Anything for You (Blue Heron #5)(20)

He pulled on some clean jeans and a T-shirt and briefly contemplated visiting his mother. She’d be a wreck about this, the poor thing. She still held out hope that Pete would see the error of his ways and come home again.

That wasn’t going to happen. Everyone could see it except Mom.

And while Connor had known his father was cheating, he sure hadn’t pictured Gail the Tail as his stepmother. Pete had married her nine days ago, the day after his divorce was final.

He grabbed his motorcycle helmet and went out. Yeah, yeah, he owned a motorcycle. The gas mileage couldn’t be beat. Colleen called him a cliché, but so what? It was fun. He had a small pickup truck for winter.

Where he was headed, he wasn’t quite sure. The area didn’t offer too many places for anonymity, and that was exactly what Connor wanted. A place to sit in the dark, have a beer and not think.

He thought about calling someone to join him—one of his high school pals, maybe. Levi Cooper was on leave from Afghanistan, and Big Frankie Pepitone was always up for a beer. Then he opted against it. Solitude was the order of the night. He was Irish—brooding was the song of his people. Colleen would kick him into a good mood tomorrow, as he’d been kicking her for the past few months.

His Honda purred its way up the Hill and along the lake. Penn Yan wasn’t far; maybe something would be open there. The wind was clean and cold, and his thoughts focused on driving.

The dark miles blurred past, the quiet engine of the bike soothing.

Up ahead was a cement building that every male in a fifty-mile radius visited at least once in a lifetime: Skylar’s VIP Lounge.

A strip club, in other words.

Perfect. Beer and boobs.

Connor went in. He’d been here for a bachelor party last year, and it was exactly what you’d expect. Crappy drinks, worse food, health department violations by the dozen and nearly naked women, a few of them even good-looking.

The place was mostly empty tonight, a few men sitting around the runway. The requisite pole was being humped by a very lithe and extremely overweight woman in a glittery Wonder Woman outfit, who kept flipping off the customers. It was Tuesday; Connor guessed the management saved the under-fifty strippers for the weekend.

Connor took a seat, ordered a Sam Adams (bottled, so as to avoid having to use a glass from the kitchen). The waitress brought it, and he took a pull. Wonder Woman looked familiar.

“I can’t believe you’re still stripping,” one of the guys down in front said. “A little long in the tooth, aren’t you?”

“Take a bite, Ernie. If your dentures are in, that is,” said the stripper. “And you,” she said to another guy. “Give me a tip or I’m kicking over your beer. You think my job is easy?”

Mrs. Adamson. That was it. Her son had been a year ahead of him in school.

Connor took another sip of his drink.

A baby sister. Savannah Joy.

He’d look after her. Poor kid, with those two morally bankrupt *s as parents. Yeah. He and Colleen would make sure Savannah turned out okay.

A small part of him, though, couldn’t help feeling just a little more invisible.

At least he wasn’t eleven, hoping for a few crumbs of his father’s approval.

And a little sister...that might even be fun. He could teach her to play baseball and cook.

The beer was mellowing him. Colleen always laughed about what a lightweight he was.

“Let’s hear it for Athena, Goddess of the Hunt,” said the DJ. Connor frowned. She was supposed to be Wonder Woman, after all. Costume aside, he’d have to leave her a tip, and a good one. She’d made the best cookies, back in the day.

“When do the women start?” called one of the runway patrons.

“You people suck,” said the stripper, walking off the stage.

“Making her debut tonight, please welcome the beautiful Jezebel,” said the DJ. “Take It Off” by Kiss started up—not the most imaginative song. Connor reached for his wallet. Time to head off before his old catechism teacher showed up.

Then, onto the runway, wearing very high heels and a microscopic bikini, came Jessica Dunn.

Connor froze, his wallet halfway out of his back pocket.

She wobbled down the runway, then stopped.

She was shaking.

“Now we’re talking,” said Ernie. “Go ahead, sweetheart, start dancing.”

She tried. She took a few steps, looking like a little kid. A bob. A bend of her knees. Step to the left. Step to the right.

From behind her, Athena, Goddess of The Hunt, called out, “Try a hair toss, hon!”

Jess tried. It wasn’t hot. It looked like she wrenched her neck. Another knee bob.

“Grab the pole. It’ll help,” said Athena.

“Yeah, sweetheart, just wrap yourself around the pole. We don’t need a lot,” said Ernie.

Connor closed his mouth. He was fairly sure Jess hadn’t seen him, because she was looking straight ahead, as if staring down the angel of death. She had on a ton of eye makeup and red, red lipstick, and Connor had the sudden flash that as exposed as she was, she was trying to hide herself.

“Relax!” called Athena. “You got this!”

She really didn’t. She held on to the pole with both hands, like she was strangling it, and shuffled her feet, her ankle wobbling in the heels.

All that perfect skin, those long legs, the gorgeous body, her breasts barely covered by the tiny scraps of fabric.