From now on, Kirby and I can hang out in the sun in private, without any picture-hunting fans or crazy ex-girlfriends popping up to bother us. I’m imagining all the trouble we’re going to get up to in that hot tub when pain flashes through my calf.
I curse, shaking off the hell beast latched onto my jeans with all four claws. He retreats in a blur, and I spin to point at the clearly unrepentant ebony feline crouched by the coffee table.
“No, Murder! Bad cat,” I say—because that’s what Kirby told me to say, not because I have any hope of getting through to Murder at this stage in our relationship.
By now, we have each other’s numbers and have settled into a pattern of quiet animosity interrupted by periods of sullenness and the occasional violent outburst. His violence, not mine, because I am a grown-up, dammit, and know how to control my homicidal urges.
So even when I grab the little monster by the scruff of the neck to escort him to the second bedroom for a time out, I do so with gentleness. Then I fetch him water and food from the supplies housekeeping left by the bar, push the litter pan inside so he can get to it when he decides to stop pouting and come out from under the bed, and return to the more pressing issues at hand.
Kirby. And where the hell she’s gotten off to.
I do a full sweep of the space, but she’s not in either of the bathrooms or hiding in the walk-in closet. I’m reaching for my phone to shoot her a text when it dings in my back pocket. I pull it out to reveal a message from Regina—You need to come back to the pool and get your friend. She’s having a meltdown by the towel hut. I’ll stay to make sure she’s okay until you get here.
Cursing again, I jog for the door. It only takes a few minutes to get an elevator and another few to be carried back down to the ground floor and make my way through the lobby to the pool, but it feels like an eternity. An eternity during which something bad is happening to Larry, something bad that I would bet my strumming hand Regina is responsible for.
I stride out onto the pool deck, doing my best not to attract attention as I hustle over to the towel cabana and circle around behind it. My heart lurches into my throat as I see Kirby sitting on the ground, curled into herself with her arms wrapped tight around her knees. Regina stands over her like an evil Amazonian bikini queen about to hand down a death sentence.
She looks pissed, which is pretty strange considering Kirby is the distraught one.
I’ve only seen Larry like this a few times before—mostly in high school—but I remember each episode like it was yesterday. Seeing my calm, clever, rarely-loses-her-cool friend huddled in a trembling ball isn’t something I’m ever going to forget.
“Finally.” Regina heaves a sigh. “I don’t know what her damage is, but you clearly shouldn’t leave her alone, Colin.”
“Step back, Regina.” I glare at her as I hurry to Kirby’s side and squat beside her, laying a gentle hand on her back. “Hey, Larry. It’s me. You want to get out of here?”
“Yes.” She pulls in a breath and lets it out with a shuddery sigh, but keeps her head tucked tight. “But can she go away first?”
Regina barks out a laugh. “Oh please, I didn’t do anything to her, Colin. She’s the one who started playing dirty. Have you read the book? Did you see what she did?”
“Any resemblance to people living or dead is coincidental,” Kirby whispers, her voice muffled by her knees. “All characters are creations of the author’s imagination.”
“Right,” Regina says, with an eye roll so hard her entire head gets involved. “You just happened to imagine a man-eating blond bombshell vampire clown with giant fake boobs. And then you just happened to make her devour one of your fan’s favorite characters in the grossest way possible.”
“Not the grossest.” Kirby lifts her head. She’s still alarmingly pale, but she seems to be rallying. “I could have thought of something grosser.”
“Is that a threat?” Regina asks, propping a hand on her hip.
“Just statement of fact,” Kirby replies. “I have a vivid imagination, especially when it comes to gross stuff. I’m sorry that you thought I was writing about you.”
“Sure you are,” Regina says, her voice tight. “And I bet you’re sorry that I have horror nerds leaving shitty comments on all my social media posts. I’m an influencer, Miss Creepy. I have a happy, sexy, positive image to maintain, and you’re screwing it up.”
“I’m sorry.” Kirby’s shoulders hunch. “I’ll make a public statement that you should be left alone. I didn’t know my readers were bothering you.”
