Folk Around and Find Out (Good Folk: Modern Folktales #2)(16)
Even so . . .
I sighed.
Wearing a resigned smile I felt in my bones, I returned my attention to Dave and gave myself three seconds to enjoy how he was looking at me, his pretty eyes hot and full of interest. It was nice to be looked at that way. But ultimately pointless.
“Dave. Are you sweet on me?” I asked lightly, needing to draw my line in the sand but not wanting to injure any feelings. “If you are, you should know I’m nothing but sour.”
“I find that hard to believe, Ms. Mitchell.” He chuckled like he thought I was cute.
“It’s true. I’m bitter and sour. I’m all salt and no sugar.”
His gaze cooled and flicked over my face. “Nah, you’re sugar. Perhaps not for me, but for someone,” he said, his tone conciliatory and kind.
“No. I’m not.” I shook my head adamantly. “Believe me, if I had sugar in me, I’d definitely have it for you.”
His eyes crinkled. “Are you trying to let me down easy?”
“No. I’m being honest. I’m not capable of that anymore, no matter who. I’m too tired.”
He frowned thoughtfully, looking hesitant. “At the risk of making things between us even more awkward—and I’m not arguing, I’m curious—what about Jackson? Weren’t you two seeing each other for a few months?”
“You are not making things between us awkward. We’re still friends, right?”
He nodded. “I hope so.”
“Then I don’t mind telling you, Jackson was my Hail Mary pass and doesn’t count. Not even a little. Ultimately, it was like trying to date my brother.” I laughed, and so did Dave. “I mean, we gave it a try, and it was good that we did. It made me realize I don’t have the energy to try anymore. If I couldn’t muster any extra energy for Jackson—who made it so easy, and who I’ve known my whole life—then . . .” I shrugged my shoulders. “Fact of the matter is, I have four servings of sugar in me daily and those go to Kimmy, Joshua, Sonya, and Frankie. That’s all I have to give.”
Dave’s lips twisted to the side in a sorta smile and his chest expanded with a deep breath. “I’m sorry to hear that, Charlotte. Not so much for me, but for you. I think . . .” He lifted a hand and tucked an errant strand of hair behind my ear, his fingertips lingering at my jaw, his gaze unfocused. “I think, one day you’ll meet someone with sugar to spare.”
“What a nice thought,” I said, my voice quiet. “But even if I did, I wouldn’t take it. I don’t think taking from others without giving my fair share is in my nature. It wouldn’t feel right. The mere thought makes me even more salty, and sweaty, and . . . really sweaty.”
He laughed again and his hand dropped back to his side. “Okay, okay. I don’t need to be standing here all night, thinking about you being sweaty.” He winked again, but this one was teasing and friendly. “You better get inside, I’m sure Hank is expecting you. Come on.”
Giving him a wide smile, I stepped beyond him and into the dark interior of the club, needing to blink a few times for my eyes to acclimate. Once I was certain I wouldn’t fall on my face, I gave Dave a goodbye wave, walked down the short hall to the main club entrance, turned the corner, and then stopped in my tracks.
If I’d been thinking or paying attention, I would’ve noticed the music prior to walking in. But I hadn’t been paying attention, so I was surprised by the sight of the club three-fourths filled with customers and the image of . . . Tina? Yep, Tina Patterson spinning around the pole on the stage. Swallowing unnecessarily, I took in the rest of the activity.
Women were prancing around between tables, some in glittery outfits, some in skintight ones. Others left more to the imagination but were no less suggestive. I narrowed my eyes and studied them without meaning to, wanting to satisfy my curiosity as to why both Hank and Dave didn’t think I’d make a good stripper.
The women were all shapes and sizes, colors, hair lengths, and facial features. I studied a dancer nearby. She was barely covered in a leopard-print dress; her face and body would likely be labeled as average by popular beauty culture. But watching her move made my neck hot and my pulse flutter. How she used her body, her confidence in herself . . . She was so sexy.
The man she was grinding on also seemed to think so. He had a hazy kind of look in his eye, like he was enjoying himself a little too much and he found keeping his hands still extremely . . . hard.
Yep. He’s definitely finding it hard.
“What are you wearing?”
Startled, I whipped my head toward the question and discovered Hank Weller standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at me like I was grapefruit juice and he’d ordered orange soda.
“I—” I glanced down at my black pencil skirt, pale blue business shirt, and black heels. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
He grumbled something I couldn’t hear over the loud music and waved me forward impatiently. “Let me show you the office so we can go through the basics,” Hank shouted. He took off without waiting for me to follow.
Shaking myself, I jogged over to catch up before he disappeared in the back. We power-walked down a long hallway that had a ton of framed photographs lining the walls and then turned a corner, the music fading the further we traveled. Unlike the main club area, the walls in the hall were white, not pink.