Folk Around and Find Out (Good Folk: Modern Folktales #2)(61)

He sighed loudly. “You’re not sleezy.”

“I’m a reprobate and a stain on—on . . .” Sidetracked, I frowned as Charlotte pulled the fabric away from her front, apparently just realizing how transparent the wet T-shirt had become.

The other ladies circled around her. Emma handed her a limp towel, and Everly wagged a finger at one of the firefighters who was holding out cash toward Charlotte, saying something about Charlotte not being a dancer.

Oh. Shit.

A spike of freezing sobriety and shame had me shoving my clipboard at Beau, grabbing one of the dry towels nearby and jogging over, leaving without another word. Hadn’t I said not more than three hours ago that Charlotte wasn’t being paid to put on a show? Hadn’t I preached to her about her job description? And what had I done? I was such a fucking hypocrite.

Reprimanding myself for not stepping in earlier, I held up the dry towel and wrapped it around her shoulders as soon as I reached her, tucking her under my arm.

“Hey, you okay?” I asked, sending the firefighter who’d tried to give Charlotte cash a pointed look. Back off, asshole.

“I’m perfectly fine, Hank. How are you?” she said, sounding fine, if not a little perplexed.

“Sorry, Charlotte.” Hope was suddenly in our path, her contrite gaze darting to mine, then away. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“What? Honey, you have nothing to be sorry about.” Charlotte, wearing a wide, unconcerned-looking smile, grabbed Hope’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I haven’t laughed like that in ages. So much fun.”

Hope took a step back, her lips forming a tight smile. “I better get to work.”

“I’ll return just as soon as I find a dry shirt,” Charlotte said on a laugh, wringing out her shirt.

No, she won’t. I’m sending her home.

Mentally cursing myself with each step we took toward the club, I led her away, unable to fathom my reckless selfishness. I should’ve put a stop to the water fight as soon as Hope sprayed Charlotte with the hose, not stood around like a brainless fuck, holding my dick and gathering spank-bank material.

Charlotte had quit on Friday. But for today and the next twelve days, she was still technically on the clock. My job and responsibilities remained unchanged until the very last hour of her very last shift. She would not be exploited—not by me, not by anyone.





Hanging back, I hovered by the bar, not sure whether to stay or go.

“Can I borrow the shirt you were wearing earlier? I don’t want to wear those leggings again,” she grumbled, draping her towel on the back of a chair, which left the wet tee clinging to her body again.

“Uh, sure thing.” Wanting to bite my knuckle, I gritted my teeth instead.

Charlotte’s gaze flickered to mine. “I don’t have to if you—”

“No, no. It’s fine. My clothes are right there, on the table.” Since my assurances didn’t sound at all convincing, I cleared my throat and added, “Thanks for your help today. I appreciate you arranging everything so quickly. And so, uh, well.”

“No problem,” she said, turning and giving me an even better view of her ass than before, and what a glorious ass it—

Nope. Think of . . . think city council meetings. JT MacIntyre. And babies crying on airplanes.

I backed up another step, but then stopped, hesitating. Leaving her alone inside the suffocating club wasn’t a good idea. Shelly may have fixed the AC, but it was still, as Charlotte had said, hotter than Satan’s laundromat in here, hotter than outside, even, with the main room cooler than the offices and changing rooms in the back, since we couldn’t open the windows and there were no blinds. Passing out due to heat exposure didn’t seem outside of the realm of possibility. I should’ve hosed down, too.

Admittedly, some strange instinct also had me feeling protective of her after everything that I’d let happen in the parking lot. Best we stick together, she hurry up, and I send her home as soon as possible.

But I hesitated where usually I’d make a decision, take action, and stick to it. I asked, “Do you—do you want me to . . .?” I pointed behind me with my thumb.

“Nah.” Charlotte pulled her shirt over her head and I immediately dropped my attention to my flip-flops, my neck and face flushing hot, a pulse of something that felt a lot like need or longing pressing outward against every inch of my skin. I heard her shirt fall to the floor with a wet splat. “It’s not like I got anything you haven’t seen already.”

Mouth twisting with a sardonic smile, I clenched my jaw to keep a tortured laugh inside my lungs, but thoughtless words had my mouth running. “What you don’t know or seem to understand about men is a lot.”

“Oh really?” She sounded amused and a little closer, likely picking through my clothes on the table nearby.

Which meant, in a moment, she’d be wearing my shirt.

I closed my eyes and managed a strangled, “Yes.”

“What is it that I don’t know? Enlighten me.”

“I’d rather not.”

She chuckled. There was a brief silence. Then she chuckled again. “Do you really have your eyes closed? Afraid I’ll shock your delicate sensibilities with my stretch marks?”

“No,” I rasped, ignoring the impulse to show her my stretch marks if she showed me hers.