Page 20 of Down Beat
Oh, yeah… thanks, Em.
“Seriously? Is your memory that lousy?” She lifts a perfectly shaped eyebrow.
Curvy little thing looks quite delicious in a figure-hugging skirt and top thingy.
“Have we…?” I flick a finger between us. Her lips flatten, and it dawns on me where the fuck I’ve seen her before. “Café girl!”
“Yeah,” she drones. “Café girl. Anyway—”
“I’d love to stop and chat, but babe, I’m a little busy. Another time, yeah?”
Her hands stamp her hips. This bitch isn’t amused. “Busy doing what?”
A holler drifts from inside the lounge bar. Her darkly made up eyes shift in the direction of the ruckus.
“That.” I thumb toward the bar. “Nice seeing you again, though.”
She catches my arm as I step away. “No. You’re not blowing me off that easy. Tabitha’s looking for you.”
“She’s here?” Fuck. Did that sound as eager as I think it did?
Judging by the wide-eyed stare I’m currently receiving, it did. Damn.
“Yeah. She’s at the reception, trying to get ahold of you.”
I snort. “Good luck with that.” We don’t pay extra under the table for the hotel staff to give our whereabouts out to any old person off the street.
The doors to the lounge bar burst open, Pete hustling one very inebriated Emery out of the place in an arm bar while the moron sings Offspring’s “Self Esteem” as loud as he fucking can.
Shit.
“Follow.” I gesture for Café Girl to tag along, half-jogging to catch up with Pete so I can clip Emery around the back of the head. “What the fuck, man?”
“Hey,” he greets with a huge smile. His free hand fumbles against his jeans, his fucking feet tangling in themselves. The only thing that saves him from going down face-first is Pete’s hold on him. “Check this out.” Somehow, amongst the tangle of limbs and scuffed feet, he manages to pull his phone out.
I take it from him, wrinkling my nose at the home screen. “You rearranged your apps?”
“Nah.” He chuckles as Pete dumps him on the sofa beside Kris’s. “Open Messenger.”
“Don’t go anywhere,” Café Girl murmurs, leaning in close. “I’ll go get Tabitha.”
“Tabitha?” Toby asks, watching the tidy thing as she hustles across the lobby.
“Yeah, Tabby.” I fight the urge to look up and search her out, focusing instead on the most recent message in Emery’s inbox. Bitch. No wonder he’s a fucking mess.
“I’m going to buy her a ticket, man,” Em rambles, spread-eagled over the cushions. “Bring her out to join us for the rest of the tour.”
“Fuck off,” Kris mutters.
He hates the manipulating piece of shit as much as I do. Fuck, as much as all of us do.
“She’s not coming anywhere near the tour,” I snap, tossing the phone back at him.
It ricochets off his arm, leaving him in a heap on the floor as he tries to retrieve it. “Come on, Rey.”
“Come on, nothing. If she wants to play fuckin’ mind games with you when we’re home, then fine. But you’re not flying her here to do it.”
“Jesus, man,” Toby says with a frown. “You’d spend a grand to bring the bitch here?”