Part 9 (1/2)
”Uh-huh.” He slid the tortilla chip he'd just loaded up into her mouth.
The salsa was hot and, by the time she'd gotten her breath back, the rest of their food had arrived. While they ate, Kenny entertained her with local lore, and she soon found herself laughing at his stories. He could be a charming companion when he set his mind to it, or perhaps it was simply the glow of her colossal-sized margarita because she found herself enveloped in a fuzzy-headed blur.
She excused herself to go to the loo, and, when she returned, another margarita was waiting for her. This one had a slightly different taste, but was equally delicious. Remembering the needles, she gave herself permission to indulge. Multicolored rainbows began dancing on the stucco walls.
Finally, Kenny pushed away the last bits of his cinnamon-dusted fried ice cream and paid the bill, even though she'd told him the meal was her treat. ”It's getting close to ten,” he said. ”We'd better be on our way. That is if you're still intent on doing this.”
”Oh, yes.” Her voice was a little loud, and she attempted to lower it. ”I haven't changed my mind.” She stood, and the room began to spin.
”Steady, now.” He took her arm and guided her through the restaurant. On their way to the door, he returned the greetings of the fans who wanted to catch his attention.
She expected the fresh air to revive her, but it didn't, and as the lights of the parking lot spun around her, she tried to make herself care that she'd had far too much to drink. ”Kenny, you never told me what you did to get suspended from the tour.”
”That's because you wouldn't like the answer.”
She wanted to spread her arms, embrace the night, embrace him. ”Tonight there's nothing I wouldn't like.”
”All right then ... among other things, I punched a woman.”
It was the last thing she remembered.
Emma heard water running and realized the second form students had turned the hose on again outside her cottage. They liked to fill her birdbath, but they didn't always remember to turn off the spigot. She frowned and tried to shape the words to remind them, but couldn't manage.
The water stopped running. She settled deeper into her comfortable bed.
”Emma?”
She peeled her eyelids open just enough to see a white ceiling. Too white a ceiling to belong in her dear cottage. And where was the petal-shaped crack over her bed?
”Emma?”
She forced her eyelids the rest of the way open and saw Kenny coming across the carpet toward the bed. What was Kenny doing in her cottage?
He had a towel tucked around his hips, another draped over his shoulders. His hair was wet and mussed.
The world slipped back into place, and she realized she was in his condo. In his bed.
She groaned.
”Rise and s.h.i.+ne, Queen Elizabeth.”
”What am I doing here?” she croaked.
”I've got a fresh pot of coffee downstairs that I think might appeal to you. You definitely can't hold your liquor.”
”Please ...” she managed, as she took in the rumpled bed. ”Tell me I don't owe you thirty dollars.”
”Honey, after what happened last night, I owe you.”
She moaned and buried her face in the pillow.
He chuckled. ”You are one wildcat between the sheets, I'll tell you that.”
She forced herself to look at him, then sagged back into the pillows as she took in the diabolic gleam in his eyes. ”Save your energy. Nothing happened.”
”What makes you think that?”
”You're still standing.”
Another chuckle.
Considering her impaired physical condition, she thought that was a fairly cheeky response, but she felt too dreary to take much satisfaction from it. She eased herself into a sitting position and saw she was wearing a University of Texas T-s.h.i.+rt, her bra, and her underpants. Right now she wouldn't let herself think about how she'd gotten out of her clothes.
”Do you want me to turn the shower on for you?”
She stumbled toward the bathroom door. ”I'll turn it on for myself. You may fetch my coffee.”
”Yes, Your Ladys.h.i.+p.”
She shut the bathroom door, peeled his T-s.h.i.+rt over her head, let her bra drop, and turned toward the sink.
That was when she screamed.
On the other side of the door, Kenny grinned, then listened as Emma's scream changed into something close to a sob. His grin grew broader, only to fade into a scowl as he heard feet pounding on the stairs. ”s.h.i.+t.”
The bedroom door shot open, and a gorgeous brunette with inky black hair and a model's body burst in. ”Jeeze, Kenny, did you kill one this time?”
Emma flew out from the bathroom, a large towel wrapped around her body, her eyes the size of a fairly decent water hazard. ”What did you do to me!” ”What did you do to me!”
”Emma, I'd like you to meet my baby sister, Torie. Torie, this is Lady Emma Wells-Finch.”
As Emma tried to get her mouth to work, Kenny noticed that Torie was outfitted, as usual, in Nieman Marcus's best, one of those simple little dresses that cost more than the national debt, along with an expensive pair of Italian sandals. A couple of divot-sized diamond studs flashed at her ears, a wedding gift from her last ex-husband.
Her hair was as dark as his and jaw-length, except around her face where it was cut shorter. At twenty-eight, she was tall, lean, green-eyed, and gorgeous. She was also a pain in the a.s.s. Still, he loved her, and he might be the only person in the world who understood how much unhappiness lurked beneath her good ol' girl bl.u.s.ter.
”Don't you ever use a doorbell?” he grumbled.
”Why should I when I have a perfectly good key?” She regarded Emma with interest. ”Honey, that is one h.e.l.l h.e.l.l of a tattoo you got there.” of a tattoo you got there.”
Ignoring her, Emma charged toward him, tears glistening in her eyes. ”How could you have let this happen?”
He studied the red, white, and blue Lone Star flag that now flew across a good portion of her upper left arm along with a curling banner beneath it that read Kenny Kenny.
”Wasn't much I could do about it. You know how you are when you've got your mind set on something.”
”I was drunk.”
”You can say that again.”