Shimmy Bang Sparkle(78)

She just pulled me close to her, wrapping her arms around my back and her legs around my waist. Our pants were damn near in unison, and I’d never felt as close to anybody as I did to her then. “I love you too,” she said. “And I never want to say goodbye to you.”

Fuck. My heart. My mind. My reality. “You’ll never have to,” I said, deep and dark and dead fucking serious, as I throbbed inside her. “Never.”



She fell asleep in my arms, and it took every ounce of willpower I had to shift her off me and roll out of bed. She was so beautiful there, with a streak of moonlight making a sliver stripe across her body, that for the second time since I’d met her, I wished I knew how to sketch, how to photograph, how to do anything to make that kind of beauty indelible. I didn’t, though, and all I could do was soak it in. Once I’d gotten enough to last me a few minutes, I pulled the comforter up around her so she didn’t get chilly with the sea breeze. I put on my boxers, my pants, and a T-shirt. I slipped the room key in my pocket, put on a pair of sandals, and headed down the empty, quiet hallway. Rather than the elevator, I took the stairs, which were just like any back staircase in any hotel, full of echoes and too bright, with flame-retardant foam all over the I-beams.

I came out into the lobby, quiet too except for the trickle of the fountain. I knocked softly on the window of the dog nursery and took Priscilla from the sleepy dog sitter’s arms. Up the elevator Priscilla and I went, her lying on her back in the cradle I’d made for her in the crook of my elbow.

Without turning on the lights, I nestled Priscilla into the luxurious bed with Stella. Again, I stood there, soaking it all in. When the moonlight had moved off the two of them, I turned and quietly opened the minibar. I grabbed a travel bottle of whiskey and opened the fridge to get a can of club soda. As I grabbed the soda, I saw it.

Stella had said anything would do to drop on the guard’s head. Honey, she’d said. Shampoo. But if the guy had an issue with bird shit, I thought it was best to get as close to bird shit as possible. And there it was—a container of plain Greek yogurt. I took it out of the fridge and put it on the shelf with the nuts.

Again, not exactly Mission: Impossible. But room-temperature yogurt would definitely do the trick.

I headed out to the balcony with my whiskey and soda in hand. Tomorrow, things would change for us. But not more than they’d changed already. Because I’d experienced some kick-ass shit and some terrible shit. I’d been up and I’d been down.

But this time tomorrow, we’d both be out of the game. We’d have a bright new future. And that future, with her, would make all my old mistakes and all the old bullshit absolutely worth it.





37

STELLA

After we ate a leisurely breakfast in bed, we rolled the room service cart into the hallway, locked the door . . . and got busy rearranging all the furniture.

Using a lamp as a standin for the potted palm and one of the damask-upholstered chairs in place of the bench, we re-created the walkway that went from the lobby out to the pool. We had a good view of it from our balcony, and we were able to duplicate the layout precisely. When all the furniture was in place, we armed Priscilla with our secret weapon—a twenty-foot hot-pink retractable leash that still had the sale sticker from Marshalls attached. I’d bought it the same day I’d gotten her water bowl. On the side it said PROPERTY OF THE QUEEN, which I had decorated in rhinestones.

Nick pretended to be the guard, walking back and forth across the room lengthwise. I stood in front of the bureau that held the TV and tried to get her to dart across and snare him. But we couldn’t get it to work. Her frog didn’t cut it and neither did one of her treats. Every time, she ignored whatever I’d thrown and ran right to Nick. Getting her to cross his path without stopping for a kiss and a wiggle was impossible. Nick crouched down and gave her tummy a little scratch. His muscular legs made the fabric of his boxers pull tight over his ass.

“Can’t say I blame her,” I said. “You’re very hard to resist.”

Nick laughed. “Good to know I’m more attractive than a liver treat. But what are we going to do about this, little one?” He scratched Priscilla’s belly, and she flopped over onto her back. “What . . . are . . . we . . . gonna . . . do?” he cooed at her, poking her belly lightly with each word. In response, she wriggled against the carpet, shoulders and hips scrunching. It was so adorable, so lovely, that it made my knees a little weak, and so I took advantage of the bed behind me and had a seat.

Nick looked up at me, still scratching Priscilla’s belly. We stayed there in a thinking silence, eyes locked. Then he raised one finger. “Hang on. Hang on. Last night when I was grabbing a drink . . .” He headed for the minibar and crouched down again. Priscilla ran over to help and put her paws on his leg and her head under his arm. From the shelf above the fridge he produced a black plastic bag with white-and-red writing and a see-through window in the front.

Beef jerky. Teriyaki flavor. “Between the yogurt and the jerky, you’re a regular minibar MacGyver.”

Nick ripped the top off the bag off with his teeth and opened it. Priscilla jammed her face inside and inhaled so hard that it took the shape of her snout.

“Bingo!” I said.

“All right. Get in position,” Nick said, and I reattached Priscilla to her leash and took our place by the bureau.