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‘You’re shitting me.’ The rich rumble of Sam’s laughter echoed through the receiver.
‘What’s so goddamn funny?’
‘You don’t have a clue, do you?’ Sam replied, making Brent’s temper ignite.
‘A clue about what?’
‘You hooked up with the Blind Date Bitch, man. That is so awesome.’
‘It is not awesome, Sam. Are you on something? She’s a hooker.’
‘You wish.’ Sam carried on chuckling, making Brent’s short hairs stand on end. This didn’t feel like being the punchline for one of Sam’s jokes. It felt worse than that. It felt like the time Della had posted that picture of him on Facebook. It felt as though he’d just been outed as the biggest jackass on the planet. Again.
‘She’s not a pro, Brent, she’s a social media sensation with a bad attitude and a seriously smart mouth.’
‘Huh?’
‘The Blind Date Bitch? You haven’t heard of her? She’s got like a billion followers.’
‘You know I hate all that social media BS,’ he said, but the comment lacked bite, as a giddy sense of relief washed over him.
This was good news. Tally wasn’t a call-girl. What had happened between them had been real. He hadn’t crossed that line after all. There was nothing that...
And then his mind snagged on the note he’d propped on the bedside table. He scrubbed his hand over his mouth, his stomach bottoming out. And the money.
Shit.
No woman, however ballsy and liberated, was going to take that as a compliment. And knowing the little he did about Tally—she was going to want to kick his ass, big time. Why that should seem kind of hot was probably a sign he’d finally gone off the deep end.
‘Oh, man.’ Sam’s ominous tone interrupted the new surge of heat to Brent’s crotch. ‘You are in serious trouble.’
‘How? Why?’ But he figured he knew why. And the tidal wave of relief was quickly being surpassed by a tsunami of really bad karma.
‘Do you have a Twitter account?’
‘You know I don’t.’
‘You might want to get one. Because there’s one hell of a shitstorm going down on there...and you are right in the middle of it, pal.’
‘But I don’t know the first thing about Twitter.’ Even though he was a tech geek who had built a million-dollar business portfolio around finding coding solutions for start-ups, he’d always hated the artificiality of ‘connecting’ with people on social media. He’d only ever had a Facebook account, and he’d deleted that three years ago after Della had decided to wage war with him via her status updates.
‘Doesn’t matter, there’s a hunt on for Blind Date Bitch’s latest date, and the photo she tweeted two hours ago has already been retweeted over a thousand times.’
‘She tweeted a photo of me?’ The flush of heat exploded in his cheeks as his balls shrank to a quarter of their normal size. ‘Please tell me I’ve got my pants on?’
Hell, no, not again. This cannot be happening again.
‘Relax, buddy, looks like she took it in the bar.’
‘Thank Christ.’ But even as he thought it, he could feel his temper brewing. And right beneath it was a sharp stab of hurt. Sure, he’d screwed up by leaving the note. But did that excuse what she’d done? Hell, no.
Had she been using him all along? As fodder for her damn Twitter feed? It sure looked that way.
‘What the heck did you do?’ Sam chuckled some more, not helping with Brent’s temper control. ‘She sounds pissed.’
She wasn’t the only one.
Brent grabbed his iPad. Maybe he’d screwed up, but goddamn it, he didn’t need to take this lying down.
