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He's usually the menace to women. I don't know how I'm suddenly the villain, so when he slams his chair back, throws his napkin on his half-finished breakfast, and storms off, I let him. Whatever his problem is, it's nothing I've done.
Baylee looks to me, unsure of what to do. She'd been picking up steam before. Other than Greg, the men have been kind to her, amused but respectful. Luke set her off her rhythm, but I nod and she continues on. By the time she's back to me, I have her seat pulled out, and when I push her back in, I make sure she's close enough our knees brush. With Luke gone, the air is lighter, and nobody gives a second glance to the fact I'm giving Baylee her first gift — and breaking the no-sex brunch rule — by sliding my fingers past her panties. She's such a good girl that she keeps a straight face and uses her napkin to feign wiping her mouth as she orgasms in my palm.
"Quite the scene there," Crenshaw laughs after brunch. The jet leaves in another two hours. Our bags are being packed by the crew. We have this interlude to relax before we leave the women to their own devices for the next couple weeks, a vacation for putting up with us this weekend – and the time frame needed to start passing pregnancy tests.
But we've already said goodbye to them. Our masks are being packed, we're no longer allowed in their wing, they're sequestered until we leave.
I know nothing about Baylee, not really. I know the broad strokes of her history, the one-page summary of the tragedy that it was. I know she likes drawing snakes and skulls and thorns on herself.
I know she has a long scar on her left hip and a single strawberry tattoo hidden beneath the permanent marker. I know her eyes are dark brown as rich as chocolate.
I know her cunt is like a fist on my cock when she comes.
But I don'tknowher, so as we walk into the billiard room for one last game, I respond with a casual shrug instead of telling Crenshaw everything Baylee will get for being such a good girl. "Just living my best life," I murmur.
"You gonna try to see her back home? I could help you track her down."
I wouldn't need his help. The spelling of her name and the story she told me about her past, including both sisters' names and mom's rap sheet, was enough for my investigator to give me her most recent address, a complete list of her foster homes, the location of her sister's kids, and even her high school transcripts already. "Nah, this was just for fun."
That's the truth. I needed that info to give Baylee her gift. Gifts. I'm not going to pursue Baylee. She's a stranger, and she's a child. Yes, I'll have her watched and protected, but I'd rather she remain a string of perfect, insane, sex-drunk memories in my mind while she lives out whatever her reality is.
A harsh laugh booms from a corner of the room, and only then do I realize that Luke's already here, sitting in a chair in the relative dark just beyond the windows, his tablet in hand. Probably working. Funny, I'm the one who usually runs to the office when I'm feeling overwhelmed, and he's the one who hunts down pussy.
"Look, I don't know what your problem is this weekend," I start, "but—"
"My problem is you!" he bellows, jumping up from his chair and pacing back and forth in front of that window, no doubt because he wants to fight me, physically. This is what we do in these moments.
"I haven't done anything!" I yell back, throwing my hands in the air, nearly smacking Will and Everett, who have both come in to see what the commotion's about. They hug the walls as they walk deeper into the room, but Crenshaw stays near me.
Battle flanks. They're bracing themselves to jump in if we go at each other.
I'm not going to go at Luke. I don't understand any of this.
"You weren't supposed to pull this shit," he hisses. "This shit with you and that girl."
"Baylee?" I correct, not liking the tone he saysthat girlin. I already know I'm going to have a problem if she has a baby and it turns out to be his, but that's on me. She could be the mother of his child. He shouldn't saythat girllike that. "You told me we were supposed to fuck and have fun here, and that's what I did. With Baylee, because you — you, Luke — you told me she was the one."
"I didn't mean it like that!"
I roll my eyes up to the goddamn ceiling, about over his shit. "How did you mean it, then? What is your deal with Baylee?"
"I don't have a deal with Baylee, it was never about Baylee. It was about—" He cuts himself off, scrubbing his face roughly, and then flops back on the chair. "Never mind."
"No, absolutely the fuck not," I yell at him, because now I'm pissed. Baylee was the last one I had any interest in. Whatever this is, it’s his fault. "You're not going to tear into me and then huff off just because I'm calling you out on it. We didn't survive a decade of this bullshit from both Ryder and Taylor and then 24-7 Sophie therapy just for you to pull this stunt. What is this about?"
He stares me hard in the eye from all the way across the room as he says, "This is about you. You and your whore."
I lunge at him.
If anyone asks me later, I won't be able to explain it. Literally every man in the room —which is all ten of us by now — has called her a whore at my request. I told Luke to yesterday just like I told the others. But the way he says it now?
I lunge.
Crenshaw and Paul both catch me. Crenshaw's soft, would be nothing to get through, but Paul was a linebacker in his college days and kept the build. I can't get through him.
I don't want to. Luke's my best friend. I don't trust myself to not go too hard on him. I just don't understand, and now he's talking shit about my girl. Notmygirl, not like that, but she's mine. I'd attack him if he went at my kids the same way and they didn't deserve it.
I think. Usually I'm the one to call them out. Luke's a pushover.
