Pete peered over his shoulder to make sure his father was occupied. His dad, who looked just like an older, thicker version of Pete, had his arms buried deep in the guts of a pickup.

“Oh, I think I can help you with that. Let’s give ’er a look.”

Sherri winked at Raylee, who winked back.

Before long, he’d cleaned, greased, and reset the chain, patched and pumped the tires, and rubbed the chrome handlebars with a rag to make them shine. It was almost good as new. “What do I owe you?” Sherri asked.

“My treat. How about you let me take you to a movie?”

How much had changed! There was a time when this would have given her a thrill. Now Sherri wasn’t interested in the likes of Pete, not after what he’d done, and not after spending a weekend with Mitch Spaulding, who wore a silky red Christian Dior smoking robe instead of an oil-stained work shirt with his name embroidered over the front pocket. Pete would work in this garage his whole life and die with grease under his nails. She looked around the shop disparagingly and frowned. “Sorry, my boyfriend in Los Angeles wouldn’t like for me to go on a date with a hick mechanic.” She felt like someone else was saying those words for her.

She pushed the bike out of the garage. “C’mon, Raylee.” Sherri was giddy with her new strength. It wasn’t just her job as a Bunny that had emboldened her; Arthur’s flirtation made her feel beautiful, and Raylee stood by her side, admiring her and paying attention to her every move. Sherri liked to have an audience, someone to impress. “Let’s get out of here.”

As she was leaving, she heard Pete mutter under his breath, “Bimbo.” The word snagged her confidence.

“Why don’t you like Pete?” Raylee asked.

Sherri put her index finger in her mouth and pretended to gag. “He felt me up. That’s when a boy—never mind. I suppose you’re too young.”

Raylee tugged Sherri’s arm. “Tell me!”

“I’ll tell you when you’re ready, don’t you worry. There are all kinds of things I can tell you.” There were little buds poking through the fabric of Raylee’s shirt. Poor girl, Sherri thought. She didn’t know what she was in for.

Raylee stopped and stared at the bike as if she were suspicious of it.