Regina’s expression morphs into a mask of false compassion. “Oh no? You didn’t? Little Miss Innocent? Well, I think you’re a liar. A mean liar who’s had a crush on Colin for so long you were willing to do anything to get him in your bed, even resort to slander. Which I could sue you for, you know. My lawyer said so.”
“Lawyers always say shit like that,” I cut in, hoping to calm everyone down before this escalates any further. “They just want your money. And suing Kirby would be a waste of time and energy. You wouldn’t win, and it would only draw attention to something you want forgotten. Leave it alone, and it’ll all blow over in a week or two. People have short attention spans, you know that.”
“Some people certainly do,” Regina says, hurt flashing in her gray eyes before she shifts her gaze back to Kirby. “So be careful, Creepy. You might be hot stuff to him now, but in no time, you’ll be yesterday’s news.”
Regina spins on her heel, stalking away with a grace any runway model would envy. She’s a beautiful, self-possessed woman who can be a lot of fun when she isn’t pissed off. But I still can’t believe I ever got within ten feet of the Chapel of Love with her, let alone walked inside and said “I do.” I must have been out of my damned mind.
Or just so lonely I wasn’t thinking straight.
Turns out loneliness isn’t something that goes away when you become rich and famous. In fact, sometimes it just gets worse.
“I’m so embarrassed.” Kirby relaxes her hold on her knees, slumping back against the side of the hut.
“Why? You didn’t do anything wrong. Regina gets under people’s skin. It’s her number one talent aside from taking really good selfies.”
Kirby shakes her head tiredly, not so much as cracking a smile. “No, I overreacted. She pushed me, but not hard, and I just…crumpled.”
I scowl in the direction Regina recently disappeared. “She shouldn’t have laid a hand on you.”
“No, she shouldn’t have, but there was no reason to go into full meltdown mode.” She drops her head back, looking up at the clear blue sky. “I haven’t had an episode in over a year. I thought I was finally over this shit.”
“But you don’t ever get over PTSD, do you?” I ask, treading carefully. I know she hates to talk about this or anything else related to her shitty childhood. “At least not completely. It can always flare up again, right?”
Kirby’s lips press together, but she continues to pointedly avoid looking my way. “Yeah. It can. Especially when you’re already under stress.”
“Which is why you need a vacation.”
She slides her weary eyes my way. “No, that’s why I need to go home. This plan has been a disaster from its inception, Colin. It’s time for me to catch a flight and for both of us to forget the past twenty-four hours ever happened.”
I sit down beside her, rocking my knee gently into hers. “It hasn’t been a disaster. I can think of lots of nice things that have happened so far. I got to treat you to a belated birthday present, for one. And I got to see you in this swimsuit, which looks as banging as I thought it would, proving that I’m right about most things.”
Her brows lift. “Most things?”
“Yes. Most. Not all, because I dated a crazy person for way too long. But nine out of ten ain’t bad.” I brush my fingers over the back of her hand. “I’m sorry my psycho ex went off on you.”
Kirby’s lips turn down. “She isn’t psycho. She’s hurt,
and I feel terrible. When I was writing that character, it felt fun and harmless, but obviously, it wasn’t. And now it’s too late. I can’t go back and rewrite it. The book’s already going into a second print run, and my publisher would kill me.” She sighs. “Or hang me up by my entrails for breaking the cardinal rule and basing a character on a real person.”
“No one’s getting hung up by their entrails. And you’re not going to rewrite anything. The book is awesome the way it is, and there’s no such thing as bad publicity. Regina’s probably getting followers who never would have heard of her without you.”
“I don’t know, I have a lot of pervy dudes reading my books. The emails I get when they realize KB Lawrence isn’t guy are testimony to that.”
I rest a hand on her thigh and give a light squeeze. “Is it all right that I want to cut the fingers off anyone who’s written you a creepy or threatening email?”
