Page 37 of Hooked on Trouble

“Welcome to Neverland.” Lake sings the words with his guitar, and I kind of want to smash the instrument over his head.

“So,” Nico says when we’ve listened to eight bars too many of Lake’s impromptu song. “I was told Rose lived here a few years ago. She has long dark hair, dark eyes. She’s from outside Toronto, originally.” He nudges me. “Anything specific you can add?”

I want to add a black eye to Lake’s stoned face, but he means to Rose’s description. The first thing I always look for when scanning faces are the teeth—straight and white and perfect. Considering the nipple unveiling, there’s a chance Lake has seen the birthmark on Rose’s hip.

I point to the spot. “She has a large birthmark here, shaped like a heart.”

Strum. Strum. Strum.

Strum.

“Yeah…Rose…sure. I remember her.”

Strum.

My internal organs migrate toward my throat, nausea and excitement shaking my foundation. Nico’s strong hand grips my waist.

When Lake doesn’t go on, a growl rumbles from Nico’s chest, almost too low to hear. He keeps his voice even. “Does that mean she doesn’t live here anymore? Do you know where she is?”

Strum. Fucking. Strum. “I think she left a year ago. A friend of hers, Clara, might know where she’s at. She’s gone for the day but will be back for our potluck tonight. You’re welcome to come.”

My churning gut calms a bit, but the room spins. It looks different, the space filled with shadows of my sister. I imagine her working the fields or sitting on a giant pillow or cooking at the stove. I imagine her smiling her bright, white smile. She could also have dreadlocks and four kids named Rainbow, Butterfly, Rock, and Leaf.

Nico doesn’t reply, but he watches me, waiting.

“We’ll come,” I say.

“Groovy.” Lake’s incessant melody continues. “Bring something vegan to share with the farm.” He leans back and closes his eyes.

Our cue.

At the car, the first drops of rain fall. Nico spins me to face him and hovers over me. My personal umbrella. “You okay?”

Although my hands are shaking, all limbs are intact. Major organs haven’t shifted. I reek of patchouli oil from the incense burning in the house, but other than that, I survived our undercover operation. “Yeah, but I need a shower.” I slide my hands around his hips and pull him and his ugly jeans closer.

He tips my hat back to see my face. “You need help undoing those buttons down the front?” His gaze drops to the pearl snaps over my breasts.

Man, oh man. My dress is so thin his hard-on is unmistakable as he presses closer. But he steps away. “We might not have time. We need to find a motel and figure out what to bring tonight.”

Right. Vegan potluck. Not Nico’s large fingers struggling with my dainty buttons. “We can pick a bunch of flowers and grass and roll them in seaweed.”

He moves to open my door, and the light rain dances on my arms and legs. It’s pleasant. Refreshing. And knowing I won’t see Rose tonight melts some of my remaining tension. A breeze blows up my skirt as I slide into the car, and Nico groans from behind me. The sound travels up my skirt, too. This will be the longest (and only) vegan potluck I’ll ever attend.

Eleven

Nico

The smell of sweaty feet wafts through the farmhouse, bowl upon bowl of curried vegetables filling up the kitchen. I gag once and inhale through my mouth. Raven puts our containers of store-bought salad beside something that looks regurgitated. Her long hair meets the top of her blue dress, the girly look not my first choice on her. I like Raven dark and edgy, exactly how she is. But those buttons on the front catch the light—winking at me, teasing me—and her black bra is visible below the fabric.

Tonight can’t come soon enough.

Back at the motel, we dropped our bags, both of us eyeing the queen bed in the middle of our room. I ached to fling her on the mattress and show her just how much I’ve missed her since Aspen. But making love to Raven won’t be quick business. It will be slow and intense and deep. And as tough as she’s being, this still has to be hard for her. Her sarcasm doesn’t hide the way she’s picked her cuticles raw since leaving earlier, the way she studies every woman she sees.

She bends forward now to move bowls around, her dress shifting over her round ass, and I grab her waist. It’s more than this piercing attraction, though. I want her close. Want her to know she can lean on me.

She straightens and falls against my chest.

“As soon as we talk to this Clara woman,” I whisper, “we’re getting out of here.”