Sliding out of my car, I grab my backpack from the backseat and head inside. I didn’t work at the diner this morning; instead, I spent the afternoon painting my living room a dark beige. My red furniture looks amazing against the color, but I seriously need some artwork for the walls or something. One step at a time, right?
My hair is still wet from my shower, but I figured I’d get ready at the club before my shift starts in an hour. Charlie opens the door for me with a smile and I’m immediately happy to be here. Making my way to the back room, I find Eden and Stella changing. I already know Candy is on stage when I hear the 80’s hairband music echoing through the hallway. Only thing the woman ever dances to, I swear. I just wish someone would pour some damn sugar on her already because I wanna pull my hair out after hearing that song every damn night I work.
“Hey there, sweet cheeks.” Eden says as I give her a peck on the cheek before doing the same to Stella. Sitting in Candy’s chair near her disaster area where she gets ready, I watch as Eden lines her eyelids with liner.
“You should really use liquid eyeliner,” I say. “It leaves a flawless line—unlike a pencil.”
Shaking her head at me, she comes back. “You know damn well I can’t do the liquid crap. One eye is always thicker than the other.” Looking over at me, she adds, “I don’t know how you do it, bitch.”
“Well, I don’t know how you keep your ass so small when you eat like a cow, so we’re even.” Eden sticks her tongue out at me before tossing her head back and laughing. Damn woman knows it’s the truth.
Taking out my makeup and flat iron, I look for the nearest outlet when Eden tells me to use hers. “Mine is already hot and you can use my station; I’m on next.” When I hear the repetitive beat fade out, I know Candy’s done. “And that’s my cue. See you later, Sunny. Use this—it’s amazing.” She says as she hands me some heat spray to use on my hair.
As I watch Stella dance, I realize she’s a lifer, and I’m not saying that’s bad. It’s just watching Eden, I see so much more. She’s destined for more, even if she’s the best dancer to ever grace the pole in Pinkies. Stella was born and bred for this life, hell, she loves it, so why not? But not Eden. Her moves aren’t practiced and yet they flow seamlessly. I hope I never see the day she no longer loves the motions, feels the music, or illustrates a picture as poetic as a priceless painting.
Taking Joe his third whiskey sour for the night, I grab his almost empty dish of pretzels to replenish when I see him as I walk toward the bar. Rhett. It’s been a couple of weeks now since he’d taken my phone number and said he’d call me the next day. God, had I ever wanted him to call. Without so much as a hello, I walk straight up to him, ask him for another whiskey sour for Joe, and hand him the near empty bowl.
He looks at me like I’ve grown another head, but says nothing for a minute. I cave under his scrutiny. “Do you mind?” I snap.
A slight shake of his head and I see when his eyes refocus on mine. “Do I mind what?”
Jesus, his voice radiates a jolt up my spine. It’s deep and has that southern accent. “You’re staring.”
The slow forming grin he gives me is truly remarkable. “Naw, I don’t mind that at all, beautiful.” I roll my eyes and ignore the look he gives me. Waiting for Joe’s drink, I step up on the foot ledge on the bar to give me enough height to lean over the shellacked bar top to grab a fresh bowl of pretzels. A large hand closes around my wrist. Looking up into the greenest eyes I’d ever seen in person, he doesn’t release me even after I attempt to pull away. “You’re supposed to say thank you when someone tells you that you’re beautiful, Skye—”
“It’s Sunny,” I correct him.
This time his grin turns into a full smile and it takes all I have not to give him one right back. “No, no it’s not.” Glancing around us, he notices my hesitation. “Nobody heard me. Your secret’s safe with me.” I nod and try once again to pull my hand free, without success. He shakes his head. “You still didn’t say thank you.”
“Thank you.” It’s just easier to say it than keep this up.
When my eyes meet his, this warmth comes over me—it’s frightening. Something about this man pulls me in. Go figure. He’s the one not calling me when he said he would, right? Story of my life. “You’re welcome.” Placing Joe’s drink on my tray, he winks at me—winks at me. A small smile escapes before I can even think to stop it. I only make it a few steps when I stop and turn to the sound of my name from his lips. “We will talk later, Sunny. Unfinished business.” Then, he focuses his attention on Kelly—another waitress. As she gives him the drink orders she needs, I only realize I’m still staring when he smiles at me over her shoulder.
There’s just something about that man.
Chapter Ten
**Rhett**
I fucked up, and I know I did, but Ryan—it’s always Ryan. He’s been a thorn in my side for years, but I still remember a time when the booze hadn’t controlled his life. I miss those days and my hope for their return is what keeps me from giving up on my brother. I just can’t, no matter how much I want to sometimes.
It took me four days to get him to agree to another stint in rehab. Waking up in his own feces, without the memory of how he got home and without his boxers, was apparently the scare he needed. There’s been more than once that he’s bagged some chick and forgotten all about her come morning, but this was different. No recollection of being with any women the night before freaked him out. Jesus, he could’ve fucked or been fucked by any or all of the men he’d been drinking with last night and he’d never know it. I’d say that is a sobering fucking thought.
I flew with him to Pasadena this time. Ry might have seen it as me being supportive, but I was just making sure he made it inside the clinic doors. We’d been down the route too many times where he hadn’t followed through. I carried his bag into the facility and watched as he filled out paperwork, signing his life away for the next 28 days. Life? Ryan hadn’t had a life in years—outside of drunken benders and a series of bad fuckin’ choices, one after another. Please God, please let this be the one that sticks!
After flying home once Ryan was settled, I was met with the reality of the aftermath of living with an alcoholic. Opening the apartment door, the stench of stale booze and cigarettes hits me hard. And as I took out the garbage, the number of glass bottles was surprising, even to me. I must’ve been in my own cloud of denial.
I’ve been living here with Ry since I moved back, and I hadn’t even realized what a shithole we’d been in. After taking out nine trash bags of bottles, cans, and plain ol’ trash outta his room alone? I wasn’t fit for company—especially Skye. The last thing she needed was to be around this toxic shit.
It’d taken me days to come to terms with everything that had happened in the last couple weeks. Skye. I’d thought about dialing her too many times to count, but I just couldn’t. At first, I wasn’t sure I really wanted to share information about Ryan with her, but now? Now, I want to tell her everything, and I don’t even know why, but hell if I don’t want to. With Ryan gone, I’ve been left to my own thoughts—not that he’d ever really paid attention when he was there. If it wasn’t at least 80 proof, it didn’t hold Ry’s attention long.
As she worked tonight, I watched her. Everyone she meets is left with a smile as she walks away, and I have a gut feeling she doesn’t even know. I’ve been back behind the bar at Pinkies for only a couple days, but I’ve waited for her to show up for a shift since the minute I punched in for the first time in years.