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“Good.” Remy slaps Wesley’s cheek. Hard. “We don’t want to have another conversation with you.”
Wesley jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “Kyla left her bag here. You want it?”
“Yes.” Remy nudges Wesley with his boot.
Wesley picks himself up from the floor without looking at either one of us. I track his movements carefully in case he’s going for a weapon. But he returns with a small, sparkly peach purse and a pair of gold strappy heels and holds them out to me. Thankfully, they appear puke-free.
“She leave anything else?” I ask.
He glances around the room. “I don’t think so.”
“All right.” I turn and head for the door. Once I have it opened, Remy joins me.
In the hallway, he shakes his head. “What the fuck? Why did he say that about Molly?”
I know him well enough to know it’s not the comment itself bugging him—it’s the how and why behind it. Shaking my head, I walk toward my room. “I think he hit on her and she turned him down once,” I explain over my shoulder.
“Christ,” he mutters. “He’s not good enough to breathe the same air as my sister, let alone talk to her.”
“Agreed.”
“You should’ve punched him harder.”
Now that we’re away from Wesley, I recognize a stinging ache in my hand. I shake it out and glance at my knuckles. Two are bleeding. Must’ve scraped them on Wesley’s teeth. “Fuck.” I flex my fingers a few times. Luckily, Wesley can’t throw a punch to save his life. Last thing I need is Diane finding out I got into a fight and kicking me off the show before it even starts.
“You’ve had worse.” Remy claps my shoulder.
We stop in front of the door to my room. “Your compassion is heartwarming, really.”
He chuckles and knocks. “You did good.”
“Thanks.” I pull out my phone and send Molly a text.
Me: At the door.
“When do you have to return Quill’s Mercedes?” Remy asks me while we’re waiting.
“Not until Monday.”
“I still can’t believe you had the balls to do that.” He chuckles.
I shrug. “Molly liked it.”
Finally, the door swings open. Molly blinks and yawns. Betrayal and shock register in her wide blue eyes when they land on Remy. “Why’d you call him?” She shoots a glare at me.
“Seriously?” Remy scoffs. “Get out here so I can talk to you.”
She glances down at her PJs and crosses her arms over her chest. “No.” She backs up, opening the door wider. “They’re all asleep,” she whispers.
Remy and I crowd inside. I hand her Kyla’s stuff and she takes it without looking at me.
“I told Wesley to stay away from you,” Remy says. “And them.” He tips his head toward the bedroom.
“Remy—”
“Checkout is at eleven,” he continues, steamrolling over her objection. “I’ll be here to take the girls home. Don’t keep me fucking waiting,” he warns.
“Fine,” Molly groans. “I doubt anyone’s gonna feel like brunch, anyway.”
