“You’re welcoming her by pissing off your dad?”
Kit shrugged. “If you had any idea the shit Dad pulled on me and Em when we were younger, you’d get it. We can’t let him get away with this—we just can’t. It’s the principle.”
“You sound crazy.”
Kit sighed. “Yeah, I know. But he started it.”
They left the room and I started looking around for my phone. It’d gone flying, and it took me a good five minutes to find it wedged between the futon and the wall.
Six missed calls from Painter and one from Reese.
Shit.
He answered on the first ring.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice terse.
“I’m fine,” I said, and I heard his sigh of relief.
“Okay, give me a minute to text Pic—I messaged him that something was wrong at your place. He’s already on his way to rescue you.”
“Oh shit. I’m so sorry. I can explain—that was Jess and Kit, and they—”
“Of course it was Jess and Kit,” he muttered. “Give me a sec, then I’ll call you back.”
He hung up, and I reached for my bra. I didn’t know about him, but the mood was certainly dead for me. I’d just pulled my shirt on when the phone rang again.
“I’m so sorry,” I said again. “They pushed into the room and scared the hell out of me, and then I couldn’t find my phone and I guess we’re having an emergency bachelorette party tonight for London because she got married.”
Silence.
“You wanna run that by me again?” he finally said.
“Apparently he didn’t have time to tell you . . . Reese and Loni got married this morning. All by themselves—I guess they didn’t like how people kept making plans for them, so they just up and tied the knot without telling anyone.”
Painter burst out laughing.
“I’ll bet Kit and Em are pissed as hell,” he said. “They had all kinds of crazy-assed shit in mind.”
“I don’t know about Em, but Kit seems pretty upset. Oh, and just so you know, the girls figured out what you and I were doing and started giving me shit, so I yelled at them. Now they’re hiding downstairs.”
He started laughing again.
“That’s almost worth the heart attack you gave me.”
“I’m really sorry about that,” I murmured. “They scared me.”
“They’re scary girls,” he said. “I don’t suppose you want to pick up where we left off?”
I considered it, but the thought of Jess and Kit down below . . . it wasn’t working for me.
“No more phone sex until I get a lock for my bedroom door. I don’t think I can take another scare like that.”
“I’ll do it first thing tomorrow.”
He sounded so determined I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Would it make me sound like a crazy girlfriend if I asked what time you’ll be back tonight?” I wanted to take the words back as soon as they left my mouth. I’d meant it as a joke, but guys like Painter didn’t have girlfriends. He’d told me himself he didn’t date. Now he probably thought that I thought he was my boyfriend and . . . “I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Mel?”
“Yeah?” I asked, closing my eyes against whatever he might be about to say.
“I wouldn’t mind having a girlfriend like you.”
My pulse sped as I careened from freaked out to elated. I wanted to jump up, maybe do a fist pump or two. Instead I somehow managed to keep my voice casual.
“I wouldn’t mind having a boyfriend like you, either.”
“If I ask Pic to give you a key, will you sleep at my place tonight?” he asked. “I’ll be getting in late. Really late, probably not until early next morning, but I’d like knowing you’re in my bed, waiting for me.”
“Sure,” I said, feeling all warm and happy. “I’d like that, too.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Jess seems to be recovering from the shock,” London said, her voice dry. We were out at Bam Bam and Dancer’s place—they were another of the club couples—because the Hayes girls hadn’t been able to book The Line on such short notice. My private theory was that it wouldn’t matter how much notice they’d had. One thing I’d learned from watching the Reapers the past year was that if Reese wasn’t on board, it didn’t happen.
Except this party was definitely happening.
Kit, Jessica, and Em had made the best of things, somehow throwing the entire thing together during the time it took Em to drive over from Portland. They’d tried to suck me into it, but no way I wanted to get involved. Reese and Loni had to love them—they were blood relations. Seeing as I was something of an add-on, I didn’t feel like risking it. (Not only that, as a person with a soul, I hated putting Loni on the spot like that.)
I’d spent the afternoon working on my paper instead, right up until the moment that Jessica tricked me into driving to the grocery store with her. She’d dragged me out to the party instead, which even I had to admit was turning out to be fun. Or at least, it’d been fun until the strippers showed up.
Now Jess was sprawled across a stripper’s lap with one arm around his neck, laughing like a crazy woman. A second guy was doing the same with one of the old ladies—Marie—while Kit took pictures with a glee bordering on the obscene. Then a third danced up to Jess, waggling a gold lamé banana hammock in her face.
(Okay, so maybe we weren’t bordering on the obscenity line so much as dancing over its grave.)