Page 7 of Dirty Talker


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She slides from against the wall and strides toward the door, flinging it open before heading down the stairwell.

“I’m trying to do the right thing, Addie.”

She turns back. “The right thing, would’ve been never touching me to begin with.”

And to that, I have no response, because that girl is one hundred percent right.

Chapter Five

Addie

My last night at the club goes by quietly, and I spend the next two days playing things back in my head.

The kiss.

His hands.

The way he whispered low in my ear.

The way he disappeared.

The way I know he wanted more but wouldn’t let himself go there.

I want to find him, release his demons, ride him, and relax his mind. I laugh to myself as I toss another bail of hay into the horse pasture. Maybe then he’ll be nicer.

“Strange to see you here,” my dad says, riding up beside me in his pickup truck. It’s nearly sunset. He always does rounds just before he packs in for the night with a bag full of cookies my mom baked him. He shakes the plastic bag toward me. “Chocolate Chip. Your mom made them fresh when she saw you pull in earlier.”

I dip my hand into the bag the way I did when I was a kid and pull out a gooey, chocolate treat. Biting into it tastes like home.

“You look stressed,” Dad says, hopping out of his truck. It’s been a while since we’ve had a heart to heart, and I feel one coming. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with you working down at that club on the other side of the mountain, would it?”

My stomach turns to stone. “What?”

“Come on, Adelaide. This is a small town. You think I haven’t heard about you over there? What’s going on?”

I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s over. I quit.”

My dad shakes my mom’s cookie bag at me again. I relent and grab another. What is it about childhood treats that taste so reassuring? And why isn’t he angry?

“Why’d you quit?”

Considering I’m not about to tell him that I threw a hissy fit because the guy started me like an engine then left me running with no intent to drive. I go with something more wholesome.

“It just wasn’t for me.” I look down and bite into my cookie, savoring the sweet flavors of chocolate and vanilla. My mom makes her cookies with vanilla pudding mix. It makes them softer and chewier.

“Well, it’s probably better this way. I told you that man and his club are bad news. You know if you do things right down at the diner, you’ll own the place in the next few years.”

I know he means well, and I love this town and the diner, but working there for the rest of my life sounds awful.

“Maybe,” I say, brushing him off. I don’t do it on purpose, but having a conversation with my dad right now about how I want to shack up with some guy, build my own cabin off grid, have a ranch of our own, and raise a family isn’t what I think he’s looking to hear.

“Well, you’ll figure it out,” he says, leaning in for a squeeze. “Just stay away from that bar.”

I twist my lips to the side and climb back over the fence, waving him goodbye as he takes off toward the house. I didn’t give him enough credit. I figured he’d storm the bar and beat Declan up for hiring me. Instead, he just minded his own business. I guess I am twenty-three. I can make my own decisions.

My shoulders straighten as I stride back to my truck, then shrink again when I see my father pull off the side of the road to talk to a guy who’s sitting in another truck a hundred feet away.

No one ever comes down this road. It’s private.

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