“If you really loved my best friend Riley, you would totally learn to sing Spice Girls,” Jasmine slurred.
“You’re really pretty when you’re drunk, Jas.”
“So are you, Rye. Like so pretty. Even without all the beautiful makeup.”
“Watch your heads, ladies,” Nick said, stuffing them both into the back seat of his SUV.
“Let’s pretend we’re super-rich and that Nick is our driver,” Jasmine suggested. “What should we call him?”
Riley gave it a significant amount of thought that made her feel sleepy. “How about…umm…Nick!”
“Take us to karaoke, Driver Nick!”
28
5:17 p.m., Monday, August 17
Nick nudged the bedroom door open and stepped inside. An episode of Riley’s favorite TV show,Made It Out Alive, was demonstrating the proper way to stay safe during a livestock stampede. He opened the shades with a satisfying snap.
“Mmmph!” His girlfriend complained from the center of the bed. She had one arm thrown over her face. Her other arm was pinned beneath Burt, who was resting his head on her shoulder, looking at Riley adoringly while his tail wagged against the mattress.
“Morning, sunshine,” Nick said cheerfully. “How hungover are you?”
“Oh, God,” she rasped. “Is it really morning?”
He grinned as she glared at the sun streaming through the window over the fire escape.
“I’m just messing with you, Thorn. It’s still Monday. Coffee or sports drink?”
“Mmm, coffee,” she decided, then yawned. Burt took the opportunity to French kiss her.
“Ew, barf,” she groaned but gave the dog a series of noisy kisses on top of his gigantic head.
The thumping increased. “I think our dog is in love with you,” Nick observed as he handed over the mug of coffee and put the bottle of Gatorade down on the nightstand.
“Yoo-hoo! Burty boy! Aunt Lily made you a special T-R-E-A-T!” Lily called from downstairs.
Burt’s ears perked up, and then he launched himself through the door.
“He has got to be the most spoiled dog on the planet,” Riley mused, working her way into a seated position while gulping coffee. She frowned at him. “Wait. Are we still fighting?”
“You’re really groggy after a nap, aren’t you?” he noted.
“I’m not at my sharpest,” she admitted, then took another hit of caffeine. “Okay, horrible day at Channel 50—which, by the way, seems to be circling the drain. Someone should just burn that building down. The whole thing is falling apart. Busted Mrs. Penny. Busted you. Drunk makeover. Deviled eggs. You refusing to sing Spice Girls with Jasmine and me in the car. Okay, I don’t think anything is missing.”
“While you were passed out drunk, I sprung Mrs. Penny from the emergency department,” Nick told her. “They didn’t believe her when she said she was working undercover for a PI until I showed up.”
“Serves you both right.” She sniffed and guzzled the sports drink.
“You’re a little fuzzy on the part where I not only told you I loved you—which I’m totally not freaking out yet that you haven’t said it back. And then I let you into my head so you could see first-hand what a fucked-up mess I am.”
She gave him a small smile. “Oh, right. I must have forgotten that part.”
“Well, now you’re caught up, and you have thirty minutes to wash the drag show off your face.”
She slapped a hand to her face and came away with fake lashes on her middle finger. “Shit.”
“Serves you right,” he teased and headed for the door. “Now, get ready.”
