“Ooooh…” She drags out the word and then giggles.
Jesus.
“I’m at the pool. It’s so fucking hot.”
Alarm bells start to go off in my head. It’s the middle of summer, and Las Vegas is hot on a normal day. In July? It must be unbearable. “How long have you been out there, Pres?”
“I’m not sure. A while. I was going to get breakfast, but then I decided the pool sounded more fun.”
Shit. “Is there a bartender around anywhere? Or a pool attendant?”
“Um.” There’s a pause, and I hope to God she’s actually looking around the pool deck and not staring at her feet or something. “Oh! Found one! There is a bartender over there!”
Does she think I can see him?
“Great, that’s perfect. Can you do me a favor and walk over to him?”
“Sure, why?”
“Call it an early birthday surprise.”
“You remembered my birthday?” Her voice turns serious. It’s the most sober I’ve heard her since she answered the phone.
“Of course I did.”
“Jace never remembered anything I said,” she says softly, and I don’t know what surprises me more—the fact that she’s comparing me to her ex or that I like that I come out on top.
“Well, he is an asshole and didn’t deserve you.” The words slip out of my mouth before I can stop them.
But I can’t help it. I’ve been holding them in for over a month.
“You’re right.” She simply agrees before I hear her say, “I’m at the bar.”
The quick change of subject jars me a little, but I remember why I sent her there and focus on that. “Good. Now tell him your friend would like to talk to him.”
“What?”
“Just trust me.”
I can hear a hint of apprehension in her voice. “Okay.”
She must press the phone to her chest or put it on the bar top because everything sounds a little muffled. But, from what I canhear, the bartender sounds slightly confused by her request, but is amenable.
That or he’s simply flirting with her and willing to do whatever she asks in hopes of getting in her good graces.
Suddenly, there’s a shuffle, and I hear a deep voice say, “Hello?”
“Hi, who am I speaking with?”
“Uh, Mike?” He answers as if he’s not entirely sure. I hear Presley giggle, and I’m pretty sure I have my answer to my previous question—definitely flirting. Still is, if I had to guess.
“Hi, Mike,” I say through gritted teeth. “My name is Hollis, and in front of you is my good friend, Presley.”
“Your friend is hot, Hollis.”
“Not really part of your job description, Mike,” I growl.
“Just an observation.”
