Her words sounded hollow, like she was only saying the things she was supposed to say, the things polite people would say.
“Do you love her?” she asked.
He couldn’t lie to her. Not now.
“I love her enough,” Drew said. “I grew up without a dad. I don’t want that for my kid.”
She nodded and pushed open the door. A sharp bite of cold nipped his face. Before she could move her leg out, he reached past her and pulled the door shut.
“There are still things to say,” he said.
Joey sat back, and he saw that she was digging the fingernails of her left hand deep into the delicate skin on the inner wrist of her right. A spot of blood formed, and he grabbed her wrist to make her stop. She wrenched away.
“I already know what you’re going to ask. Dancing pays the bills, okay?” She looked at him, her eyes flashing. “It’s a job. It’s legal. I even have a license to do it.”
“But why?” Drew couldn’t even pretend he understood. “For fuck’s sake, Joey. You’re only twenty. You’re smart. You could be anything you want to be.”
“You’ve always said that, but it’s not true.” There was a hitch in her voice, and her breath was coming faster. “I know your family didn’t have a lot of money, and your dad died when you were little, but your mother and sisters gave you stability. They loved you, they protected you, they supported you. And for a long time, you also had Simone. And now you’ve got Kristen.”
“Kirsten,” he said.
“All I had was you and Simone. And then suddenly, you’re both gone. After you guys moved out, I needed to find another job. I couldn’t pay the rent by myself.”
“Why didn’t you talk to Gustav?” Drew asked. The owner of the video store was a good guy. “I’m sure he would have given you more hours—”
“You know Gustav. The movie business is a weekend business, Joey,” she said, doing a passable intimation of Gustav’s Austrian accent. “Well, as it turns out, so is dancing. I couldn’t do both. And dancing pays a hell of a lot better.”
“Except it’s not always dancing, right?” The words were out before he could stop himself.
“Fuck you, Drew.” Joey glared at him. “You guys left me. You knew I couldn’t afford this shithole by myself. So don’t you dare fucking judge me for doing what I had to do.”
“Which is what, taking your clothes off for a bunch of skeezy assholes?” Drew’s voice was a few decibels shy of a shout. “Rubbing yourself all over them until they get off? Get a fucking roommate, Joey. That makes a hell of a lot more sense than whoring yourself out.”
She slapped him, and the instant her palm connected with his cheek, he knew he deserved it. The slap was surprisingly painful. She’d hit him hard.
“Some of those skeezy assholes tonight were your friends,” she said. “And if you really think I’m a whore, then there’s no point in talking anymore.”
Drew rubbed his cheek, which was stinging like crazy. “So you’ll get naked for anyone else except me?”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t you remember that night, about a week before we moved, when Simone was working—”
“Of course I remember that night,” Joey snapped. “And you know damn well why I stopped. Do not make this about you, you selfish, self-righteous asshole. You might hate my job, but your opinion doesn’t matter to me anymore. You left me. You left.”
They were both breathing heavily, the windows fogging up all around them.
“I can’t believe you slapped me,” he finally said.
“Yeah, well,” she said, opening the car door again. This time, Drew didn’t try to stop her. “Like mother, like daughter. Have a nice life, asshole.”
The door slammed. He watched as she let herself into the house, using the side door that led directly down to the basement. When the door shut behind her, and he knew she was safely inside, he reversed out of the driveway.
He didn’t look back.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
That conversation, which would turn out to be their last, did not go at all as Drew planned.
He’d spent an hour driving in circles after their argument, trying to clear his head. He knew he had been a total dick to Joey and that he owed her an apology, but he also knew it wouldn’t sound sincere until he cooled off. He had a mother, two sisters, an ex-girlfriend, and now a fiancée, and he’d learned the hard way that women did not like it when “I’m sorry!” was shouted at them. All they heard was the tone, not the words.