Part 7 (1/2)

I wash my hands, fighting the bitter disappointment of replacing the scent of Rose's p.u.s.s.y with the sterile disinfectant smell of the liquid soap. I dry them and take a deep breath, counting to ten before I exit the bathroom, making my way back to the table. Rose is sitting there between Violet and Whitney, her cheeks still rosy, her hair tucked behind her ears, showing off that beautiful face. She doesn't so much as look at me when I sit in my chair on the other side of Whitney. I grab my beer and polish it off with one swallow.

”Want another one, mate?” asks Ryder's friend ... Nigel. Right. Nigel.

”That would be great, yeah.” I reach for my back pocket, ready to pull out my wallet, but Nigel waves me off.

”I'll get this round. I'm out anyway.” He holds up his empty gla.s.s before he slides off the chair and heads toward the bar.

”Where were you?”

I turn to find Whitney studying me with a suspicious gleam in her eyes, her tone accusatory.

”Bathroom. Then I had a phone call I had to take.”

”Who was it?”

Since when is it her business to ask me questions like that? ”No one you know.” I am a consummate liar. It's so easy to slip into my lies, they feel like a second skin.

”Hmm.” She doesn't look like she believes me. Like I give a s.h.i.+t. ”Rose was gone too.”

Unease creeps down my spine. ”So?”

”So you were both gone. For a long time. And her dress is b.u.t.toned up wrong. It wasn't before.”

f.u.c.k. I feel everything inside of me wilt at Whitney's words. As discreetly as possible I check out Rose, my gaze falling to her chest. Yes, the b.u.t.tons are done up wrong, and I feel like a s.h.i.+t that I didn't catch that before she escaped the bathroom.

”Are you accusing me of something?” I ask Whitney, my voice mean. I'm irritated that she's calling me out.

”I don't know. Did you do something?” she returns.

”Just say what you want to say, Whit.” I sound weary. I feel weary. ”Let's get this over with.”

She parts her perfectly glossed lips, swinging her hair back in a calculated move I've seen her perform before. The girl is gorgeous and she knows it, but she's also a world-cla.s.s pain in the a.s.s and has driven every guy who's been remotely interested in her far away with her needy, b.i.t.c.hy att.i.tude.

I'm a s.h.i.+t. I put up with her, give her what she wants in bed, and then move on. What she sees in me, I have no idea. I don't deserve her kindness. I don't deserve anyone's kindness.

”Whitney.” Violet rests her hand on Whitney's arm, startling her. ”Tell my sister about the time you slapped that guy across the face at a party. I was trying to tell her about it, but I just can't do the story justice like you can.”

Whitney's eyes narrow as she contemplates me, her expression tight. She doesn't have to say a word but I know she's thinking, You just got off easy. She turns to look at Violet, her smile back in place, her voice light and with the slightest hint of a drawl. ”Violet, darling, there have been two face-slapping incidents. Which one are you talking about?”

Violet tilts her head, her gaze traveling to mine for the briefest moment, sending me a knowing look. ”Tell us about both of them,” she says encouragingly, sending me a wink before she returns her attention to Whitney.

I sit there quietly, shock was.h.i.+ng over me as I wait for Nigel to return with my fresh beer. Contemplating what just happened because holy h.e.l.l, that was unexpected.

As crazy as it sounds, I think I was just saved from a nasty confrontation by Violet. Meaning somehow, some way, Rose told her sister what happened between us.

Un-f.u.c.king-believable.

Chapter Seven.

Rose

”You have some serious explaining to do.” Violet sends me a pointed look just before she picks up her coffee cup and sips from it.

We're at a crowded little bakery not too far from my hotel, eating decadent pastries and drinking deliciously bitter coffee while sitting at a tiny table right next to the window that faces the street. The sidewalks are crowded with Sat.u.r.day shoppers, all of them bright-eyed and dressed to perfection.

All while my hair is still damp from the quick shower I took before I came here. I'm wearing skinny jeans and a boring plain blue T-s.h.i.+rt I threw on as I dressed in a hurry in order to meet Violet on time. I have no makeup on, a cardinal sin according to our grandma, but I don't really care.

I awoke earlier this morning from a crazy s.e.x dream involving me, Caden, and a swimming pool to an endless stream of texts from Violet, basically demanding that I meet her here at the bakery at ten, no trying to get out of it. I replied that I would meet her only if she wouldn't badger me with questions until I'd had my first cup of coffee.

More like my first sip. The cup barely touched my lips before she said something, asking for an explanation.

But how can I explain what happened yesterday when I barely understand it myself?

”I already told you what happened.” Briefly. Sort of. Last night she saw how rumpled I appeared when I returned from the bathroom, the b.u.t.tons done up wrong on my dress-G.o.d, could I be any more foolish?-and immediately she was suspicious. I'd already told her I knew Caden, so she suspected it had something to do with him.

And she would be right.

”You told me what? That you know Whitney's boyfriend? That you disappear for a solid fifteen minutes only to return looking a little, hmm ... how should I put it-disheveled? That's the polite term, at least.” She takes a bite out of the gooey fruit tart she ordered, little bits of powdered sugar sticking to her lips.

I may as well tell her and get this over with. ”He's the one who walked away from me,” I admit, my voice low, my appet.i.te waning despite the outrageously delicious chocolate eclair I've nibbled on. Can't remember the last time I indulged in something so sinful.

Maybe last night? When you let a handsome stranger finger you to o.r.g.a.s.m in a bathroom?

My cheeks bloom with heat just thinking about it.

”Wait a minute.” Violet licks the sugar from her lips and leans in closer. ”Caden is the guy who ditched you in Cannes? When you were naked in the pool?”

Could she broadcast that any louder? ”Yes. He is.” Deciding to h.e.l.l with it, I grab the eclair from my plate and bite into it with relish, the combination of the cream filling, the flaky pastry, and the chocolate frosting like a little explosion of heaven in my mouth.

Still not as good as that o.r.g.a.s.m I had last night, though.

”Rose. You're messing around with a taken man.”

I make a face. She makes it sound so sordid. ”I am not.”

”You are. He's Whitney's boyfriend,” Violet stresses, looking appalled. As if she has any room to talk, torn between two men like she was not too long ago.

”No, he's not her boyfriend. At least, he said he's not.” Doubt clouds my brain and I take another drink of coffee, feeling everything within me perking up from the jolt of caffeine. But along with the jolt comes reality.

What if Whitney really is his girlfriend? I'd feel like a home wrecker. I'd be a home wrecker. And that sucks.

”And when did he tell you this? When the two of you snuck off and did ... whatever?” Violet arches a brow.

Busted. ”Fine. I went to the bathroom. He followed me. End of story.” I take another bite before I tell her everything. I'm so tempted to spill my guts, but some things are better left unsaid.