I was a rebel long before I signed with the team or even before I got this tattoo the night I graduated from high school, months after Parker left home without ever saying goodbye.

I trace the letters of her handwriting copied into my skin.

I’ll always be a rebel. And Parker—wherever she is—will be too.

A rebel with or without a cause. The rebel who will always hold a piece of my heart.

Chapter 3

“I’m cutting you, Clara.”

I spin around from the bar, almost knocking over one of my table’s drinks. “What?”

Joe holds a hand out. “Relax. Go home. I’m going to need you tomorrow.”

“I don’t work Sundays.”

Sundays are mine. I drive an hour outside of Atlanta to where I work what should technically be considered my second job. But since I get to ride in return for cleaning out stables, someone would probably consider it more of a hobby. It just happens to be one I was only able to enjoy in my past life when someone else was paying for it.

Joe nods. “I know you don’t. But I need all hands on deck. Jackie called out with the flu, and the whole club is booked.”

In the six months I’ve been here, I’ve never seen Joe shut down the club to the public.

He leans on the bar. “Tips are already set,” he entices me.

Under normal circumstances, I’d tell him I can’t. But I do have to fix my car that’s about to die if I want to actually get out of Atlanta on Sundays or when I make a break for it this summer.

“Do I have to remind you I pay you entirely in cash and off the books?”

I hate when people act like they’re doing something out of the kindness of their hearts and then toss it back into your face when they need something.

“Tomorrow is the Super Bowl, Clara. Did you even realize Atlanta was hosting it?”

I guess that explains the traffic earlier today.

He sighs. “Look, I’m booked out for one of the teams’ after-parties, and I already know, with the crowd it’ll draw, I’ll be serving drinks myself. You’d be doing me a favor. And these guys—win or lose—they’ll be here to drink. You can tip out whatever anyone hands you.”

Considering how my car sounded this morning, I guess not only would I be making money if I worked tomorrow, but also saving money because I wouldn’t have to pay to get it towed after it breaks down. There’s girl math somewhere in there.

“Fine.”

“Great. Hand your table off. You’ll only miss an hour. You’ll make it up times ten tomorrow,” Joe says. “I promise.”

I slide over to the computer. “If you say so.”

“I know so. Rebels are picked to win big time.”