“He’s amazing, isn’t he?”
She bats her lashes and sighs like a crazy person. Or at least some other person, some romantic, sweet person with idealized notions of love, not her.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, sit up, and squint at her. “You’re really in love with him, aren’t you?”
“Yes. It’s horrible. I mean, it’s wonderful, but also horrible, because…”
“You’re not in control anymore.”
She nods, cringing. “And I never had anything worth losing before. I never cared before, about anything but myself. Now, I care about everything. I’m one big, sentimental ball of caring. I cried watching the sunset the other day, for fuck’s sake!”
I try not to find her dismay so satisfying, but I do.
I’m a terrible person.
“Anyway.” She waves her hands to dispel that part of the conversation. “We need to do something about your hair.”
“What’s wrong with my hair?”
“It’s hideous. You look like you lost a bet.”
“Oh, thank goodness.”
“What?”
“For a minute there, I thought you’d been replaced by a body snatcher.”
Someone raps their knuckles softly on the door. At the same time, Sloane and I holler, “Come in!”
Spider sticks his head through. “Hullo. I have your luggage, lass. Is this a good time?”
Hot, hung, and polite. I swear, I’m going to find a scientist to clone him and Declan and make me the perfect male.
“C’mon in. You can drop it anywhere.”
He walks inside, carrying my bag and my future children’s chromosomes, and nods a hello to Sloane. He sets the bag on the floor next to the dresser then turns to leave.
“Wait,” says Sloane. “Where’s the rest?”
“That was the only one, madam.”
She makes a sour face. “What did I tell you about calling me that?”
He looks like he’s trying not to smile. I like him even more now that I know he’s been teasing her. It takes balls, which I already know he’s not lacking.
I mean, I’ve got visual proof. It’s staring me right in the face.
“…Riley?”
“What?” I rip my gaze away from the substantial bulge in Spider’s trousers and look at Sloane. “Sorry, I didn’t hear what you said.”
She says drily, “I wonder why.”
I narrow my eyes and mentally telegraph a threat that she receives and smiles at condescendingly. “I asked where the rest of your luggage is.”
“I don’t have other luggage. That’s it.”
She stares in disbelief at my single carry-on, a beat-up duffle I bought before I went away to college years ago. “You brought one bag?”
“You say that like I just informed you it’s filled with body parts.”
Ignoring my sarcasm, she insists, “How can you travel with one piece of luggage? Where’s your shoe bag? Your cosmetics bag? Your formal wear bag? All your clothes?”
She gazes around the room as if expecting a set of monogrammed Louis Vuitton steamer trunks to appear from thin air, bursting with mink stoles and evening gowns.
Smiling, I say, “It’s really gonna break your brain when I tell you my laptop’s in there, too.”
Spider catches my eye and winks. Then he leaves, closing the door behind him.
Sloane jumps up, crosses to the bag, bends over, rips the zipper open, and stares down at the contents. She rifles around in it for a moment, then straightens and looks at me.
“What’s with all the boxes of candy?”
“I don’t travel anywhere without Twizzlers. And you can’t get those watermelon Sour Patch Kids everywhere, so because I didn’t know where I was going…” I shrug. “Better safe than sorry.”
She closes her eyes, draws a breath, gathers herself, then looks at me again.
“Do you have any other items of clothing that aren’t gray or made of fleece?”
“Yeah. Duh. My undies.”
“My god. I can’t believe we’re related.”
She’s so horrified, she’s about to make the sign of the cross over her chest. Or maybe call for a priest and douse me with a vial of holy water. It makes me laugh.
“Oh, relax, Beyoncé. There’s other stuff under the candy.”
When she looks hopefully at the duffel, I say, “I also brought white T-shirts and jean shorts.”
Her expression indicates she might be tasting the regurgitated remains of her lunch. “I can see we’ll need to do some shopping while you’re here, too.”