I open my mouth to speak but it takes a minute to find my voice. “H—hey,” I stammer, a little shaken at seeing him suddenly. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all day. I was even out to a couple of your usual haunts during my lunchbreak. Where the hell have you been?”

“Yeah, I know, sorry.” He walks in and heads for the kitchen. “I had some things to tie up.”

He goes for the fridge and pulls out a soda, then turns and leans against the sink as he pops the top.

“So, what’s going on with you?” I stand at the island. “Your mom shows up this morning, saying you quit your job?”

He flashes me an amused look like I’m overreacting.

“If you kept me posted, I wouldn’t nag,” I burst out but try to make it sound like banter.

He glances behind him out the window, seeing something, and pushes off the counter, heading through the laundry room and into the backyard. I follow him.

“I’m fine,” he calls over his shoulder. “I actually have a new job. That’s why I quit.”

He walks over to the pool and starts pulling the tube for the vacuum up. I’d completely forgotten about it. It had been going since yesterday afternoon.

“A new job?” I ask, taking his slack from behind him. “Where?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I don’t like surprises. Where’s the job?”

He starts laughing, and I scowl.

“Why are you laughing?” I demand. Does he know how worried everyone is about him, and now he acts like he’s got everything together, and we’re supposed to not ask questions?

“Because I’m excited,” he says. “I’ll tell you soon. I promise.”

“Is it legal?” I pull the tube, feeling the weight of the vacuum as it starts drifting across the pool toward us.

His back shakes with another laugh.

I quirk an eyebrow.

“I promise, this job is as legal as it gets,” he tells me, a private joke in his words I don’t understand. “I’ve got a steady paycheck coming, medical, dental, retirement, the whole works.” He glances at me. “I’m not on drugs, and I’m not in trouble. I’m absolutely fine. I’m sorry I haven’t been around. I just didn’t want it to be awkward for Jordan.”

I drop the tube, having reached nearly the end.

“So, you’re fine, then?” I ask, for clarification.

“Yeah.”

“Will you come home?”

But he shrugs, looking unsure. “It would be uncomfortable, I think. I want Jordan to stay here as long as she needs.”

I approach him. I’m still a couple inches taller than him, but I’m always surprised at how much bigger he seems every time I see him.

I hesitate to say it, because I don’t want her to go anywhere, but I know Cole’s place is here. “I can find a different arrangement for her,” I tell him.

I can figure something out to make sure they’re both taken care of.

He doesn’t seem to need to think about it, though. “No.” He shakes his head, squaring his shoulders. “It wouldn’t be worth it. I’ll have my own place soon anyway.”

“Really?” Now I am worried. This new job seems a little too good to be true. “You’re making me nervous again,” I tell him.

But he just starts chuckling again, and then he turns his attention back to the vacuum, and I join him in hauling it up.

“Listen,” he says, “I wanted to get my first tat before this job starts. I was thinking we could get one together. Would you want to?” He flashes me a nervous look, and I can tell it was hard for him to ask. “Like next weekend?”

A tattoo?

The last one I got, he was two, I think. It’s not really what I’m into anymore, but I’d definitely do it for him. I’m just grateful he’s even asking to do anything with me.

“Yeah.” I nod. “Sounds good.”

I even know what I want to get, too, the idea pops in my head so fast.

“Come on,” he nudges, pulling on the vacuum. “I’ll help you with this, and then I’m gonna go meet up with friends, okay?”

“Yeah.” I pull on the last of the tube, and the vacuum emerges, draining water.

I have a little errand to run, too, actually.

I don’t even think anyone under twenty-one is allowed in this place unless they’re an employee, and Jordan better not be. I have a fleeting thought on the way over to call and report Mick Chan for letting a nineteen-year-old in his strip club, but it’s not like I didn’t take advantage of lenient bar owners when I was nineteen, either. Plus, it would just piss Jordan off more. I can hear her now. Oh, I’m old enough for you to go down on but not old enough to have a drink?

Well, yes, legally speaking. If she wants to get technical about it, anyway.

Sliding my keys into my pocket, I head across the parking lot and pull open the door to The Hook. The music bounces off the walls and vibrates under my feet, and I inhale the familiar smell of the orchid-scented shampoo Mick always uses for the carpets. It smells like the flood of perfume you get walking into a high-end casino that’s trying to cover up the odor of cigarettes. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in here, but all of a sudden, I’m nineteen again.

