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“They’re dates to me!”
I attempted to move around her but she blocked me.
“So, come on! Out with it! How did it go?”
“As if I’m going to tell you!”
“Hang on.”
Harper pinched my dress between her fingers.
“It’s not torn…”
“No.”
“He didn’t tear it off you? Didn’t ravage you with his barbaric strength?”
“Nope.”
Harper’s mouth fell open.
“What’s the matter? Is there something wrong with him?”
Okay, so that pissed me off.
It was one thing to keep trying to get the information out of me. It was another to say there was something wrong with Kren.
“There’s nothing wrong with him,” I snapped. “He’s a gentleman.”
Harper snorted.
“Girl, please. I’ve been with dozens of fighters and not one of them treats me as more than a piece of meat.”
I got the feeling that was how she liked it.
“Not this one,” I said with a smile.
I moved around her and headed for the dorm we shared in the back.
I approached my lumpy bed and removed my dress. I tossed it in the laundry basket and moved to the long set of wardrobes at the back.
The girls shared clothes. The more senior members—the ones most often picked by the fighters—got first dibs.
I was at the bottom of the ladder and always chose last.
There were two wardrobes. One for when we had to dress up for the fighters. They were small, sheer material, and sexy, or slutty, depending on how you wanted to look at it. The second wardrobe contained everyday clothes. I much preferred the latter.
I chose a pair of jeans—they weren’t really jeans but they were close enough—and a T-shirt with an alien band on the front that I’d never heard of.
“So, it’s true?” Harper said with a thoughtful frown.
She made me jump. I didn’t hear her approach from behind.
Harper folded her arms and wore a conspiratorial look.
“What’s true?” I said.
“Kren. He’s a monk.”
