Rock Chick Reawakening (Rock Chick 0.5)(17)

We did more staring until I sighed and mumbled, “Right.”

I moved to the door.

He opened it for me.

He followed me down the stairs and at the bottom he put his hand again to my back as he escorted me to Chardonnay.

When we got to the dressing room, Ashlynn was there, too.

He left me there with only a murmured, “Ladies.”

But he gave me a look that was a promise.

Hell.

He closed the door behind him.

“Okay, he totally scares me but I’d be on my back in about a second and my dreams of med school that I’ve had since I was twelve I’d totally blow off if that guy wanted to make me his moll, and I don’t give one crap what that says about me,” Chardonnay breathed the second the door latched.

“He just plain scares me,” Ashlynn said, staring at me.

I ignored her and looked to Chardonnay.

“Girl, go rinse out that G-string and give it to me. I gotta get home. I got some glue gunning to do.”

Chardonnay shook herself out of it, grinned at me, waggled her eyebrows, and then sashayed to the bathroom.

I took in a deep breath.

And then I let it go.

And I let it go sliding Marcus Sloan’s card in the back pocket of my jeans.





Chapter Four



Steel Magnolias

Daisy



“These are fine. These are fine times about seven thousand. I need these.”

“You’ve got seven thousand pairs of shoes, Tod. You don’t need anything.”

“Stevie, love of my life, are you not seeing these?”

“I’m seeing them.”

“Then have you gone temporarily insane?”

“I’m thinking he has,” a girl said.

“I’m thinking if he doesn’t let you buy them, I’ll get them and you can borrow them from me,” another girl said.

“Sold!” the first (obviously gay) guy cried.

“Let’s go,” the first girl said. “Las Delicias has been there for years but I’m not taking any chances seeing as I need a beef burrito, STAT.”

“Box ’em up and let’s move, I’m hungry too,” the second (also gay, seeing as he was the love of the other one’s life) guy stated.

I sat with my back to them in chairs in the Nordstrom shoe department, listening to them go, and I didn’t turn around to look at them. Not because I didn’t want them to see my face. The bruises were fading good now so my conceal job was kickass.

But I did sit there thinking I needed a gay posse.

Especially if they went shoe shopping with you.

I also needed a girl posse.

But even though all the strippers were real nice, that wasn’t my thing. I’d never managed to pull one of those together, even in the days when I’d put the effort in to try.

And since I didn’t, I quit trying.

In my line of work, especially at Smithie’s where he took care of the girls in a way they didn’t feel the need to be catty, I might have been able to manage it.

The thing was, I was the headliner. The red velvet rope out front was for me.

I suspected Britney Spears was probably friendly with her dancers.

But they didn’t go shoe shopping together.

And I didn’t want to turn around in Nordstrom of all places (where some dreams came true, even if they did this to the tune of a credit card machine) to see what I was missing.

Not just then, but my entire life.

I knew I wasn’t meant to have any kind of posse, as much as I’d always wanted it, and especially as much as it’d be good to have it right then after what had happened to me.

I just didn’t need it staring me in the face when I didn’t have it.

Instead, I looked down at the shoes I was trying on.

They cost twelve hundred dollars. They were class on a lollipop stick. Considering the serious hike in pay Smithie gave me a month ago, I could totally afford them (and could do that even before he jacked up my pay, but did it weirdly making me work less, but I didn’t quibble).

And they were so not me.

“What do you think?” the shoe saleslady said.

“You got anything in denim?” I asked.

“Uh…no,” she answered.

“Clear plastic, maybe with a daisy embedded in the platform?”

“Um…I don’t think so.”

“Slides with a seven-inch heel, three-inch platform, the whole thing bejeweled, maybe in pink?”

“Well…um, I think that’s a no too, ma’am. I’m sorry.”

I nodded.

I’d already learned Nordstrom shoe department didn’t do Daisy.

It still didn’t hurt to try.

I unbuckled the strappy sandal I had on and slid it off, murmuring, “That’s okay. But thanks.”

“Valentino does ‘Rockstud,’” she informed me.

I’d checked out the Rockstud.

It wasn’t all that bad.

But it didn’t say Daisy.

“Not my thing,” I shared, putting the sandal in the box, grabbing it, and handing it to her.

“Okay, well, if there’s anything else you see you’d like to try, I’m here.”

“Thanks, honey bunch, you’re sweet.”