidding, fuck you,’ but he didn’t.
“You live a completely different life than me, and I don’t think you can understand how it is,” she said softly.
“Are you telling me this because secretly you wished I understood?”
She crossed her arms tighter over her chest, like a shield. “If you’re going to keep doing that, I’m not going to talk to you anymore.”
“Why does it make you uncomfortable?”
“Because…” She frowned to herself. “Just because.” Honestly, she didn’t have an answer, and now she was sitting here wondering why a simple question was so hard for her to answer, and wondering if something new was wrong with her, on top of all the other things wrong with her, and she didn’t like this. “You’re making me feel worse.”
“Now that is not my intention at all,” he murmured, turning left into the hotel parking lot.
“I know what you’re doing,” Roxy gritted out. “You’re being overly nice to me, and being affectionate, getting me high on fancy meals and appetizers tonight, and now you’ll make me feel uncertain about it all. You’re making me question if I evendeserve nights like tonight. Making me wonder if I need to give you something to prove myself.”
“Something like what?” he asked.
“Like information on your brother. You’re shmoozing me so you can use me.”
Dylan’s jaw clenched so hard, a muscle twitched there as he parked an empty parking space away from her car. He threw his truck into park and leveled her with a look. She expected to find anger there at being called out, but a softness existed in his expression instead.
“Someone hurt you,” he said. “Who?”
“What?” she asked, ready to argue.
“Who made you so jaded that you can’t trust the intention of a man?”
“Men in general,” she spat out.
Dylan nodded. Just nodded. Did it for a few loaded seconds until she dropped her gaze. “Forget it. I have to go to work.”
“Hey,” he said, grabbing her wrist before she could escape.
