Dirty Love (Dirty Girl Duet #2)(8)
The sunlight streaming in through the window isn’t the blindingly beautiful Belizean sun. No, it’s . . . Where the hell am I again? My head aches and my mouth tastes like days-old caviar. Blech. For the record? I hate caviar.
I take in my surroundings while moving as little as possible. Delicate white wooden furniture, lilac wallpaper, and lace curtains. The room of a girl, not an adult.
Right. Kentucky. Creighton stashed the sister who can’t keep her shit together in Holly’s gran’s house in the backwoods.
Noises come from the kitchen below, along with the scent of bacon. Creighton? Cav? No, not Cav. Because that son of a bitch lied to me from the beginning.
Squeezing my eyes closed against the prick of tears, I can see his face right before Creighton stormed in on our little haven. Determination. Sadness. Guilt.
“I love you. You’re mine. And not even Creighton Fucking Karas is going to keep us apart.”
Sorry, Cav. That’s where you’re wrong.
Everything else that happened after is a blur courtesy of my screwed-up emotions and vodka.
Lately, I’ve become all too familiar with the state of hungover as hell. Do I have a problem? I don’t even know if I’m in denial because I’ve never thought about it. Clue number one that I should back off on the booze solves all ills school of problem-solving is how crappy I feel right now.
And then I remember the Twitter stunt.
Shit.
Did I delete it?
Searching the surface of the small nightstand next to the bed, I come up empty when I look for my phone. Oh crap. Did I lose it?
More noise comes from downstairs, and I decide that even with the pounding headache and questionable stomach, I need to get my ass out of bed and downstairs to find out what the plan is and when I can actually go home. I know I’m going to face another lecture about drinking and tweeting, but I can face that as long as the reward is breakfast.
A small bag Creighton liberated from my apartment rests on top of a desk, and I grab the necessities and make my way into the small connecting bathroom.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m showered, dressed, and making my way downstairs.
“Thought you’d sleep forever when you didn’t rush down here at the smell of bacon,” a familiar voice calls out before I reach the kitchen.
Cannon has been part of my life since Creighton’s business really took off. They were friends before that, but apparently not the kind you introduce your little sister to. I had a mad crush on him when I was younger, but it didn’t take long for him to become another annoying older brother who liked to tell me what to do and spoil my fun. My crush died hard and fast.
“I was out, I guess. Where’s Crey?”
I lower myself into a chair, attempting not to jar my head too much. I scavenged some ibuprofen from the medicine cabinet upstairs, but considering it expired four years ago, I’m not holding my breath that it’s going to work any miracles.
Cannon slides a plate in front of me—scrambled eggs and bacon. Nothing fancy, but then again, he’s no gourmet chef. Actually, I think he employs a chef.
“Thank you.”
He doesn’t answer my question about my brother until he sits down across from me at the wooden table that takes up the center of the small kitchen.
“Crey headed back to Nashville. He didn’t want to be away from Holly any longer than he had to be. Actually, I’m shocked he didn’t let me go after you without him, because he hasn’t been leaving her side for anything lately.”
Guilt settles in my sour stomach, and the appeal of the food in front of me falls several notches. Silence hangs between us for long moments until the sound of a toaster popping interrupts.
“Maybe toast is a better idea for you.”
Cannon stands again, and I let my gaze follow him as he butters the white bread toast and drops two slices of it on my plate.
How long has it been since I had white bread? A million years? My aunt served the kind of bread you could kill someone with if you swung it hard enough at his head. Basically, the consistency of a paperweight—but packed with healthy benefits.
I reach for the toast and crunch into it, finding that I’m not as hungover as the last time I got hammered and did something completely idiotic. I thought I was so smart for getting Cav’s attention again with that ad. Look at how much good that did me.
I refuse to admit my heart is well and truly cracked by the lies he fed me. Maybe not even so much by the lies as the fact that he made me believe in us. Believe we had a future. All that pretending we were real and we could have a life together set me up for a crushing fall when the truth came out.
Looking at Cannon over my toast, I decide to dig for more answers. With the exception of Creighton, Cannon always knows more about any given situation than everyone else combined.
“How did you and Crey find out about Cav?”
Cannon finishes his drink of coffee and lowers the white mug with #1 Grandma in a purple and pink swirly font to the table. “Dom Casso.”
Dropping the crust of my toast on the edge of my plate, I wait for him to elaborate. He doesn’t. “But that doesn’t explain how you’d find out now. Did Dom go to Crey? Or did Crey go looking for information and seek out Dom?”
When Cannon doesn’t answer right away, I know it’s because he’s weighing his answer against how much he really wants me to know. He never shows all his cards, but that’s just Cannon.