Indigo Sky

CHAPTER SIX

"Tonight, my friend, we are finally getting you laid."

I lifted my head from the bowl of cereal I was eating. "Why?"

Nate had walked into the kitchen from his bedroom, making the declaration like he'd just gotten the best idea since the invention of the hands-free can opener.

"You are twenty-two years old," he said, dropping down into the chair across from mine at the small table we’d dragged in from the curb.

"Uh-huh … and what's your point?" I pinned him with my glare as I shoveled another spoonful into my mouth.

"Chicks aren't into virgins past, like, the age of sixteen."

With a glance toward my stained coveralls and a gesture with the spoon toward the black eyepatch I wore daily, I said, "Do I look like a guy who gives a fuck about what chicks like?"

"Oh, it's not how you look that's the problem." He snorted, pulling his pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket. "If you paid attention once in a while, you'd know this whole dirty, mopey pirate thing is a real panty-dropper."

"Good to know," I grumbled, standing up to dump the rest of my cereal in the trash.

Another five minutes, and I'd be late for work. Nate might not care if he strolled into the shop five, ten, fifteen minutes late, but I did.

"Anyway, I'm taking you out tonight," he went on. "We're gonna hit up that club in Turner's Point."

I swiveled quickly to pin him with my incredulous glare. "That's a strip club."

His grin was mischievous and taunting. "So?"

"I'm not going to some sleazy strip club to get laid." I rolled my eye and dumped my bowl in the sink to wash when I got home later. "Thanks anyway."

"Fine. You don't have to get laid," he griped like it was his arm being twisted. "But I wanna go, and you're gonna come with me."

I wet my hands with water from the faucet and raked my fingers through my mess of hair. No matter what I did with it, I could never manage to look like anything but Hugh Jackman’s Wolverine. It was funny how menacing I looked with the unruly hair and the eyepatch while Nate had this clean-cut, pretty-boy thing going on. The guy was anything but.

Or maybe that was the thing. He had the looks to get away with shit. Nobody would think he could be guilty of anything with his good looks.

It’s unfortunate that I never stopped to realize just how much of a problem that would eventually be.

"So, what do you say?" Nate asked from behind me.

"Fine," I grumbled, pushing away from the sink and grabbing my keys from the counter. "But only for a little while."

He flashed me a blinding grin. "That's all I want."

***

" Where are you going?" Mom asked again over the phone, her voice a little shrill, a little disbelieving.

"Susan, he's twenty-two years old," Dad grumbled from somewhere else in the house. "He can go wherever the hell he wants."

I sighed as I pulled into a spot not far from a bright, neon sign. Midnight Lotus didn't look much like a strip club from its tasteful brick exterior. The brick patio, guarded by a bouncer in black, was illuminated with strings of lights. I mean, it all seemed a lot classier than I felt inside, knowing what awaited me beyond those blacked-out windows.

And just to be clear, I didn't love telling my mom about where I was going either. But I'd always been taught to tell someone about your whereabouts, what you were doing … all that Safety 101 shit, you know.

"Nate asked me to meet him here," I explained, not wanting to explain at all. "He wanted to check it out, but he didn't wanna go alone, so …"

And, no, I didn't particularly feel like I needed to make excuses to my parents. I was making excuses to myself. And I didn’t really know what that was about. I guessed maybe … maybe the thought of walking into a public situation where I knew I was gonna get turned on, in a roomful of other people who were also turned on, weirded me the fuck out. Like, boners as a group activity always skeeved me out. Still does. I dunno. Maybe it's just me. But anyway …

"All right," Mom said, dismissing the topic like it was as dirty as I felt. "Well, text us when you're on your way home."

"Will do."

"Have fun," Dad threw in, teasing in his tone.

"Oh, yeah," I grumbled sarcastically. "Loads of fun."

Like I’d said, getting a boner while hanging out with my best friend and roommate … not on my list of preferred hobbies.

I hung up the phone and got out of the car. Nate's beat-up, old truck was already in the parking lot, along with a dozen other vehicles. The place was jumping. The bouncer asked for my ID at the velvet rope. He took it from me and gave it a good look.

When he handed it back, he asked, "Can I ask what happened?" He gestured to his own right eye.

"Firework blew up in my face," I said, tucking my wallet back into my pocket.

He grunted and nodded. "That sucks. When'd it happen?"

