Of course she’s staying at Agave. It’s the newest, swankiest luxury resort in downtown Scottsdale. Phoenixhosted the Super Bowl last year and guess where one of the teams stayed? Agave.
I rotate her shoulders the right direction and release her. “Lead the way.”
She makes a face. “Why the hell are you following me there?”
“Accompanying,” I correct.
One hand on her popped hip, head swaying as if on a pendulum, she sasses, “Again I ask, why the hell are you following me there?”
So damn stubborn, this woman.
“You’re drunk, and I don’t want you walking alone.”
“I’m not alone. I’m going to find my sister.” She takes her phone from her purse and brings the screen too close to her face. After reading something, she frowns and puts the phone in her bag. “They’re back at the hotel.”
How nice of them to leave you behind.
I gesture out with an open palm. “Start walking.”
Paisley says something I can’t hear, stares at me for three full seconds, and then, at long last, marches away.
Agave is close by, and it takes all of three minutes to reach it. Paisley’s navigation of the sidewalk is impressive, considering she is both drunk and wearing at least three inch heels. Maybe four. Who the hell knows.
She reaches the sliding glass door entrance, flanked by potted desert flora, and whips around to face me. “You owe me a flashing penis ring.”
My gaze goes to the teenage valet to see if he’s overheard. He’s looking away pointedly, so I’m going to assume he did. I blow out a gusty sigh and answer. “Never going to happen.”
“You”—Paisley steps closer and pokes my chest—“are just jealous because yours doesn’t light up.”
With one eyebrow cocked, I look down at her. “How do you know it doesn’t?”
She gasps and takes a step back, her palm pressed dramatically to her chest. “Was that a joke, Mr. Serious?”
“I would never joke about phallic light shows.”
She releases an annoyed breath. “Literally cannot tell if you’re joking, because your face looks ten kinds of stern.”
“Paisley, there is only one kind of stern. Stern. That’s it.” I hold up a finger. “Just the one.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re as repugnant as you were back then.”
That actually hurts, but I’ll be damned if I show it. Mental note: use the word repugnant in my next novel.
Her chin juts out, head sideways. “I made it in one piece, so yay. Bye.”
Her dismissal sits between us. She doesn’t move, other than to cross her arms in front of herself.
There’s no reason to prolong this, to offer a perfunctory but well-meaningcall me sometime.She knows where I work. If she wants me, she can find me. Not that she’s going to want me at all, for any reason, ever. She is under the impression I ruined her future, and why work to disabuse her of the belief? I probably won’t see her again after tonight.
With my hands crammed into my jeans pockets, my shoulders reach for my earlobes in a silentThere’s nothing left to do here but gomotion.
Paisley says not a word as I turn to leave. I’ve takentwo more steps away when there’s a commotion at the hotel entrance.
A group of women pour out the sliding glass doors. They’re dressed in expensive clothing, talking over one another. One holds her phone in the air and makes face after face as she snaps selfies. Another woman catches sight of Paisley and halts, obviously relieved. “Where have you been?”
Paisley’s gaze falls on me, as do five other pairs of eyes. Everyone looks curious except for the woman wearing the ‘Bride’ hat. She looks delighted.
She approaches, peering at me and clapping her hands twice. “Pais, you didn’t have to get me a stripper.” The fact that she belts out the word ‘stripper’ as if she’s in a Broadway musical takes the horror of this moment and makes me want to find a hole to crawl into.
