Young Love Dies Hard: The Young Brothers, Book 1 by Nikki Lane (old books to read txt) 📗

“Get in. I’ll give you a ride home.”

“I’m not going home.”

“Just get in,” he said. “I’ll give you a ride to wherever you’re going.” The light turned green, and the cars behind Rich started to honk.

I looked back at the impatient driver who honked again. I let out a deep breath and got in the car. Rich turned the heat up, and I felt my toes defrost.

“First time I’ve picked up a girl off the street corner,” he said.

I scowled. “Let me out.”

“I’m kidding, Maeve. Damn, when did you become so serious?”

I shook my head and focused my gaze out of the window.

“Where am I taking you?”

“Laurel Drive.”

“What’s going on out there?”

I looked down at my mood ring. “There’s a dance studio there.”

Rich’s eyebrows met.

“Don’t,” I said before he could utter a word. “Just please save whatever smart ass comment you were going to say.”

He glanced at me for a second. “I wasn’t going to say anything.” He cut off the heat.

It wasn’t a long ride, and in just a few minutes Rich pulled up in front of the studio. The small building was tucked behind an automotive repair shop.

“Thanks for the ride,” I said, unbuckling my seatbelt.

“No problem.” Rich rested his hands on his thighs. “Do you need a ride home?”

I opened the car door and let it swing open. “It’s fine. I won’t be finished here for another hour.”

“I can come back.”

I pressed my back against the seat. Rich’s warm brown eyes were smiling at me.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

He let out a chuckle. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

He looked down at the steering wheel. My eyes gleamed over the tattoos on his forearms. I remembered when I went with him to the tattoo shop to have them done.

“Just trying to be friends, Maeve. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Yeah…but you’ve been making it very clear that you can’t handle friends.”

He shrugged. “I admit I haven’t been the nicest guy to you. But you broke my heart. Can you blame me?”

I stared at his face, trying to determine if he was bluffing. This was why I never played Poker. I couldn’t tell the difference between who’s holding a good hand and who’s got nothing to work with.

“Okay. I guess I’ll see you in an hour.”

I got out of the car and didn’t look back as he drove off.

The dance studio smelled like pine and spandex. It was bustling with little girls in leotards and ballet slippers and young girls stretching on the worn dance floor.

“Can I help you?” asked an older lady from behind the front desk.

“Hi, I’m here for the adult class?”

She smiled and gave me the paperwork to fill out. When that was over, she pointed to the dressing room. I edged through the crowded room to change into my leotard and tights. A few of the girls smiled at me as I got dressed. I gave them a nervous smile back, feeling a little like the first time I changed for work at the club. But this dressing room didn’t hold the same stale smell or the same worn-out faces. I saw smiles and smelled nylon. I heard laughter and feet stomping against the dance floor, not the introduction of the next dancer from the DJ or the sound of someone grunting in my ear.

“Hi,” said a girl who looked about my age. She wore her hair in a tight bun and the same black leotard and pink tights as me. “You’re new here.”

I gave her a nervous smile. “Yeah, first day.”

“I’m Billy.” She held out her hand, and I shook it. “I teach here. My mom owns the studio.”

“I’m Maeve.”

“It’s nice to have you, Maeve.” She smiled and gestured me to follow her.

I slipped on my other shoe and stuffed my gym bag in one of the lockers, and then followed her out to one of the dance rooms.

I took a deep breath and stepped inside, feeling relieved to be trading my usual vertical metal pole for a horizontal ballet bar.

* * * *

Rich took the keys out of the ignition, so I knew he wanted an invitation upstairs. And what was there to stop me from inviting him up? I had the apartment to myself and had nowhere to go.

“Thanks for the ride,” I said.

“You’re welcome.” His eyes flickered over my outfit. “You look good in…whatever it is you’re wearing.”

“It’s a leotard.”

“Yeah, that.”

“Thanks.”

I lingered in the car, my gym bag sitting in my lap. I chewed on my lower lip. “Do you want to come up?”

His eyebrows shot up. “Yeah, sure.”

We didn’t say a word to each other as we walked up to the apartment. There was really nothing to say. He knew why I asked him to come inside. I knew why, too.

Once we were inside, I plopped my gym bag by the door and threw the keys on the kitchen counter.

“Something to drink?” I asked.

“No, thanks.”

I opened the fridge for a bottle of water. Rich sat on the couch. It was weird watching him there — the spot where Jacob had been sleeping.

“Why don’t you come and sit down.” He patted the space next to him.

I meandered around the kitchen counter and sat but made sure to leave a few inches between us.

“How was dance class?”

“It was good. I think I’m going to go back next week.” I’d met a few girls whose first names weren’t a gemstone or the name of a car. Normal girls who loved to dance because of how it felt, not because of how much cash was thrown at them.

“Is that why you work at the club?” he asked. “Because you like to dance?”

I stared down at my half-empty water bottle. “I work at the club to pay bills, Rich. It’s not exactly the kind of dancing you do at a ballet studio.”

He smiled. “I still can’t believe you work there.”

“Why?”

He should believe it. I’d given him enough lap dances to prove it.

He shrugged. “I dunno. I