“Probably,” Tres agrees.
Done with the conversation, I stand, tossing my beer can into the fire.
“If the bunkhouse is a rockin’, we won’t come a knockin’,” Eros calls out as I’m walking away. I throw up my middle finger.
When I open the door, I don’t expect to see Evan standing there, dripping wet in nothing but a towel. She’s bent over her suitcase, holding the towel together with one hand as her hair drips drops of water onto the floor. Her leg and a sliver of her hip are exposed, almost giving me a glimpse of her pussy. I see the shock register on her face half a second before she narrows her eyes, her brave façade slipping back into place. This chick shows about as much emotion as I do.
“A little privacy?” she snaps, standing upright.
I smirk. “You want privacy? Should’ve stayed home.” When you live your life on the road, you quickly learn to live without privacy. I walk past her, to the sink outside of the bathroom. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Evan bend over, plucking something out of her suitcase before storming back to the bathroom behind me.
Movement in the mirror catches my attention. I blow out a breath when I see that Evan didn’t close the door all the way. I see the profile of her body, the curve of her perky tit through the crack of the door. She lifts her arms over her head to pull her clothes over her head, and I avert my eyes, making quick work of brushing my teeth. I chuck my toothbrush into the sink and walk away. I sit on the edge of my bunk, bouncing my knee until she comes out.
“What’s your deal?” Evan asks. She’s looking every bit of the spoiled rich girl she claims she isn’t in her white, silky nightdress. I can see the outline of her hardened nipples through the thin material.
“That what you usually wear to sleep, or is that for my benefit?”
“What?” She looks down at herself, covering her chest with her arms. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, pinching the bridge of my nose. I’d be attracted to her in a paper fucking bag, but seeing her like this…makes it damn near impossible to ignore her.
She pads her way back toward her suitcase. When she walks past me through the narrow space, I get a whiff of strawberries and sugar. She zips her suitcase up before kicking it back against the wall. She hits the light switch, then lies down on the couch. I kick off my boots and tear my T-shirt off, not bothering to get out of my jeans before rolling into my bunk. We sit in the dark, the only sounds coming from the jackasses outside the trailer. Just when I think she’s fallen asleep, she speaks.
“Sebastian?”
“Yeah.”
“Why don’t you trust Elliot?”
I rub a hand down my face. “He showed up out of nowhere, saying his mom died in a house fire, looking for a job and a place to start over.”
“And?”
“And when we turned him down, he was hell-bent on working for us, specifically. Wasn’t interested in any other job.”
“So,” she says flippantly. I can almost hear her shrugging her shoulders. “Maybe he’s just a fan?”
“Maybe.” I’m not convinced. “Or maybe he’s just waiting to chop us all into tiny pieces.”
I WAKE UP BEFORE EVERYONE else, trying my hardest to use the bathroom and get dressed quietly without waking anyone. A symphony of snores fills the bunkhouse—my soundtrack for the summer—as I throw on a loose, gray, ribbed shirtdress with thin straps. I finger-comb my hair, slip on my shoes, and I’m out the door.
It’s only eight in the morning, but it feels like it’s one hundred degrees. I welcome the heat, though. It comforts me. I walk across the lot, waving to the people already setting up for the day as I pass them on my way to Roy’s trailer. A few of them smile and wave, but most of them pretend not to see me at all. The carnival crowd is a tough group to break into.
Once I get across the lot, I try to remember which trailer is Roy’s. They all look alike. Taking a chance, I choose a door, walk up, and knock on it. I hear Roy’s voice call for me to come in.
“Hey…” he says, stroking his mustache, trying to remember my name.
“Evan,” I supply.
“Yes. Evan!” he exclaims. “I’ll get it one of these days. Have you thought more about joining the burlesque girls?” I had, actually. Dance is my thing. But I don’t know if I can do the whole nude thing, so I decide that this summer is about branching out. Taking the unpredictable route. Maybe learn something new.
“I have, but I think I’ll pass. Got any other ideas for me?” I ask, pasting on a smile.
“My daughters run the face-painting booth, but one of them ran off with her little boyfriend,” he grumbles. “You fancy yourself an artist, Evan?”
Really? Face-painting a bunch of five-year-olds all day? “Got anything else?” I try.
“That’s all I got. Two hundred a week. Take it or leave it.”