"I was eight."

His expression changed from intrigue to surprise as he uttered, "Damn. Just a kid. Sorry to hear that."

"Yeah, it was a long time ago," I said, not bothering to mention that I still had nightmares about it from time to time.

He nodded. "Well, the patch suits you," he complimented, and it hit different than when Nate said it. This had come from somewhere else. A place of sincerity and respect. It was nice, and maybe for the first time, I wondered what it might be like to have other friends.

"Thanks," I replied.

He stepped aside, unclipped the velvet rope blocking my path to the door, and nudged his head over his shoulder. "You can head on in."

The lights from outside disappeared once the door closed behind me. I could hardly see what was immediately in front of me; I could only see where I was headed—the stage.

There was a girl on the pole. A blonde, wearing nothing but a thong that twinkled in the spotlight. Her nipples were pierced, and so was her bellybutton; the light grabbed ahold of those little jewels every time she spun around the pole. I must've been blinded by them, or maybe it was her thong … or maybe it was how damn dark it was in that place because I hadn't noticed anybody around me until a tray of drinks clattered to the floor.

"Oh!" a girl yelped in surprise as she jumped backward, away from me and the broken glass between our feet. "I'm so sorry!"

"Shit," I muttered through gritted teeth at the mess before I could take a look at who I'd just walked into.

It was too dark to make out many details, but I could see enough to know she wasn't wearing much.

"No, I'm sorry," I said, brushing her apology away. "I … I wasn't looking where I was going. Fuck, um … here, let me—"

I started to crouch when she waved her hands, stopping me. "No, no, don't worry about it. I'll call the bartender over. He'll clean it up."

Slowly standing again to my full height, I asked, "Are you sure? I feel bad. I—"

"Nope, don't feel bad. Really, it's fine. I’ve been working here for a few years now, and I can't tell you how many times this has happened."

It was dark—I’ve established that already. I couldn't make out the color of her hair, or her eyes, or if that was a skirt she was wearing or just a pair of underwear. But I could see her smile, and … damn .

"You should tell them to invest in some light bulbs," I said, making a shitty joke to keep the conversation going. Because suddenly, the last thing I wanted was to hurry this night along. Suddenly, I didn't think I'd be okay with leaving until I at least had her name.

She laughed, and, hey, maybe she was just being polite, but that laugh made me wanna find ways for it to happen again … and again.

She pulled a notepad and pen out of what seemed like thin air and pretended to write. " Tell management … we need … lightbulbs …”

"I can fill out, uh … one of those comment cards or whatever. If it would help."

She pointed the top of her pen at me. "Perfect. And if you could leave a terrible review on Yelp, that would also be very effective."

"Consider it done."

She grinned. "Anyway, uh … I’d better get this taken care of and get some replacement drinks for the customers who are probably now very thirsty. But while I'm at it, can I get you anything?"

I didn't have any intentions of drinking tonight. I was driving, I didn't feel like spending the money, and I hadn't anticipated being here for very long. But things had changed, it seemed, and that was why I found myself asking what she had on tap and ordered a Blue Moon.

She nodded, scribbled it down, and told me to take a seat and she'd find me. I hoped she would, and I hoped the light from the stage could give me a better look at her.

Nate was where I'd expect him to be—at a table pushed up against the stage. He hardly noticed my arrival with his eyes transfixed on the redhead and the scrap of glittering fabric tucked between her ass cheeks. I dropped into the seat beside his and turned to stare directly at him, waiting for him to acknowledge me.

Two minutes. It took him two whole fucking minutes to turn his head with a broad grin and glassy eyes.

"I'm here," I announced belatedly.

"Oh, man, how fuckin' amazing is this place?"

"It's dark," I complained, my voice drowned out by the sound of the thumping music.

"What?" Nate shouted, his eyes drifting back toward the blonde, whose back was against the pole, grinding her ass into it.

"Nothing," I replied, taking a glance over my shoulder to see if I could catch a glimpse of the girl with the pretty smile.

His elbow jabbed my ribs aggressively. I turned to look back at him, unamused.

"The show is this way, asswipe." He pointed at the dancer as she lowered her ass all the way to the ground, spreading her knees wide.

I crossed my arms on the table, taking quick peeks at the dancer, then taking quicker peeks over my shoulder. Nate made commentary in my ear as she moved around the stage. Salacious things. Things that would've had my mom slapping him upside the head. Things that I wished he'd kept to himself instead of rattling them off like he was reading from one of my mom's dirty books.

