Oh, hell no! Did Juanita really just ask me to become a stripper at Emilio's club? I’d rather chew my own arm off. I stand up, my chair making a screeching noise as it’s pushed across the floor. “It’s time for you to leave.”
Her flawless skin tints rosy, and her eyes turn reckless. “Franki, just hear me out.”
I raise my hand. “No need. I’ve heard enough.”
“I’m desperate.” There’s a shininess in her eyes I didn’t see before. “I have no one else I can turn to.”
I laugh—a throw-back-of-the-head-harsh-gasp-of-air laugh. She’s desperate. I want to tell her welcome to the club, but somehow, I doubt her idea of desperate meets mine. I want to ask if she’s ever worried where her next meal would come from. If she’s ever woken up in the morning scared that if she went into her mother’s bedroom,
