“I wouldn’t be harping at all if we were still kissing. But you were too distracted.”
The emphasis on the last word was delivered with another wry smile and a swirl of cigarette smoke.
Monty sighed and stood up, dusting off his trousers. “Well, I’d better go, um?—”
“Rescue your friend from phantom blonds. I know. Give him my regards.”
Monty batted a hand at him as he stumbled away. The three drinks were beginning to have an impact. Suddenly, the inside of the house felt a bit too warm and a bit too crowded. He headed to the buffet and felt an inexplicable surge of disappointment that Hilliard wasn’t there. He wandered from room to room, looking among the people standing first, and then at the heads of people on the sofas, chairs, and floor. Every time he saw a man with Hilliard’s hair color locking mouths with another partygoer, his stomach would clench, and then relax as soon as he identified them as someone else. He blamed it on the alcohol. He probably shouldn’t have consumed so much so fast after a week of no drinking.
After he’d finished combing through the bottom floor, he begrudgingly made his way upstairs. Edie had at least half a dozen spare bedrooms that people always put to good use during the parties. The only room in the entire house that was off-limits was Edie’s own bedroom. He methodically worked his way through the second floor, poking his head into bedrooms and murmuring “‘Scuse me. ‘Pologies,” whenever the occupants looked up in annoyance at the interruption. Though one couple invited him to join them, and he hazily turned them down.
Halfway through his search through the upstairs rooms, he started to feel dizzy. Maybe once he found Hilliard, he could persuade him to take them home. He’d been Icarus, drinking too close to the sun. He didn’t even want to think about what Hilliard would make him take in the morning.
When he’d exhausted every room possible, the only option remaining was the off-limits one. He deeply did not want to imagine Hilliard locked in Edie’s embrace. Wait. Hilliard wasn’t into women. Right? Cheered, he stumbled over to the final door and practically collapsed with relief. Hilliard was sitting on a circular bed, alone. No, not quite alone. Next to him on the satin sheets was a cat.
Chapter 14
Hilliard
Hilliard glanced up when the door opened. Monty was there, looking far too happy to see him after essentially promising that he’d be otherwise preoccupied until well past midnight. His wristwatch said it was only a little after ten.
“You okay?” Hilliard asked, casual laced with concern. He continued scratching his black and white companion under the chin.
“Missed you,” Monty said. That was all Hilliard needed to hear to know that Monty had been drinking, at the very least.
“I figured you’d come and find me when you were, ah…finished,” Hilliard told him, choosing that last word carefully.
Monty closed the door behind himself with a solid click. He walked across the spanse of the bedroom, treading over Edie’s plush rug, past the cozy sitting area by the fireplace that was presently unlit, and crawled onto the bed. The sheets were a deep purple color and Hilliard secretly loved them.
“Never got started,” Monty mumbled into his folded arms after flopping down onto his stomach. He remained in that position for only a few seconds before he turned his face and rested his cheek against his forearms instead. “Who’s your friend?”
“This is Valentino,” Hilliard said with a grin. The cat was a purring machine, doing most of the work himself as he forced his little chin down against Hilliard’s curled fingers.
Monty hummed. “He dressed up for the party, too.”
Valentino did appear dapper in his fur suit, complete with a dash of black on the white under his nose. It gave him the appearance of sporting a thin, somewhat lopsided mustache.
“He’s a very handsome little man,” Hilliard agreed, cooing his words the way animals often liked. “Yes he is.”
Monty shifted his weight so that he could stroke Valentino’s back. After the first pass, the cat was on his feet, arching contentedly into the touch. Hilliard put his hand in his lap and reclined more against the countless pillows and decorative headboard to give Monty his turn with the friendly critter. His legs were stretched out in front of him at an angle, careful not to get his shoes on the bed–a courtesy the man beside him had not observed.
Monty closed his eyes and let out a long breath before he said, “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“How do you feel about blonds?”
Hilliard laughed, forehead wrinkling at the odd question.
“You mean like Edie?” As many others in the industry did, she bleached her hair nearly white. She’d worn it that way for so many years that he could hardly recall what color it used to be. A mousy brown, perhaps, or something close to it. “I like them just fine, I suppose. It seems like a lot of work to maintain.”
“No,” Monty moaned plaintively, dragging the word out. “I mean how do you feel about them?”
Hilliard’s lips arched into a slight frown.
“You’re asking if I’m attracted to people with blond hair?”
Monty nodded, which looked more like he was rubbing his face against the navy fabric of his jacket sleeve.
