Seventy-six:
Piper Powell
I couldn’t help but stare at Teddy on the plane.
“Trenton, why do you have to do be here?” I asked.
He smirked. He was sitting across from me, his legs crossed, and had a martini in his hand. “I already went over this. It’s my plane. My plane doesn’t leave anywhere unless I’m on it.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” he said, “anything that happens on this plane, I’m responsible for. And I very much like my plane.”
“You’ve got a stripper pole in the backroom.”
“Yes, would you care to try it? One size fits all.”
“Never, in a million years,” I said.
“Come on. There are some that say that stripping is a feminist act. I mean, think of how society dictates what women should and shouldn’t wear.”
“The only person that dic