"God, yeah," he groaned a little too lasciviously for my liking. "Look at that ass, man. Jesus, fuck, look at how—"

"Sorry about that," a cheery voice said hurriedly over my shoulder, and a tall glass of beer was put on the table in front of me. "One Blue Moon, on the house."

I turned to look at the woman whose smile seemed to hold the beauty of the moon and sun combined. Her grin broadened when my gaze met hers, and, shit, was she fucking beautiful. Vivid blue eyes. Bright pink hair. Full, rosy lips. She could've passed for one of the girls in the Victoria's Secret catalogs I used to swipe from my mom. Abso-fuckin'-lutely perfect in every definition of the word.

Her wide grin softened, her lips closing over straight white teeth. "You're wrong about the light bulbs," she said softly, then bit her bottom lip.

I raised an eyebrow, resting my arm on the back of my chair. How was it that the entire world seemed to stop when she was around? Like there was nobody here but her and me.

"Oh?" I asked, lifting one side of my mouth into a smirk.

"Yeah," she replied, nodding and resting her hand beside my arm, her fingers barely grazing my skin, but there they were. "I usually make a complete ass of myself when talking to cute guys, but it was so dark that I—"

"Hey!" Nate's arm came around my chair to smack her directly on her skirt-covered ass. "Can I get a beer over here?"

Her smile dropped in an instant, and I swiveled to level him with a glare that should've killed him on the spot. I opened my mouth to rip into him when she hurried to pull her notepad from the waistband of her skirt.

"Sorry," she said, plucking a pen from behind her ear. "What can I get you?"

He ordered his beer, and she walked away without another word.

Nate rolled his eyes. "Fucking bitch didn't even notice me," he murmured.

"You didn't have to be a dick," I fired back.

A flash of anger crossed his face as his eyebrows lowered. "I wouldn't have been a dick if she hadn't been a bitch—how about that?"

"She was talking to me ."

"Yeah, well, she fucking ignored me . And don't go thinking she gives a fuck about you, okay? Get that out of your head. Bitch was doing her job—that's it. Probably hoping you're pathetic enough to pay for a private dance or some shit."

Red-hot anger dropped over me like a heavy blanket in the dead of winter. This asshole had dragged me out after I had insisted I didn't want to go, under the guise of getting me laid for whatever fucking reason, and now, I was pathetic? Because one of the girls working had talked to me?

"You know what, Nate? You’d better get the stick out of your ass now, or I swear to God, I'm going home. This was your idea, not—"

"No, no. You're right," he cut me off, blowing out a deep breath. "Come on. We're having fun. This chick"—he pointed his finger and wagged it toward the blonde, gyrating her hips for some dudes a few tables down—"I might have to get a dance from her. She's fuckin' smokin', man."

"Yeah." I grabbed my glass and brought it to my lips, barely glancing at the girl onstage. "She's hot."

"Hey, if you want, I'll get you a dance too."

"Nah, I'm good." I took a sip, watching the show from over the rim.

"No, no, no. We are here to get you some action. So, if you like her, we can share. I don't—"

"Here's your Bud." The sun came out again when the girl with the pink hair appeared beside Nate, placing a glass in front of him. "Can I get you guys—"

"Holy fuck," Nate muttered with an approving groan that caused my fist to clench. "Nice rack, gorgeous."

The smile she gave him was different from the one she had given me. Sure, she could've just been polite toward me, but it wasn't forced. This … this was forced. He made her uncomfortable—I couldn't blame her—and it pissed me the fuck off.

"Thank you, handsome," she replied. "Anyway, if you don't need—"

He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her against his side. An intake of breath hitched in my throat, and I readied myself to lunge at him.

"How much for a dance, sweetheart?"

"Um … it's sixty bucks, but—"

"What about a private dance?"

She swallowed and shifted her weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. But still, the fake smile never left her face. "That'll run you a hundred bucks."

"Hmm …" He nodded, running his hand lower to grab her ass. "How about you and I—"

"Indigo! You're up!"

She turned to face a man in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. He didn't give me the sleazy vibes I'd expect from someone working in a strip club. Actually, from the concerned look on his face, I thought I might like him.

"You okay over there, Indie?" he asked, coming closer to where she stood with my friend's hand still lingering on her ass.