She rests her head on my shoulder. “No, it’s sweet. But you know what they say, a finger for a finger makes the whole world fingerless.”
“No one says that.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.” I rock her limp leg gently back and forth. “But I still want their fingers. I also want you to know that you can call me anytime you feel scared or need to talk. Okay? And I’ll remind you that you don’t have to be ashamed about it. Ever.”
She sighs.
“Okay?” I insist.
“Okay,” she whispers. “That might actually help. Knowing I can call. Hear your voice.”
“Good,” I say, feeling like shit that I didn’t make the offer sooner, that I’ve always just assumed she would reach out if she needed me, even though I know that isn’t Kirby’s style. I need to do a better job of taking care of my number one. Starting now. “How about I carry you upstairs, run you a hot bath, and then tuck you into our sinfully cushy featherbed for a nap?”
“Nah. You know I’m a bad napper. A bad sleeper in general.”
“Not today. Today, you’re going to nap like a champ. And when you wake up, you’re going to feel a thousand times better and be so glad we came.”
“Well, I’ve come, you haven’t yet,” she says with a yawn. “But I’m too tired to deliver the goods right now. Shopping and girl-fighting are exhausting.”
“And you didn’t sleep well on the plane.” I stand, reaching a hand down to help her up. “You were mumbling nonsense pretty much nonstop.”
“That’s how I sleep when I finally get to sleep.” She threads her fingers through mine, and I draw her up to her feet. “I’m chatty. Or moany. Yet another reason we should part ways now, before this friendship gets any more compromised by intimate details.”
“This friendship isn’t compromised,” I scoff. “I love you even more than I did before we left. Put your arms around my neck.”
Her eyes go wide. “No, Colin. You don’t have to—”
I ignore her protest, swooping her into my arms and starting for the elevators.
“Put me down, psycho,” she hisses as she loops an arm over my shoulder. “You’re going to make a scene.”
“It’s Vegas. It will take more than a man carrying a woman through the lobby to make a scene. And this is good for me. Help keep me in shape.” I curl her closer to my chest. “You’re heavier than you look.”
She narrows her eyes. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” I grin down at her. “I like my women solid.”
“I’m not one of your women, I’m me,” she says, clinging to my neck as I reach down to press the arrow by the elevator banks. “And don’t forget it.”
“Oh, I won’t,” I promise, holding her gaze. “That’s why I want you to stay, Larry. I don’t need romance or drama. I need a good friend with benefits, and I think you do, too.” I step inside the elevator and hit fifteen while Kirby taps our key to the sensor to grant us access to the all-suite floor. “And your next benefit is a bubble bath, drawn to your specifications. Just tell me how hot and how many bubbles.”
She hesitates but finally says, “Very hot. And lots of bubbles. I would like all the bubbles, please.”
“All the bubbles, coming up,” I promise, not nearly as sad about our change in plans as I’d have thought I’d be if someone had told me earlier that afternoon delight would turn into bath and nap time.
But I want Kirby happy and on board the Vacation train, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make her feel good about our impulsive decision.
Besides, we’ve waited fifteen years to have co-ed naked friend time. I can wait a little longer. Kirby is worth waiting for.
And she’s going to look very sexy wearing nothing but bubbles.
“Do I get to watch the bath?” I ask as the elevator whisks us upward.
“No,” she says with a laugh. “But maybe next bath. I’ll forward your request to the help desk.”
“The one in your brain?”
“Yes,” she says, laying her head on my shoulder. “It’s actually kind of nice to be carried. Thanks, dude.”
“You’re welcome, Larry.” I kiss her head, a warm, happy-sad feeling spreading through me.
So beautiful it makes your heart feel fragile.
Yeah, that’s Kirby. And that’s exactly right.
Chapter Eight
Kirby
I refuse to think in the bath or as I dry off and don a fluffy robe in lieu of pajamas.
I still have my heels dug in on thinking as Colin tucks me into the sinfully delicious bed, kisses my forehead, and leaves me to drift off to sleep. With the last of my will power, I order my brain not to dream, and then I’m out like the proverbial light.
