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identical to the shirt my brother was wearing when he left for school. “Thanks.”
    I untie the sash on my robe and let it fall onto the bench of the truck. Sitting here completely naked, I can feel his eyes on me. Slipping the shirt on quickly, I don’t even glance at him, not wanting to see him watching me. Taking off my clothes on stage is one thing. This is different. I leave the stripper behind the minute I walk out of the club. Right now, I’m just Emmy, and Emmy doesn’t get naked in front of strangers. 
    We sit there in silence for a minute, his stare burning a hole through me, heating my skin. I finally dare a look toward him, reminding myself of what’s important. “You forget how to drive?”
    “Nah, that shit’s ingrained in a man’s head,” he says, finally starting the truck. 
    “Well, then, get us on the road. He’s at County, and we need to get there quick. At the rate you’re going, I could probably walk there faster.” I know I’m being hard on him, but I’m worried about my brother. I also feel like I need my guard up to deal with a man like Kane Travis.
    He laughs, shaking his head, as he pulls out of the parking lot and flips on the radio. “You really are a piece of work, Sunshine.”
    I don’t like him calling me by my stripper name. Is it his way of reminding me that I’m just the stripper? “My name is Emmy. Try using it.”
    “I like Sunshine. It fits you,” he claims, never taking his eyes off the road.
    Men are such dicks. It’s why I’ve stayed away from them. Working at the club has really cemented my lack of trust in the entire sex. Over the years, I’ve learned there are four types of men that come in the club. 
    First off, you get the guys who come in for a good time. They like to look at the girls, but they also like letting us know we aren’t good enough for them. 
    Secondly, and more often, you get the jackasses promising the girls the world. They buy them gifts and take them out to dinner, but it’s all just a game. After the girls sleep with them a few times, they brag about banging a stripper to their buddies, and then they disappear.
    Thirdly, there are the blatant cheaters, the men who come in and don’t even bother to take off their wedding rings. They chase after all the girls, grabbing at us like we’re nothing more than pieces of meat. They don’t deny being married, while they shove some money in our hands and ask for a happy ending.
    Finally, there are the guys who take their wedding rings off. You can tell by the tan line, but I guess it makes them feel better to hide their dirty little secret. They beg the girls to go to a hotel with them, while texting their wives to say they have to work late. 
    Not one of them has ever done a thing for me. In fact, Kane is the first client I’ve ever even kissed. It’s a line I never planned to cross, and one that will not be crossed again. I haven’t needed a man in years, and Mr. KO isn’t gonna change that.
    “Well, I don’t like it. Sunshine works at the club. Emmy is the girl sitting beside you right now. Don’t make the mistake of thinking they are the same person.”
    “We’ll see,” he replies, pulling his phone out of his pocket. 
    A second later, it is at his ear. “Hey, bro, you’re going to have to get a cab.” He’s quiet for bit, before letting out a low chuckle. “Yeah, I left with her, but I’m giving her a lift to the hospital.”
    Knowing that whoever he’s talking to thought Kane was off somewhere screwing my brains out, I quit listening and look out the window. As I watch out the window, my brother’s battered body worries my mind. I swear I’m gonna kill him if he doesn’t stop fighting. 
    It takes only a few minutes before we pull up to the hospital. The truck is barely in the parking spot when I hop out and rush into the building. Heading straight for the receptionist desk, I gasp out, “I’m here for Trey Sanders. I’m his sister.”
    “Okay, miss…” she