“What about?”
“About San Antonio.”
Amber gulped.
“About Rachel’s.”
“What about it? I’ve never heard of it.”
“You expect me to believe you lived in San Antonio and never heard of Rachel’s? Sorry, not buyin’ it.”
Amber gulped again. She glanced down at her drink. Damn. Still half full. Couldn’t use the old “could you get me another drink?” eye batting thing.
“Okay, okay. It’s a gentlemen’s club downtown.”
“On the outskirts of town, and it’s not a gentlemen’s club. It’s a strip club. And the strippers are known to take certain liberties. For money.”
Amber’s heart thudded. “Just how would you know all of this?”
“Easy.” His lips curved into a sardonic smile. “I’ve been there.”
“Oh?” She arched her eyebrows.
“Now don’t go lookin’ at me like that. Every cowboy goes to Rachel’s at one time in his life. It’s kind of a requirement I think. A rite of passage.”
“And I suppose you paid for liberties?”
“Me? Hell no. I look but don’t touch. I kind of feel sorry for those girls.”
Amber tried to hide her surprise. “Sorry? Why? They make great money.”
“So you are familiar with the place then.”
Amber inhaled. Why wouldn’t her insides stop quivering? Maybe she’d said too much. “Not really. I just know strippers usually make good money.”
“Not all strippers. But at a place like Rachel’s I’m sure the money can be great. Course it’s been a long time since I’ve been there.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Chad McCray—don’t tell Catie—dragged me there when I turned twenty-one. He was twenty-three or twenty-four at the time. We were in San Antonio on an overnight for a rodeo.”
“How old are you now?”
“Thirty.”
Amber exhaled the breath she’d been holding. The flip-flops in her tummy slowed down a bit. He wouldn’t recognize her.
“I can’t believe you and Chad would go into that place.”
“So you do know it.”
“I’ve heard of it.”
“Now I wonder…why in the world would Blake Buchanan think he had seen you there?”
“I’m sure I haven’t the slightest idea.” God, how can I stop this conversation?
“I’m thinking you’re hiding something, Amber, and I aim to find out—”