"All good, Sam," she said coolly, slipping away from Nate’s touch.

She walked past us and brushed her fingertips along my upper arm as she went. Sam hung around our table for a moment or two longer before wandering away, and I relaxed with a long exhale. There was something about Nate in this environment that I didn't like, something about him being near her . I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but I was looking at him like he was a loose cannon, like one false move could lead to devastation.

But wasn't he always?

A voice boomed over the speakers, "Everybody, put your hands together and feast your eyes on … Indigo Sky."

Indigo .

I lifted my head and lowered my glass as the pink-haired waitress took to the stage. She had swapped her bra and skirt ensemble for something a little less revealing and somehow more enticing. She reminded me of a fairy with her flowing, gauzy-looking skirt tied at the waist and her top, with its flared sleeves, cinched between full, round, perfect breasts. Her pink ponytail belonged in the bloom of a secret flower, not on a stage for every hungry pair of eyes to stare at her. I didn't like it, but I liked her without even knowing her, and that truth settled into my stomach like a hot, heavy ball of lead.

"Oh, fuck yes," Nate groaned beside me, leaning back in his chair. “This is what I came for.”

Indigo twirled onstage with the skill of a prima ballerina. I wondered if she was a dancer. Not this kind of dancer, but one that belonged in a theater or some shit. She swayed her hips, slowly untied her skirt, and tossed the flimsy piece of cloth to the edge of the stage, not far from where Nate and I sat. Beneath it, she wore the tiniest G-string I'd ever seen, as pink as the hair on her head, and all I could think of was how pink she'd be underneath.

She gripped the pole in her hands and twirled around. With an unbelievable amount of upper-body strength, she hoisted herself higher and higher until she was nearly at the top. Then, with only one arm and one leg wrapped around the shiny metal, she slowly spun her way back down with her other arm and leg outstretched, giving all a peek at what was between her legs.

She was gorgeous, yes, and unbelievably sexy. The sexiest woman I'd ever seen in my life, I'd say. But believe it or not, that wasn't what had me as hard as a fucking rock in my pants. Nah. It was how strong she was. How physically fit and flexible. The girl wasn't just skilled at pole dancing. She turned stripping into an art form and a feat of strength, and while the others whistled and threw their dollar bills onto the stage, I could only stare in wondrous awe.

God, she could be so much more than this , I kept thinking, and I wondered why she wasn't.

"Fuck, I wanna bury my cock in that so bad," Nate muttered beside me, wiping his hand over his mouth. "She's tiny as fuck. I bet her pussy's fuckin' tight, man."

I rolled my eye away from the stage to glare at him. "You know, sometimes, I really hate you."

"Oh, fuck off. Like you're not thinking it."

I'd be a damn liar if I said I hadn't thought about sex in the time she'd been dancing. I mean, Christ, I considered myself a gentleman, but I wasn't dead.

"Thinking isn't the problem," I said. "It's what comes out of your mouth that is."

He laughed harder than was necessary. "I only speak the truth, man, and the truth right now is"—he pointed his finger at the dancer onstage—" that is the most fuckable-looking chick I've ever seen in my entire fucking life."

Considering how many chicks Nate had fucked, I was questioning just how true that statement was the moment it left his mouth. But that didn't mean it was a lie either.

Indigo Sky was, without a doubt, fuckable.

But she was more than that too.

She moved with grace to the music and closed her eyes, as if to shut out the crowd. She danced with emotion and stripped as though she was doing it more for herself than the audience before her. I held my breath as she untied her top and revealed her breasts, and I forgot how to breathe altogether as her fingertips flitted over her nipples, stomach, and down between her legs, like butterflies swooping through the summer air.

She dropped down directly in front of me, her back against the pole and her knees spread wide. She cupped her panty-covered groin and writhed against the pole, her hooded eyes meeting my gaze as she rubbed herself.

Fuck , if this was all a show, she knew what she was doing, and I was two seconds away from making a mess in my pants without even touching myself.

It was then that I realized Nate had stopped his chattering, but I couldn't spare a moment to look at him. Not when she was on her hands and knees and crawling to the stage's edge. She slowly made her way over the table, holding my gaze as she maneuvered to straddle my lap and grip my shoulders, and ground herself against my raging boner.

