“Where does he go?” Jet asks, handing me a white towel to run over my sweat-drenched head.

I finish watching Ryan dart across the packed floor of Vipers, then shift my eyes to Jet. “I don’t know,” I reply honestly.

Just as he has done the past seven days, Ryan arrives within seconds of my performance, then leaves straight after it finishes. Considering I perform three times a night, he is either using his badge to enter without paying the fee, or Pete is lining his pockets with Ryan’s hard-earned money. I don’t know which theory annoys me more.

“Maybe you should ask him during your commute?” Jet suggests, shadowing me to my dressing station, his words breathy from a concealed chuckle.

“That would mean we’d have to communicate with more than one or two words,” I reply before stuffing my cosmetics into my bag.

Jet doesn’t hide his laugh this time around. “That would help.”

My eye roll looks classier than it should. Just as he insinuated last week, Ryan arrives at Vipers every night to pick me up. Our shameful routine matches our first tussle in the rain—minus gnawing teeth and visits to strangers’ houses.

When I refuse to enter Ryan’s patrol vehicle, he forces me into the back seat.

Unfortunately, last night’s exchange was not only witnessed by Jet and a handful of waitresses, but Ryan’s partner as well. Talk about embarrassing. His partner isn’t just pretty; she’s downright gorgeous. It is fortunate I spotted the ginormous rock sitting on her ring finger, or the jealousy I’ve been struggling to rein in the past week would have surfaced greater than ever.

Ryan flees the main floor before the silk around my thigh has been removed, but that doesn’t stop both Viper patrons and staff from approaching him. Although grateful he has never accepted any of the many offers bestowed upon him, I’m still annoyed. How many rejections does it take to get the hint? In Melena’s case, the sky is the limits. She’s sitting at fifteen this week alone, and she’s still chipping away at Ryan’s resolve.

“Prune juice.”

I stop tying the laces on my running shoes so I can lock my eyes with Jet. “Prune juice?”

Not spotting my confusion, he nods. He maintains his straightforward, carefree composure for all of two seconds before it comes undone. “Prune juice will take care of that constipated look on your face. Or a dick in your ass. Whatever you prefer.”

My mouth gapes. “I’m not . . .constipated.”

“So take choice B,” Jet replies, still laughing.

“I’m not shoving a dick up my ass.” I don’t know why I am whispering. The conversations I’ve overheard at Vipers could fill fifty erotic books. “It’s not the hole I want filled.”

Now it’s Jet’s turn to be stumped. He glowers at me, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

I rib him with my elbow, causing him to gasp in a sharp breath. “Don’t act surprised! I’m a woman. I have needs—”

“And now my cock could drill the arctic,” Jet interrupts, adjusting his crotch.

Unappreciative of my faint giggle, Jet sneers, “If I didn’t appreciate my freedom, I’d stuff your laughter down your throat with my cock.” He grips the back of my head with his hand before gyrating his hips toward my mouth.

“Such a charmer,” I tease, knowing he is only playing. Jet can have the pick of any girl, so why would he choose me?

He waits for me to sling my bag over my shoulder before asking, “You know, if you’re not going to take me up on my offer, you’ve got another suitor dying for the same chance.”

“I’m not going out with Gerald,” I reply, gagging.

Gerald is a regular who’s been to more of my shows than Ryan. He seems like a lovely guy, but dyed combovers and button-up Hawaiian shirts aren’t my thing.

Jet flicks two fingers between my brows, demanding the return of my focus. “I’m not talking about Gerald. It is someone much hotter, just not quite as handsome as me.” He dusts his fingers over his chest.

I roll my eyes. “Well that could only be one person. . .”

Jet nods, assuming I’ve caught on. I haven’t.

“. . .Pete?”

“What?! No!” His voice is so loud he startles my heart as much as my ears.

“My god, Savannah. You are lucky you’re gorgeous.” He whispers my name to ensure those surrounding us don’t hear it. “I’m talking about Ryan. The guy who rocks up here every night to drive you home. He isn’t doing that to be friendly. He wants in your panties.”

I huff, wishing what he said were true. “Ryan doesn’t want to sleep with me. He’s been there. He’s done that. He isn’t interested. He is just being civil. It is the way he is. Ryan is a gentleman; nothing will change that.”

“A gentleman who wants to fuck you like you’ve never been fucked.” Jet rocks his hips while making inappropriate moans. “He wants to give you the best sex you’ve ever had.”

I throw my fist into his stomach, winding him. “Once again: been there, done that.”

Jet makes a pfft noise. “You said he was a virgin?”

“Yeah, so?”

He cocks a brow. “That means he didn’t have a fucking clue what he was doing. He probably didn’t find your G spot, much less make you orgasm.”

My teeth graze my bottom lip as my mind wanders. Just like me, Ryan was a virgin, but that didn’t stop him from knocking it out of the park. My god—that man knew what to do and precisely how to do it. When we were together, the sex was. . . mind-blowing.

I fan my flaming red cheeks with my hand. “Trust me, he knew what he was doing.” I’m prepared to say more, but I don’t need to. Jet’s wide eyes reveal he believes me.

After shoving a lollipop into his mouth, Jet says, “If he was hitting sixes back then, imagine his skills now?”

I groan. “Don’t say that.”

“Why? You tempted?” Jet asks, waggling his brows.

I nearly lie but swallow my words when I consider how many lies I’ve told the past five years.

“More jealous than tempted,” I admit. I want Ryan to be happy, but I hate the idea of him with anyone but me.

“You don’t have to be jealous, Savannah. He’s there, waiting for you like he’s always been.”

I wish I had as much confidence in Jet’s declaration as he does, but I don’t. Ryan hasn’t given any indication that he dislikes me, but he’s not put out any feelers either. He is the most guarded he’s ever been. I can’t read what he had for dinner, much less gauge his reaction to my resurrection. For the first time in the twenty-five years I’ve known him, I’m flying solo. It’s a scary, tormented flight.

When I throw my gym bag over my shoulder, Jet asks, “Same time tomorrow?”

My pout morphs onto his mouth when I shake my head. “I took Saturday off, remember?”

He glances at me like I told him I’m performing open heart surgery with a butter knife and a pair of tinsnips.

“I have my performance at Maison’s Bordello tomorrow night. Although the double pay is appealing, I don’t think I can do four performances in a night.”

“Oh.” Jet’s reply is not an informative “oh.” It is a worried one.

“Sunday?” I ask, pursing my lips.

After twanging my bottom lip, Jet nods his head. “I’ll be here. Will you?”

My frown turns into a smirk. “You haven’t gotten rid of me yet.”

He half-heartedly nods. “Give him time. He’ll soon wear you down.”

He doesn’t need to say Ryan’s name for me to know who he is referencing. Every night Ryan drives me home, Jet’s suspicions grow. He’s just waiting for me not to arrive the next day. He has no reason for concern. Ryan doesn’t have the means to look after me, and in all honesty, I don’t want him to. I love that Ryan is a working-class man. Everything he has, he earned himself. Even when peeved with jealousy, I admire that about him.

“Bye.” I lean in to press a kiss to Jet’s cheek. Abby Rowe may not kiss her friends goodbye, but Savannah Fontane does, even when he makes her ugly green head rear for the first time in a decade.