Page 104 of Seein’ Red

“Why don’t you just call him?”

Because that’s not how this works…

“Errr, because he left his phone upstairs, which is why I need to know which way he went.”

There. That’s a good one. Perfectly believable.

“Then where is it?”

“Where is what?”

“His phone,” she answers, looking at me over those glasses like I must have taken stupid pills. “If you’re looking to get it back to him, why don’t you have it?”

Now is not the time for logic, Pixie!

“Cause I wasn’t sure if he’d left already.”

Sighing, she appraises me slowly, as if she doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. Which, to be fair, every last word is a lie, with the exception of my deep desire to know which way he went. So, I can’t totally blame her skepticism.

Then again, if she would just give me the answer I want, I would be providing her with all the gossip she’s going to need for the next six months. I’m not telling her that though. She wants to tango, she can miss the show.

Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

Or miss out on prizes altogether.

“You sure you don’t know what he wanted to talk to your daddy about?”

“You sure you don’t know which way he drove off?”

She answers me with silence, my internal panic now rising. The longer we do this, the farther away he gets. Which means the less of a chance I have of catching him on foot. Or at all.

“Sure don’t.”

“Same.”

I turn on my heel, rushing off the same way I came. Up the stairs is a little easier than down, but not much, my legs already protesting this sudden desire to exercise. My new destination isn’t far though.

In fact, it’s right around the corner.

“Where would he go?” I ask, busting into Bronwyn’s office.

I don’t bother with pleasantries. I’m already behind thanks to Pixie’s shenanigans. Not to mention, Bronwyn is used to our conversations starting in the middle by this point. Much like Kenzie and Sylvie, every conversation we have is simply a continuation of the last, none of them really beginning or ending. That’s the beauty of deep female friendship.

“Pardon?” she questions, mouth full of sandwich.

I give her a minute to finish chewing before I ask again. “Where would he go?”

“He who?”

“Bronwyn, really?”

“Just verifying, because yesterday you told him to fuck off, and this morning it was ‘I never want to see him again.’ So, I’m trying to keep up here.”

“Too long didn’t read—I fucked up and need to go apologize.”

“Awwwwww….”

“We can coo and swoon later. And I promise we will, because damn it, Bronwyn, he brought it. Big time.”