When I flicker back on again, feeling more rested than I have in months, the sky outside is rosy pink and I have to pee. Badly.
It’s the peeing that does it. Sometimes when you really have to go, it feels so good to let loose it’s almost orgasmic. Well, that’s what it’s like. Orgasmic, or close enough to it that my mind turns to the trouble at hand.
Mainly, the trouble outside on the couch, catching up on his reading, waiting for me to wake up and pounce on him like a tiger stalking a baby elephant through the jungle. It’s against my moral code to hurt a baby elephant or any innocent creature—I haven’t even eaten meat since I was eight—and I’m beginning to think getting sexually involved with my best friend should fall under the same protective umbrella.
Can you love someone too much to bang them?
I think maybe you can. And I think maybe I do.
Do I? Or am I just sabotaging myself? Pushing away pleasure because I’m afraid of losing control when I should be focusing on making hay while the sun shines?
I don’t know, but I need to talk to someone other than Colin before I do something I can never take back.
Creeping back into the bedroom, I grab my cell from beside the bed and shoot a quick text to Bridget. I texted her earlier to let her know about the last-minute Vegas trip, but I spared her the scandalous details. I hate to drag my little sis into my drama, but she’s the only person capable of understanding how serious this situation is. Hey Bridge, you busy?
Almost immediately bubbles fill the screen and then, Not too busy to find out what the heck is going on with you. How on earth did Colin talk you into going to Vegas? You hate Vegas.
I sigh and tap, To be fair, I’ve never been to Vegas, but you’re right. Last night was pretty crazy. Crazy enough that I think if I don’t catch a cab to the airport in the next ten to fifteen minutes… Well, I think Colin and I are going to sleep together.
A wide-eyed emoji pops onto the screen followed by, What?! But you’re friends! Best friends. You’ve known each other since you were fourteen! I’ve always thought of Colin as our brother.
Ew, I reply, nose wrinkling. He’s not like my brother. Yes, we’ve always been friends, but I’ve had other feelings around him sometimes. Those kinds of feelings.
Another wide-eyed emoji and SEX FEELINGS?! is Bridget’s clearly not-on-boa
rd response.
I never should have texted her. I should have known better. Bridget is as much my friend as she is my sister, and she’s known Colin as long as I have, but she’s not the most sexually experienced person. She’s only had one serious boyfriend, and she clearly hasn’t reached the point in her banging journey where she can understand why a person might want to mix pleasure with friendship.
We’re both in between relationships, I shoot back, doing my best to explain. Colin’s looking for some low-key fun before he goes on a sex fast to write songs twenty-four/seven, and I need someone to help me get over the post-breakup hump. I haven’t been with anyone since Peter, and the celibacy is starting to drive me crazy.
A skeptical looking emoji rears its yellow head. So you’re going to let Colin hump you over your hump? And probably ruin fifteen years of friendship in the process? Is it worth it, Kirby? Really?
I hesitate, nibbling my lip as I watch the lights glitter on across the skyline. It’s the same question that’s been pinging around in my head since I woke up on the plane. Sort of. Bridget is missing one key part of the puzzle, however—one she needs in order to give comprehensive advice.
Heart racing, I take a deep breath and type out the truth for the first time, If secretly having a thing for him for the past few years hasn’t ruined it, maybe sleeping with him won’t, either?
Bubbles fill the screen, then stop. Bubbles, then stop. Bubbles, stop, bubbles, stop, until I’ve nearly chewed a hole in my lip by the time Bridget replies, Oh, Kirby. I’m sorry. I had no idea.
Eyes squeezing shut, I flop back on the bed with a muffled groan. I hate pity. I always have, even back when I was the kind of kid people couldn’t help but feel sorry for. But no matter how many times my mom screamed at me or locked me in the pantry for daring to back talk on a day when mental illness had taken her beyond the bounds of decent behavior, I didn’t want pity. Help, support—yes, but never pity.
The Bangover Page 6
