Bad Cruz(31)

“I’m not very bright.”

“Not many people are.”

Pointing out that she was smart, or at the very least more quick-witted and eloquent than anyone I knew, would be considered ass-kissing.

Plus, I had a feeling she wasn’t going to believe I saw her as a fully rounded, nuanced human being, no matter how fervently I pleaded my case.

“Fairhope is a small town. Not a whole lot of job opportunities.”

“They pop up every now and then.”

“Come on, Cruz. I appreciate it, I do. But people don’t like me, and it would be cruel to make me want to try.”

I was starting to get irritated, but I wasn’t sure if it was with her, with the town we lived in, or both.

“It’s a chicken and egg situation, Turner. No one knows what came first. You’re not even trying. Of course people think the worst about you.”

“Good. Let them.”

As we came closer to the couple and the management representatives, their voices grew louder. The middle-aged lady was crying and flinging herself against the wall dramatically, while her husband rubbed her back to comfort her, looking at a loss.

“I just didn’t think it’d happen somewhere like this. Shame on all of you. This is completely unacceptable, and I’ll have you know I’ve already contacted a lawyer.”

“Ma’am, I promise we’ll get to the bottom of this. I’m sure it can be explained.”

“Nothing can be explained!” the woman shrieked, throwing her arms in the air. She was a solid woman, with bright red tresses and jewelry that looked heavy to carry. “I had fifteen thousand dollars’ worth of jewels in that suitcase. How could you just dump it in the hallway?”

The two management representatives exchanged helpless looks, while the lady began to sob again, burying her head in her husband’s shoulder.

“Well, ma’am, things like that don’t happen very often. If there was a mix-up—”

Tennessee and I swapped frowns as we came to a stop in front of our door, which happened to be the one directly opposite to the couple’s. We both smiled politely as I slid our electronic card into its slot.

“Maybe they have it,” the woman sniffled behind us.

Tennessee froze, grabbing my wrist all of a sudden, like a little girl.

“Ma’am, we cannot ask this couple to show us their room.”

“Yes. I remember the blonde woman. She hung out around our room a lot yesterday, lookin’ like trouble and sin,” the woman’s voice grew louder, bolder.

I turned around, giving her a frosty look.

“Well, the blonde woman happens to have a room here.”

“Hard to believe.” The woman swept a judgmental gaze over Tennessee, head-to-toe. “But she does, I guess, doesn’t she? What does it say about you?” She turned to look at me accusingly.

“That I have a good taste.” I grinned nonchalantly.

Her husband cackled, and she elbowed him.

“That’s very subjective,” she huffed. “But as it stands, she is my prime suspect. She looks like a crook, a common girl, and she’s been loitering around the hallway. Now show us your room. It’s already open.”

It was true. I’d pushed the door half-open at this point.

“No!” Tennessee cried, turning bright red.

She couldn’t look more suspicious if she tried, but I didn’t think she’d actually stolen anything. I’d been in the room briefly today after our conversation at the library, and everything seemed in perfect order.

She’d carried both our suitcases in, but there wasn’t a third one anywhere to be seen.

“You can’t go into our room,” Tennessee choked. “Just because I look suspicious to you doesn’t mean you can search me. This is America!”

One of the representatives—a black woman—gave Tennessee a really, dude? glare, winning ten points for sarcasm and another ten for timing.

Problem was, I was growing agitated with people giving Tennessee the wrong kind of attention everywhere we went.

True, she was over-the-top with the makeup, skimpy clothes, and hair inspired by sixties’ vixens. But that was her prerogative, and she didn’t deserve to get shit for it.

I didn’t know what made her want to ruin her good looks with war paint and lace, but that didn’t mean people had the right to call her a hooker to her face.

In other news, my hard-on became a half-mast at best. Good news for my bladder, which was currently the home to about a gallon of piss.

“We have nothing to hide.” I flashed her a good-natured smile.

“Great!” The woman flung her arms in the air. “In that case, show us your room.”

“No!” Tennessee insisted.

“Actually,” one of the representatives interrupted, “it is perfectly possible that management would ask us to knock on the doors of the rooms nearby and ask to double-check, so if we could have a look now, that would be great.”

“No problem.” I pushed the door open all the way, jerking my head to indicate they could come in.

We had nothing to hide. We were innocent, and I wanted to see that woman’s face when she delivered a humble apology to Tennessee.

Speaking of Tennessee, she bolted after me, heaving. The sobbing/rude woman trailed behind us, waltzing right inside.