Once I’m finished and washing my hands, I hear some deep voices rumble with laughter through the door. I peek outside, but I can’t see anything around the wall. I listen to the conversation.
“You seen Miranda?”
“No, I told you yesterday, she hasn’t come by.” The girl sounds pissed off.
“I hope you’re not lying to me, girl.”
“I’m not. I swear.”
“You aren’t hiding her back there somewhere are you?”
“Nope. Like I’d help one of your strippers. Right.”
“Check the john, will ya, bro?”
I close and lock the door, my heart racing. A moment later, there’s a knock on the door. “Miranda, you in there.”
“It’s occupied,” I say.
I hear the boots tromp away. “Ain’t her,” a voice growls.
“You sure?”
I roll my eyes. Guess I better come out so they can see I’m not whomever it is they want. I grab my purse and smoothie and walk out. When I come around the wall, I see two guys in black leather vests like the one Saint has, but neither one is him.
They turn, their eyes sweeping over me. Immediately casting me aside as not the person they’re looking for. One of them turns back to the girl at the counter, while the other one takes his time letting his gaze sweep over my legs. He winks at me.
“Sorry, darlin’. Just lookin’ for someone. Didn’t mean to disturb you.”
I nod and move toward the door. I glance back to the employee, but she looks like she can handle them. At least, she isn’t looking at me in desperation like she needs my help and doesn’t want me to leave her alone with these two.
The guy at the counter leans on his elbows, and she cocks a brow. “You gonna order something or just stare at my boobs all day?”
The guy chuckles. “Can’t I do both, babe?”
I head toward the truck I’d parked over in the shade, passing by two Harleys backed into a spot near the door. I don’t waste anytime getting in the truck and locking the doors, but I can’t help glancing back as I pull out.
Both men were good-looking guys, and I wonder if Saint knows them. Of course he does; he’s in a club with them. I wonder why they’re looking for that stripper and what they’ll do when they find her.
I head toward the interstate, but I can’t help making a detour. I bypass the onramp and cross the overpass to the other side, heading in the direction of Centerfolds. I tell myself I just want to get a look at the place. My curiosity is killing me.
Half a mile down, I find it. It’s fancier than I expected, with a classy exterior and toned down sign, way more subtle than the blaring billboard out on the interstate.
The parking lot is large so the place must draw a good business. Even now at four in the afternoon, there are a dozen cars.
I pull in to turn around, and drive down an aisle. In the rear of the building are more cars that I assume are the employees. I see one bike parked near the door and strain to see if it’s Santos, but it’s just a black motorcycle and I can’t tell.
I drive on. If it is his, I’m not sure I want him to catch me pulling through the parking lot in his truck. I’m certainly identifiable in his vehicle, at least to those who know him. I bite my lip. Now I’m wondering if those two at the smoothie shop saw his truck pull out and me in it. I hope not. That would only invite questions neither of us want to answer.
I pull out quickly, and head back to the interstate.
It doesn’t take me long to find the exit the girl told me about. There’s definitely a lot more civilization here. I see fast food places and a bunch of stores.
I find the small mall and am pleased to see it’s anchored by a decent department store where I know I can find some quality bedding.
An hour later, I’ve loaded my purchases in the cab of the truck, and I head back toward Uprising. Again I see the billboard for Centerfolds with the bombshell blonde. I’ve always wondered what the inside of a strip club is like, and now my interest is piqued even more.
I’m sure I’m not even old enough to get in the door. I wonder if Saint could get me inside. I giggle. He’ll never take me inside—not in a million years.
I turn towards Uprising, and a few minutes later I arrive at the grocery store.
I grab a cart and wander around trying to familiarize myself with the layout.
Soon my cart is half full and I head to the checkout. As I’m unloading my groceries onto the belt, I overhear two cashiers chatting one lane over.
“I’m sick to death of the noise. I swear, Paula, they drive by my house at all hours, those bikes of theirs thundering and waking the baby. I asked Stewart to do something but he’s too afraid of them.”
“This whole town is, especially after all that trouble we had.”
“That one young guy shops in here, but he’s always been super polite. He’s never caused any trouble.”
“He’s just a prospect. Wait till he gets his club colors—that’s what Bill said they’re called—then his tune will change.”
“Great.”
“My mom said they used to be worse in her day. Said those guys were real jerks. She said these guys today aren’t half bad compared to back then.”
“I don’t care. I’m sick of the loud bikes coming and going at our end of town.”
“Maybe you should move to my end. It’s quieter there.”
“Maybe we should just move the hell out of this town.”
The older cashier at my aisle smiles, doing her best to ignore her two co-workers. “Don’t mind them, dear. They like to complain a lot.”
She says the last part loud enough for them to see she has a customer and to stop talking and get back to cleaning their conveyer belts.
“No problem.” I smile and continue unloading. As an impulse buy, I grab two magazines from the rack and toss them on as well.
One hundred and thirty two dollars later, my groceries are loaded up.
By the time I get back to Saint’s place, the sun is sinking below the tree line.
I haul all my purchases inside and put them away.
I spend the rest of the night changing the sheets, hanging the new shower curtain, and hooking up the new coffee maker I bought, the fancy kind you just drop in a pod and push a button. I’m so pleased with myself that I make a cup, and add the delicious macchiato creamer I bought. Yum.
I manage to get the oven working, and I heat up a frozen pizza. When it’s done, I sit at the tiny kitchen table, munching and flipping through the magazines.
I run my hand over the worn cushions on the alcove seating, wondering if I could find some slipcovers for them.
Pulling out my phone, I call my mom. She grills me on everything, wanting to know if I’m okay. I don’t want her to worry, so I tell her everything is great. We talk for an hour, before we both tear up as we say our goodbyes.
It’s so hard, I just want to have a good cry, but I know I have to be strong. I stare at my phone wishing I had a friend I could call. The ones I had it turns out were superficial. I think about Mary Elizabeth. I know I hurt her terribly when I dumped her. God, I was such an idiot. I can’t blame her for what she said at rehearsal. Did I really think she’d just take me back after the way I treated her. But I miss her. We really did have the best talks. I don’t know why I ever thought that being with the in-crowd, the cool kids, was ever worth losing Mary Elizabeth over.