Apparently, Luke took me giving him my key pretty f**king seriously.
Daisy was right. The best way to guard your heart was to trust a good man to take care of it for you. Lucky for me, considering there weren’t many around, I found myself a good man.
Caught up in this new knowledge, I whispered, “Okay.” Then leaned forward and, even with a cut lip, I kissed him hard.
His mouth opened over mine, his tongue slid inside and even with a cut lip he kissed me back, making the hard kiss so hot, I melted into him.
Oo, Good Ava breathed. I feel so much better now.
Weirdly enough, Bad Ava added, I do too.
You do? Good Ava asked.
Yeah, Bad Ava answered. Go figure.
Well, finally, Good Ava commented.
Still lots of fun to have even if we are Luke’s woman, Bad Ava noted.
I’m not thinking that’s a good thing, Good Ava leaned in and said in my ear.
Bad Ava giggled and she sounded happy.
* * * * *
After our mini-post-drama make out session, Luke took me out of the kitchenette and in the hallway the black guy I’d never met was talking to another guy I’d never seen before and Shirleen.
“Shee-it,” the black guy said when he saw us. “You white girls got attitude. Far as I can see, these boys need to get their heads examined. I’d put up with that shit for about a f**kin’ second.”
Any normal person would politely pretend that they hadn’t heard a thing. I was learning quickly that I was not surrounded by normal people anymore.
Since normal for me was a Dad who would up and leave, a fading beauty queen of a mother who was so engrossed in her own life she forgot her daughters had one too and might need her help, and my two “fuckin’ sisters” who were mean as snakes, I figured not normal was not so bad.
Shirleen had different thoughts and turned on the black dude. “Like black women don’t have more attitude then ten of these white women,” she declared as if that was a good thing.
“Black women don’t give you shit by yellin’ at your ass for, f**kin’, ever. They get fed up, they quit bitchin’ and burn down your house or stick you with a knife. Makes it easier. Either way you know it’s time to get your shit together and you just gotta call your insurance man.”
“And you are?” I asked before Shirleen could retort like she looked like she was preparing to do, big time.
“I’m Smithie,” he answered. “You dance?”
I blinked at him, stunned by his bizarre question. “Do I dance?”
“Smithie.” For some reason Luke’s voice was a low, warning rumble and Smithie’s eyes turned to him.
“What? You too? What’s f**kin’ wrong with strippin’? Daisy stripped and everyone likes Daisy. Lottie strips, everyone likes Lottie.”
I was stuck on the “stripping” explanation to “do you dance”?
Then it dawned on me that Smithie must be the owner of the strip club where Jet worked as a cocktail waitress during her drama and where her sister Lottie was currently a stripper (and the best one in the Rocky Mountain region if rumor could be believed).
“Now that Daisy’s with Marcus, she strip anymore?” Shirleen asked.
“No,” Smithie answered.
“Lottie got a man?” Shirleen carried on.
“No,” Smithie snapped, cottoning on to Shirleen’s point.