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Frankie stops in his tracks, raising his eyebrows.
“Yeah, I think we gotta get her home,” Trevor nods, jerking his thumb toward the ladies’ room door.
“We’ll be right back,” I assure him.
“Yeah, of course,” he shrugs, then fishes the keys out of his pocket and tosses them to me.
It’s nice to have a team. I love it that these guys always have my back. That we can communicate on a deep level without saying every single word. I love it that my brothers trust me. I love it that Diego knew exactly who to turn to, to get this lady what she needed.
It’s important to have a team. Everyone should have one.
Chapter 8
LINDY
On Wednesdays, I don’t have class until two in the afternoon. And it is a good thing, because I woke up… Barely.
At ten o’clock, I had to stumble to the bathroom to throw up.
At eleven, I woke up long enough to wonder how the heck I got home?
At noon, my forehead started pulsing out the beginning of a White Stripes song.
But at one o’clock, I convinced myself I had to get up. I needed to get a shower, get some breakfast from the cafeteria—whatever my stomach could stand—and get to my Wednesday afternoon class.
In the shower, I felt like I was still sweating whiskey. Shivers raced up and down my body as I stood there in the warm stream, wishing I could roll back time and just not have that last drink. That was the one that did me in. As soon as I sipped the fiery liquid across my tongue, something in the back of my head told me:oh, sweetie, that was a mistake.
And then, wait… Ansel’s hand? On my thigh?
That can’t be right. I remember Seattle laughing and laughing. I remember dozens of pictures. Trying to play along.
The tapas! That was delicious.
All of a sudden, my stomach flip-flops. Maybe it was delicious, but if there is any left inside of me I don’t want to know.
Please God, no. Please no.
I lean forward against the tile wall, balancing on the heels of my hands and breathing deeply while the shower pelts the back of my neck. I am not going to throw up. Not again. Definitely not.
The sensation passes in a few minutes, but I stand there an extra long time. Just to be sure. As I close my eyes, a few more images come back to me.
Seattle was wearing something ridiculous, something that looked like a public beach changing room. She dragged me to the bar. Ansel was there, buying drinks and dinner. I was just supposed to be playing along, and then I had too many…
And I danced with Diego?
No. That must be a hallucination. Or a whiskey dream.
No, I remember music starting up. The bass. I could feel it on the backs of my thighs. It was nice. The lights, swirling. The sip of whiskey…
And falling.
Into Diego.
I am almost certain that happened. I remember him picking me up, staring at me, kind of smiling. That smirk that he gets sometimes, like he’s thinking something funny he is not going to tell. He was much different up close. I could see the shadow of stubble along his jaw.
I have seen your dick before!
The words come floating back to me like they are written on the inside of a magic eight-ball fortune teller. Oh my God. I said those words, right to him.
