“Quick question, while I’ve got you.” He held up his quick-question fingertip. “Where are we getting married?”
She huffed a chuckle. So much had happened over the past few weeks that she’d totally forgotten she hadn’t told him. Or, rather, not told him a second time.
Right, so she may be practically sleepwalking to her apartment, but that right there wasfunny.
“No one’s told you?” She sort of figured someone would’ve spilled the beans by now. C’mon with the wedding so close, surely someone had told him?
“Everyone’s lips are sealed because, apparently, this is humorous. Me losing my brains here, baby cakes, is hysterical.” He shoved his hands at his waist. “I don’t see why this is so funny. If I don’t know where to be, then I can’t show up. Then you’ll have to marry Tanner and explainthatto TMZ.”
He’d started talking with his hands, and the guy should be more careful with flinging his hands around like that or he would lose the towel pretty quick.
Then again, she could find out exactly how good he was at manscaping—
“You’ll be there. Don’t worry.” She wasn’t feeling very saucy, but she still gave him a wry smile she hoped held a teeny-tiny punch.
“You’re not going to tell me?”
She shook her head. “Not until you put on some clothes.”
“On it. Get dressed, too, Sweet Potato. Have I got plans for you? Yes, yes, I do.” He pointed to her before slinking back into Courtney’s apartment and closing the door.
He was here and he was Knox and she was here and…
Alone in the fluorescent lighting of the hallway, she stared at the closed door. One beat. Two. Her eyelids got heavier. Her feet seemed to be stuck in place on light blue carpet tiles. Maybe she could just lean against the chipped white paint of the doorframe for a minute. The residual glue would probably hold her in place until morning.
She shook her head before she actually fell asleep standing up.
Knox could have all the plans in the world, but she had a four a.m. call time tomorrow, only a handful of hours to memorize her lines, confirm with the florist via email, and try to catch enough sleep that she didn’t pass out at the studio. Being a grown-up was not fun at all tonight.
Instead of getting swankied up to go out with Knox, she scrubbed at the leftover adhesive, and pulled on her cuddliest pajamas—the pink ones with the cute boy shorts and matching slippers. Then she put on a pot of coffee so she didn’t fall asleep mid-memorization. Maybe she could lean against the wall and close her eyes just long enough for the coffee to drip? Yes, this was a good plan, she decided, as the numbness of sleep had already started taking over and she was drifting in a world of Knox and white towels and showers…
The wall pressed against her cheek as fatigue dragged her along. Someone was knocking on the door, calling her name, but she didn’t want to wake up. Sleep mattered more than anything else.
“Irina?” Knox called. He knocked again.
She peeled her eyelids open.Knox!
Grabbing her script, she sauntered across the small room to the door, checked the peephole—yup, Knox—and opened it.
“Hi,” she said, not allowing her gaze to roam any further than a cursory glance.
“Uh,” Knox said from the doorway. “We’ve got plans, Scooby Doo Lou Who.”
“I have plans.” Sadly, she held up the script. “I can pencilyouin a couple weeks from now?”
He frowned and strode into the room. “We’re getting married a couple weeks from now.”
“Yup.” She didn’t want to admit that he looked good, actually. Not that he was ever woof, but tonight he’d put on slacks and a button-up shirt. He’d even combed his hair and sprayed cologne. If the scented air wafting around him was any sign.
Her one-bedroom apartment wasn’t very large, but it was in a nicer neighborhood and had a kick-ass huge window all along one side. She took the cut to her space in order that she didn’t have to worry about her car getting keyed overnight, and her mother popped in to use the natural light for her artwork whenever she needed—which was all the time.
Knox started to lift the corner of the sheet Irina had draped over Mom’s latest.
“You don’t want to do that,” she said, hurrying toward him and smoothing the sheet. “Mom’s an artist and you will find nothing under there but bad dreams.”
Bad dreams and a landscape made up of nude models.
Knox lifted his eyebrows in question but moved away from the art—thank goodness.
