Page 50 of Fifty First Times (Sharing You 0.40)
I nodded. “Yeah. It’s not about being smart. It’s sheer stubbornness.”
“I’m stubborn,” she volunteered with a shake of her head. “I’m not going to med school.”
“It’s just about sticking to something. Anything you decide to do. Seeing it through,” I explained. My lips twisted. “Proving my high school chem teacher wrong when he said I was hopeless and should stick to football.”
An oncoming car’s lights flashed across her face, the sudden stark light hiding nothing. Not her youth or wide, guileless eyes. Not her suddenly intent expression. Like she was thinking about what I said. Like it mattered. “Never thought of it like that. Maybe I’ll do okay in school, too, then. My sister claims that I’m very stubborn.”
“Are you going to school?”
“Community college. Just one class this semester. I managed two classes last semester. I’m thinking I’ll major in business. Or maybe computer science.” She shrugged. “I don’t know. Something that will get me a good job. That’s the most important thing.”
“Practical,” I murmured. I knew plenty of girls majoring in art or theater. They weren’t worried about getting a job. They had parents and trust funds to fall back on.
“I would take more classes, but it’s expensive. And I waitress, so I don’t have a lot of time for a second class. Plus studying. I bit off more than I could chew last semester. ”
I processed this. She couldn’t afford more than one class? She waitressed during the day? There was no one in my circle of acquaintances who wasn’t a full-time student. A few held part-time jobs, but no one was like this girl.
“And you dance at night?”
“Not anymore,” she replied almost too quickly, and I knew I hit a nerve. She was embarrassed.
“You quit?” I asked carefully, hoping she didn’t think he was judging her. What did I know about her or her life and what drove her to take a job at the Kitty Cave?
She shrugged. “The manager doesn’t want me back.”
“Because of me?”
She hesitated and I knew I was to blame. And even knowing that, I knew I would do it again if some guy touched her like that. “No. It was my fault. I totally lost it. I screamed like some girl in a bad horror movie.”
“That guy grabbed you,” I defended. “He assaulted you—”
“It’s all part of the job.”
“It was wrong. He didn’t have the right to touch you like that.”
She angled her head and inhaled sharply through her nose like she was remembering—remembering that bastard’s hands on her—and then I felt like an ass for making her remember. I just wanted to pull her into my arms. Crazy, I knew, but I wanted to wipe the memory from her mind forever. I wanted her to forget it. To forget this night.
Well, except for me.
Irrationally and illogically, I wanted her to remember me. Maybe for no other reason than because I was going to remember her. I doubt I’d be able to get her out of my head. Just the image of her on that stage would probably keep me awake and staring into the dark for many nights to come.
She shrugged and pulled to a stop at a red light. “I couldn’t do it. I knew that when I went out there.” The light turned green.
I motioned for her to turn at the next street. “Then why? Why did you?”
Her gaze cut to me and a sly smile curved her mouth. “Just stubborn, I guess. I’d convinced myself I could.”
I pointed at my apartment complex on the right. She pulled up in front of the security gate. I dug out my wallet and handed her my card to press against the magnetic plate. She rolled down her window and stuck the card out. The gates swung apart.
“Just ahead to the right. Building B.”
“Nice,” she murmured and I assumed she meant the complex. The half-dozen buildings were very Tuscan in style. All rock with red-tiled roofs. I surveyed where I lived for the last three years with fresh eyes—through her eyes. Cody had picked out the place, wanting it for its gym, pool, tennis courts, and volleyball nets. It was like a resort with all its varied amenities.
She parked in front of the building, leaving the car running, confirming that she wasn’t looking for a hook-up. She wasn’t hoping to come inside. She wasn’t that kind of girl. One-time stripper or not.
“Thanks for the ride.” I hesitated, sliding my suddenly perspiring palms along my thighs.
“Thanks for playing the hero tonight.” She dipped her head and all that dark hair fell like a curtain, shielding her face from me. I heard her sigh. She lifted her head and looked at me. “That sounded asshole-ish, didn’t
