I curl my legs under me and take a sip of my coffee. The sun is shining bright, but the tint on the windows keeps most of the heat out. The city looks deader in the day than it does in the middle of the night, which is amusing. But it is Las Vegas.
The clock on the far wall strikes eleven. Any normal weekday at this time, I’d be working at the bookstore. Today isn’t normal though. Nothing about any of this is normal.
I woke up an hour ago, completely spent from the previous twenty-four hours. Between the traveling, the excitement, and the time with Fenton, I was wiped.
Sleeping against Fenton was its own version of heaven, his arm clenching around me the entire night. It was oddly intimate and comfortably distant. Physically, we couldn’t be any closer, but emotionally—we still barely know each other. Still, I drifted off and didn’t even wake up when he left at some point between then and now. I searched the suite for a note or an indication of what to expect today but there was nothing. He was just gone, nothing left behind besides his scent all over me.
Inhaling a deep breath, I can still catch notes of his musk and cologne on my skin.
My fingers strum against the mug. I’m not sure whether to wait here for him or to go on about my day until I hear something. If I had some sort of timeline, that would help. But I don’t.
I’m rolling around the idea of heading back down to the pool or to the little shops in the hotel when my phone buzzes on the table. Grinning, I lean forward and pick it up from the exact spot I occupied hours before.
“Hello?”
“Well, your father heard from Senator Hyland this morning,” my mother says immediately.
I jolt up from the sofa and begin to pace the floor. “And?”
“He’s trying to start a dialogue with the Nekuti group. The US won’t negotiate with them because it’s against the law, but Hyland is trying to get them to talk.”
“That’s great!”
“I think so. Hopefully we can get them to demand a ransom. We’ve been talking to some people to be able to come up with the money if that happens. It couldn’t come from a US bank, but apparently there are ways to get around that.”
”We just need something to go on,” I sigh.
“I have a really good feeling about Hyland on our side. He thinks Mandla has more information than they’re letting on and has really been pressuring them to turn it over. He’s exactly what we’ve been needing, someone on our side.”
“It’s about time. We’ve gone this long with no one giving a shit. Someone needs to do something besides you and Dad.”
“I agree, honey. But we’re finally on the right path, I think. Besides, Brady is fine. I feel it. When you’re a mother, you can sense when things aren’t right. I just . . . I never should’ve let him go.” Her voice breaks and it breaks me.
“No, Mom. You can’t do that. We’ve been over this a million times. He’s a grown man. He knew exactly what he was doing.”
“I know. And I know he knew the risks and did it anyway.” I hear her try to hide her sniffle from me. “He’s always been such a good boy. I just can’t imagine what he’s going through.”
We both get lost in our own thoughts for a beat. I watch the steam shoot from my cup of coffee—it rises up in a single line and disappears slowly into the surrounding air. It reminds me of life—we are here one second and the next, we could be evaporated into a memory.
“I need to go. I have a few things to do today. Call me if you need anything, sweetheart.”
“Love you, Mom.”
“Love you, Brynne.”
I pad into the master bedroom and find an emerald green bikini in my suitcase. I slip out of my robe and gown and into the swimsuit.
I need some sunshine and fresh air.
A grin slips across my lips as I remember Fenton’s warning. I jostle through the suitcase until I find a white swimsuit coverup.
And I better take this too.
“I don’t know, Presley,” I say into the phone, searching for an empty chaise. “There really are no words to explain it. It was just . . . it was the best thing I’ve ever had done to me.”
“That’s it! I’m going to the grocery store today and dropping my phone into the avocados. Done.”
Giggling, I spot an open lounge a few feet from the pool, beneath a looming palm tree. It has lots of shade and even more privacy. There are no chairs in the immediate vicinity and I’m fairly confident I can kick back and not be splashed or annoyed by the inebriated twenty-somethings.
“Good luck with that,” I offer. “Because even if someone does find it, what are the odds he looks like Fenton?”
“And what are the odds he looks like Fenton and he licks my pussy until I come in his mouth?”
“My Lord, Pres!” I place my bag next to the chair and strip off my cover-up. I lean back on the chaise and get situated. “Can you be any more descriptive?”
“I could. Wanna hear?”
“No.”
She laughs. “So, was he better than, less than, or equal to that guy you banged on the boat? What was that guy’s name?”
“The doctor?”
“Yeah.”
“Connor,” I giggle, thinking back to the cutie I met while he was on vacation. “Connor was great, as you know.”
“Yes. I’m still pissed you didn’t give me his number.”
“He went back to Arizona! You don’t date well when they live in Santa Monica, Pres, let alone Scottsdale.”
“Whatever. Keep going with your story.”
“Fenton is just . . . How do I explain it, Pres? It’s not about the actual act. It’s more like he builds you up, makes you think about it, and when he finally touches you, it’s like bombs dropping everywhere.”
“I want bombed.”
“You don’t even know,” I taunt.
