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“Led, as much as I’d love to hear about the dirty, dirty things you do in the dark, I don’t want to hear about them if they involve my brother,” I said. “I’ve already been dealt a kill-shot by one beautiful woman. I’m not ready to make it two.”
“One, gross. Two, who? What happened and which Latin country is she from?”
“Her name is Mia,” I said, still driving away from Destiny’s house. “She turned my happy huevos into sad huevos, and as far as I can tell ... Puerto Rico. She cussed at me.”
Zeppelin snorted. “I have so many damn questions, but I don’t want to ask about your huevos. If she cusses at you, I like her. Will you see her again?”
I hadn’t really considered it. “For the record, I really meant eggs. But I don’t know. She’s a waitress and ... didn’t seem impressed with me at all. I might’ve been drunk. And messy. And a little stinky,” I admitted. “She’ll probably do a lot worse than cuss at me if I go back.”
“A waitress caught your eye?” I could hear her shock through the receiver. “Go back sober. It’s the only way you’ll know how foggy those beer goggles were. And she can’t kick you out, you’re a paying customer.”
I smiled a little in spite of myself as I remembered the fiery, sassy Mia Camilla. “Oh, she could. She absolutely could, but that’s a conversation for another day. Thanks for talking me off the ledge, Led. I won’t insult you by trying to say I’m going back tonight, but I am almost at my hotel so I won’t keep you. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do.”
“Guess I can go bake some pie or fuck your brother.” She sighed like her choices were hard and I groaned in response. “Really though, call me if you need me, okay? And call Charlie, too. He was talking about you yesterday when I was at work and how your birth was nine hours long. Poor Ellie, but a great reminder of why we’re never having kids.”
“Rude, Led. That’s rude. And suddenly now I’m going through a tunnel, okay I love you, bye!” I slowly pulled the phone away from my face and hung up on her, then tossed the stupid thing onto the seat.
I had too much to think about, too much to drink about, and too strong of a flight reflex to do anything but go back to my hotel and sleep. I’d do everyone involved a favor and stay out of Sunday’s tomorrow if I got drunk enough to merit another hangover, but if I wanted to have any chance of kicking Lucifer and his woman out of my house, I needed sleep. Rest. A chance to recharge, to reset ... and maybe a half dozen orgasms if I wanted to be calm enough to keep my head.
Me, keeping my head?
Wouldn’t that be a fucking first.
