Hell no. That’s not happening.
I hear a buzz, and he reaches into his jacket’s inner pocket, taking out my phone. He frowns when he sees who’s calling. “It’s your brother.”
He places my phone on the table and slides it to me. “Put him on speaker after you answer. Tell him that we spent the night together, you had a wonderful time, and you’ll be staying with me for a while. Make it sound convincing.”
“Hello.”
“Where the fuck are you?” I hear the panic in my brother’s voice.
“Calm down, Adam. I’m fine. I’m with Tristan Broussard.”
I’m fine. I’m with Tristan Broussard.Those two sentences don’t belong in the same conversation.
“You said that already in your voicemail, but what the hell have you been doing with Tristan-fucking-Broussard all night long?”
Tristan forms an O with one hand and thrusts one of his fingers in and out of the hole. Fucking perv.
“No,” I mouth and shake my head.
He chuckles and I consider putting my foot against his crotch and crushing the shit out of his balls. To hell with the consequences.
“He asked security to bring me up to his suite; he wanted to meet me.” Hear what I’m telling you, Adam. Security brought me to his suite. I’m still in the building. Come for me.
“That rich fucker can probably get laid by just about any woman on earth, but he chooses to meet you?”
What is that shit supposed to mean? “What’s wrong with me?”
“Nothing is wrong with you, but card counters and casino owners don’t mix. You’re asking for trouble by spending time with him.” Adam sighs. “Are you sure that you’ve not been made?”
“It’s cool. He doesn’t know anything.” Adam and I have never had that twin telepathy thing, but I wish like hell that we did.
“You spent the night with him.” Disappointment. Confusion. Doubt. I hear all of it in Adam’s voice.
“He likes to talk.” That sounds so dumb. A man like Tristan Broussard doesn’t bring a woman up to his suite totalk.
“Did you fuck him?”
“No. I can’t believe that you’d ask me that.”
Tristan grins and whispers, “Time’s up.”
This is it. I have to let Adam know that being here with Tristan Broussard isn’t by choice.
I clear my throat and cough once. “Hmm.” Our longtime signal at the table when something has gone sideways. Please pick up on my distress call, Adam.
“Breakfast is getting cold. I need to go.”
“When should I expect you home?”
I wish that I knew. “Not sure. I’m thinking of hanging out here for a while.”
“Dad will shit when he finds out that you’re with Tristan Broussard.”
I consider asking Adam to not tell Dad. I wouldn’t want him to have a setback because he becomes upset. But I keep my mouth shut; I suspect that he may be my only way out of this mess.
“I’m an adult. Not a lot that he can say about it.”
“You know better than that. He’ll probably come and drag you out by your hair.”