A long silence extends between us. It’s an awkward kind of lull in the conversation and I feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Something tells me this discussion is going to make a turn and I’m not going to like it.
“Hey, Brynne. I have something to tell you . . .”
And I was right.
I brace myself. “What?”
“So, today I went to Pilates and grabbed a bagel, which I know offset—”
“Pres,” I warn.
“When I got home, Grant was here.”
“Why?”
“He was just sitting on the steps.”
She has to be kidding me right now.
“I would’ve hit him in the chest with my stiletto, but I had on sandals.”
“What did he want?”
“He didn’t really say,” she sighs. “I didn’t know whether to tell you this now or later, but I felt guilty as hell not telling you. I’m such a bad secret keeper.”
“No,” I croak. “Thank you for telling me.” I slip back against the cushion again and try to find my zen. “He didn’t say what he wanted?”
“Uh-uh. He just said he wanted to see you. And that he wanted to see you face-to-face.”
I stare at a passing cloud that looks like a mushroom. It floats through the sky and I try to use it to find some calm.
I have nothing to say to him and we have nothing in common anymore, unless he wants to tell me what he knows about Brady.
“I told him you were out of town with a friend,” Presley explains. “I said you were getting a break and that he needed to give you some space.”
I take a deep breath and watch a man and woman holding hands. They shove each other playfully before he pulls her in for a quick kiss. It looks so easy. Happy.
Did I ever have that with Grant? Do I even know what that feels like?
Something stirs inside me.
“Okay,” I say, “I’m going to lay out in this hot as hell sun and forget all about this little deviation in our conversation.”
“And wait to get ravaged by the man of both of our dreams.”
“Exactly.”
“I want details, Calloway!”
“Maybe,” I laugh. “Call you later.”
“And if Mr. Avocado is Fenton’s twin, I’ll call you! Bye!”
“Bye,” I laugh, shaking my head.
I plop my earbuds in and find a music app and select a playlist that I use when I’m studying—something calm and relaxing. Closing my eyes, the heat beats down on my tired muscles and fretful mind. I let the music wash over me and picture Fenton’s sexy grin and the feeling of my hands tugging on his thick mane.
I must have fallen asleep because I’m shocked awake by my phone buzzing in my ears. Scrambling to sit up, I realize I’m still at the pool. I quickly gather my bearings and look at my screen. Fenton.
Jerking out my earbuds, I swing my feet to the side and press the green button.
“Hello?” I squint against the sun, trying to figure out how long I’ve been here.
“Where are you?”
“The pool,” I say as casually as possible.
The phone chirps and I look at the screen. FaceTime.
I glance down at my bikini-clad body.
Oh. Shit.
I tap the button.
He’s looking right at me on the screen. His jaw is pulsing, a vein I hadn’t noticed before throbbing at his temple. He’s not happy.
“Hey,” I say sweetly, hoping to distract him.
“Take the phone,” he commands, “And show me your body.”
“Fenton, wait—”
“Now.” The grin he gives me is misleading. I grin back. His smile vanishes. “Now, Brynne.”
I drop the screen to show my body and then pull it up to my face again. ”Relax. No one was getting to see me when you weren’t.”
When the phone faces me again, he’s not relaxed. He may even be a little worked up. “I’m going to be in the room in twelve minutes. I’m going to suggest you be there in eleven.”
“Are you serious?”
“Do I look serious?”
Seriously hot. But I don’t tempt the beast. Not now. Not when he’s looking at me like that.
“Okay. I’ll see you there,” I say, starting to end the call.
“Are you hanging up on me?”
“How do you want me to get appropriately clothed and make it to the room in ten and a half minutes and carry on a discussion with you in the process?”
“It’s a little late to be concerned with being appropriately clothed, don’t you think?”
“Will you seriously stop it?” I roll my eyes and it catches him off guard. His eyebrows shoot to the sky and he almost laughs. Almost. “I’m sitting back here by myself and relaxing. It’s not like I’m walking around, trying to pick up dick.”
“It’s a good fucking thing.”
“Fine.” I sit the phone down and grab my cover-up. I pull it on and grab my bag. He’s talking from the chair but I ignore him. He wants to be a baby, I’ll treat him like a baby.
“Brynne!”
“What?” I say, exasperated, jerking the phone to my face. I give him the look I give Presley when I’m trying to study and she won’t leave me alone. The look that says, You’re being stupid and I don’t even want to deal with you. Our eyes lock and a grin tugs at his lips. The lines on his face smooth out, his irritation melting before my eyes. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“Get your ass to the room and I’m going to show you just how ridiculous I can be.”
“It’s about fucking time,” I say. “I was starting to think you were all talk and no action.”
“What the . . .” he stumbles, making me laugh.
“I’ll see you in nine.”
“Bry—”
“Eight and a half. Don’t be late,” I wink and end the call. The look on his face, the one of pure bewilderment, is worth whatever he says when we get up there.