I pay the cover and walk in, stopping as I pass the bar and see the sea of people in the place. Young guys, older men, a few women and couples, purple lights under the white stage and streams of smoke drifting up into the air from the orange ends of cigarettes.

Apprehension takes hold. I shouldn’t have come here.

I should leave before she sees me. She’s an adult, she’s taken good care of herself for a long time, and that little voice in my head is right. If I can take her to bed and keep her up half the night going at it, then she’s old enough to make her own choices. She should be able to go with her friends. I want her to go out with her friends.

I just don’t want her here, because I know Mick wants her, she needs money, and I made her situation in my home feel shaky tonight. She’s upset, and what if she starts thinking she needs to move out? What if she has a few drinks and decides she needs to make some extra money?

I run my hand through my hair, feeling the gel I put in it and remembering how I got cleaned up for her. I even changed my clothes.

I glance down at the navy blue suit I bought last year for Cole’s graduation, but I left off the tie tonight. Just a white shirt, open at the collar, and some black shoes. I don’t know why I put it on, because I’m feeling fucking stupid now, but I think I just want her to know that I’m not an open book. I can be different. I can still surprise her.

I back up to leave, praying she hasn’t seen me, but the crowd in the club cheers and bellows, and my attention is drawn to the stage where a group of girls stand in a line.

They’re dressed in everything from jeans to skirts to thongs, looking nervous but giggling and playful. A couple women have already started the contest, and it seems the will to win three-hundred dollars now calls for more extreme measures than back in my day. Two women are already wet, some older woman coming by and dumping pitchers of water all over them as they reach inside their drenched shirts and jiggle their breasts and then turn around, straddling the floor as they shake their asses for the roaring crowd. More water gets dumped all over their backs. Heads of wet hair fly, and they may as well be fucking naked. They practically are.

Some of the guys have their camera phones out, and I’m pretty sure that’s not allowed, but no one cares. These women are not amateurs, are they? Jordan can’t do that shit.

Can she?

Just then, a gang of women pull a young blonde on stage, and I see Jordan resisting them, laughing but shaking her head nervously.

What the...

I can’t hear her, but I see her lips mouthing no over and over again as she digs in her heels and tries to pull her arms away from her sister.

Someone from behind reaches in front of her and unzips her little, white sweatshirt, and I launch forward, but then a pitcher of water is dumped all over her chest, and I halt, momentarily frozen.

Her eyes go wide, her mouth falls open, and she looks like she’s in shock from the undoubtedly cold water as she just stands there with her hands out in front of her and her sweatshirt now draping down her bare arms.

The ends of her hair are wet, but her long, sexy layers wisp around her face, and water streams down her stomach, making her skin glisten.

Where did she get that lingerie top? It’s cream-colored and lacy, thin straps over her shoulders, and damn-near see-through. Her dark nipples are visible from here, as are the curves of her breasts as the wet fabric clings to her body.

And my eyes burn as they drift around the room to every guy watching and catcalling her. She should be wearing that in my fucking bed. Not on a goddamn stage. I ball my fists.

She seems to break out of her shock, because she suddenly hugs her arms to her body and darts off stage, leaving her sweatshirt behind. She launches down the steps and runs along the wall, toward the hallway where the bathrooms are. Some girls at a table grab for her, calling her name, and she keeps going and turns her smile back at them and blushing to her friends. Or her sister’s friends.

Suddenly, she looks up and locks eyes with me, coming to a halt. The girls at the table see her stop and follow her gaze, glancing between the two of us.

The two vertical dips in her stomach on both sides of her belly button glimmer, covered in drops of water, and the sight of her skin makes my cock fill with blood.

She wore that. She purposely put it on, which means she was considering going up there. I raise my eyes from her body and stare at her, taking a step forward.

Mine.

She backs up a step.

I move again. And so does she.

“It was an accident,” she snaps, her eyebrows pinched in a scowl. “She was just playing around. I don’t need any crap about something that wasn’t my fau—”

I rush up to her and wrap my arm around her waist, taking her face in my hand and pulling her mouth to mine.