Holy fuck . It was the first time I'd had a nearly naked woman in my presence, the first time one had given me any sort of attention, and it took every bit of my strength not to touch her, unsure of the rules, as I squeezed my eye shut and groaned with my unwanted release, biting my tongue to keep myself quiet.

Indigo curled her hands behind my neck as my heart rate slowed and my breathing settled.

I muttered a humiliated, "Oh God," as she whispered into my ear, "That one was on the house too."

I wanted to get out of there. Everything was uncomfortable, and my pants were a mess. I hadn't experienced something so humiliating since Mom had walked in on me watching porn when I was fifteen.

I cleared my throat as Indigo stood, her breasts directly in my face, and I reached for my wallet. I didn't know what amount was appropriate as a tip for making a guy ejaculate in his pants, but I opened it up and pulled out the only fifty I had. Flustered, I handed it to her with shaky fingers, and she tipped her head, eyeing me with something that reminded me of pity.

"Are you sure?" she asked softly.

"Y-yeah," I stammered, feeling so fucking stupid that I wanted to die. "Take it."

She did and tucked it into the string holding her underwear up. "Thank you."

No, thank you, I thought, but didn't say it. I didn't know how I was going to say anything to her ever again—if I had the opportunity, that was.

Twenty-two years old. Never been kissed, nope, but I could say a stripper had made me come in my pants. Awesome .

"My turn."

Somehow, I had forgotten Nate was there, and I glanced over to see darkness had shrouded his eyes. He was staring directly at Indigo as if I wasn’t sitting right there in front of him.

She smiled sweetly, resumed her swaying to the song, but shook her head. "Sorry, handsome. I only had time for one."

He narrowed his gaze and cocked his head. "I call bullshit, but, sure, whatever you say … bitch."

" Nate ," I warned, even as Indigo was already gracefully moving away from our table.

He shook his head, finally dropping his sinister glare to meet my eye. "And don't you go thinking this means anything, all right? She's a whore , and you're a customer . Don't forget that."

And apart from the whore comment, I knew he was right. She had a job to do, and I was an easy target. How could I think anything more?

So, I didn't.

I hung around with Nate until he was ready to leave. I didn't see Indigo again, and I wasn’t sure if I should be relieved about that or not. But then, as Nate peeled out of the parking lot, I pulled out a cigarette before driving away myself. I lit up, looking out toward the highway as I blew ribbons of smoke into the air.

"Ah, I knew there had to be something wrong with you," a familiar voice said from behind me. "You seemed too perfect, and alas … I was right."

I spun around to see Indigo Sky standing there, a duffel bag hanging from one shoulder, a purse from the other. She had on a pair of sweatpants, a tanktop, and black sneakers. Her pink hair was pulled into a messy knot at the top of her head, and somehow, like this, free of makeup and costume, she was so much more real and far, far, far more beautiful.

"It's a shitty habit," I agreed, holding up the cigarette. "I'd quit, but …”

"Quitting anything we rely on is as simple as it is hard," she said.

I nodded slowly, thinking about more than just cigarettes. "Yeah."

She glanced around the parking lot. "Where's your friend?"

"He left."

"Does he smoke too?"

"He does."

"And he didn't hang around to have one with you?"

She met my eye with a raised brow, and I laughed at her ability to put pieces together. She was good, clever, and why did that make her so much more attractive to me?

"He might've been a little butthurt," I offered easily, suddenly shy as I thought about her grinding against my lap. "Coming here was his idea, so he, uh …"

"Felt rejected? Yeah, I know his type. I bet he takes rejection really well," she said, sarcasm heavy in her tone.

I shook my head slowly, allowing myself a moment to remember a time when we’d broken into the house of a girl who’d rejected him. "Not particularly."

"Well, you tell him I'm sorry, but I only like giving free lap dances to hot guys with eyepatches." She winked, then burst into a fit of giggles as she laid her hands over her face to hide her crimson cheeks. "God, that was awful. I'm sorry."

I laughed around the end of the cigarette, then said, "No, it's fine. Seriously, I'm flattered. I'm just sorry I, uh, couldn't control myself. That was …" I shook my head, not knowing what else to say, until I settled on, "Unexpected."

She lowered her hands and smiled. "I could tell you were embarrassed, but it's okay. Really. It happens."

I dropped my cigarette to the asphalt and stomped it out, not caring to think about how often it happened with her in another man’s lap.

