A girl at Kittens got sick; the boss asked Ronnie to come in for extra shifts. The money was so good, but it made her miss the school application deadlines. She had to put it off for another six months. But then Vanessa was out of work, and Ronnie felt obligated to help her out—she took on more shifts and missed the deadline again. Then Jerrod came along, and then Esme, and the prospect of leaving for college was out of the question. It just all . . . happened, a snowball growing larger and larger as it rolled down the hill. And now, there she was, all the way in California, still taking off her clothes for money. But if these guys were dumb enough to shell out cash to stare at her naked, what did she care? And she kept it from her boyfriend, Lane, not because she was ashamed—it just wasn’t his business.

At least that was what she was telling herself, anyway. But now things had become a little more complicated. Ronnie and Lane had been living together for over a year now. Esme was now going to the school where Lane taught, and because Ronnie and Lane were considered “domestic partners,” Ronnie got a huge discount on Silver Swans’ tuition. Every day, the hole of lies Ronnie had dug for herself was a little deeper, and her roots to Raisin Beach were a little more . . . rooted. Every day, she had more to lose.

After a few more minutes of dancing, Ronnie put down the duster. “Hour’s up, babe.”

Charlie sucked on a weed pen, then lazily cast his gaze around the room. “Looks great.” Laughable: the house was no cleaner. He stretched out his arms. “C’mere, ladies.”

She and Bethany walked toward him. Charlie reached into his pocket and pulled out several crisp twenties, doling them out to the girls in eeny meeny miney moe. “Gracias, mamas.” He slapped the bills into Ronnie’s palm, but before she could pull away, his fingers curled around hers. Ronnie’s feet had been so planted that she tripped forward, almost into his lap.

She caught herself on the arm of the couch. His breath smelled like weed and barbecue potato chips. There was grease at the roots of his hair. He wasn’t terrible-looking, though. What did he get out of this? What sort of power did it give him, watching topless women clean?

“You’re pinching,” Ronnie said, looking down at his hand, which was still clamped in hers. She could sense Bethany hesitating behind her.

Charlie let go slightly. “Take your pants off?”

“Hah.” Ronnie pulled her hand away, trying not to appear unnerved. “Not funny.”

Charlie stuck out his lip in a pout. “Aw, c’mon.”