"Can I walk you to your car?" I asked, surveying the dimly lit lot and the cars that remained. "Just to make sure you get there safe."

"Thanks, but I'm literally right there." She pointed at a car two spots down from mine. "I appreciate it though. You're really sweet."

"Yeah, no problem."

She hesitated for a moment, keeping her eyes on her silver car, then asked, "Do you want to, um … come back to my—"

To my surprise, I cut her off with a shake of my head. "Don't take this the wrong way, but random hookups aren't really my thing, and, um …" I considered telling her I'd never been with anyone before, but decided against it. I was never seeing her again, and it didn't matter. "Yeah. But … thanks. For the offer."

She hummed a quiet, contemplative sound as she nodded. "What's your name?"

"Revan," I replied. "Everyone calls me Rev though."

There was that little sound again, and there was that nod. "Rev," she repeated quietly, as if committing it to memory, but I knew better than to think she’d remember me beyond this moment. "I'm glad I bumped into you tonight."

I nodded as an ache grew in my chest. “So am I.”

The thought that this would likely be the last time I saw her sucked, and I knew damn well how crazy that sounded. I didn’t know her. Didn’t know her real name, or what her favorite color was, or if she preferred beaches to mountains. Fuck, she took off her clothes for a living and made strange men come in their pants for money. Yet I didn’t give a shit about any of that. All I cared about was that I felt like this could be something, and I was going to let her walk away.

I had to.

Indigo smiled as she took a step toward me. She let the bags slide off her shoulders and hit the asphalt as her toes touched mine. My heart thundered in my chest, louder than the highway behind me.

What the hell is she doing? I thought, unsure what I should do with my hands or arms or fingers. Is she going to kiss me?! No, she wouldn’t. Why would she? I just turned her down. I—

But when her hand lifted and touched the side of my face, fingertips brushing just below the eyepatch and over soft, scarred skin, my heart slowed and relaxed. Like a timid wild animal, soothed by a gentle touch. She didn’t flinch at my scars. Didn’t shy away from the idea of what was hidden beneath the patch. And I supposed it was possible she wasn’t unique in that. I had never tried to be with women before. But to see that she didn’t find me grotesque or scary was a relief, and I leaned into her touch, searching her face for the answers to what was happening here.

“I don’t know what it is about you,” she whispered, her eyes dancing over my face, like she was looking for the same thing I was. Answers. Clues. A fucking hint .

Then, her hand reached around my neck and guided me down as she stood up on her toes. I held my breath for a moment of panic with no idea of what to do with the rest of my stupid body, but the moment her lips touched mine, second nature took over. I guessed some things you just knew how to do. Maybe it was from all the years of watching movies and TV and porn. But my hands lifted, cautiously touching her face as she tipped her head and opened her mouth to stroke my lips with her tongue. I hesitated, and she sensed it.

“You’re so nervous,” she whispered, her breath hot on my mouth. “Why?”

I huffed a pathetic laugh. “I’ve never done this before.”

“What? Kissed a stripper?” She laughed, too, and this one was as self-deprecating as mine. “I swear, I don’t do this with every—"

“No, I mean, I’ve never kissed anyone, period,” I hurried to say.

“How the hell is that possible?”

I shrugged and allowed my fingers to sweep away the stray, pink hairs that had fluttered out from her ponytail. “It’s just … never happened.”

“So, you don’t just … not do random hookups,” she speculated, working to put the pathetic puzzle together. “You’ve never …”

“No.”

I expected her to laugh again, to make fun of me for being a twenty-two-year-old virgin. But she didn’t, and I was grateful.

“You’re a really special guy, Rev.” She stood on her toes again to press one more kiss against my lips. “Hold on to that.”

“What? My virginity?” I snorted at my own feeble attempt at a joke.

“No. Your decency,” she corrected, smiling.

She stepped away and grabbed her bags from the ground. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed, but I also didn’t mind. I just wanted to see her again.

But then I thought about Nate. The fury in his eyes after her repeated rejection. I couldn’t say I was scared of him, but I couldn’t say I trusted him to behave himself either. And somehow, I knew it was better to walk away—at least until I had the chance to feel him out.

“Thanks for bumping into me, Indigo Sky,” I said as she took two steps backward in the direction of her car.

Then, she smiled, a touch of regret glinting in her eyes beneath the lamppost, before turning around and walking away.