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“Well, thanks. It was nice talking to you again.”
“Yeah, totally.” She stayed where she was. Apparently, Pamela was oblivious to social cues. Maybe that was why she found the other bridesmaids so boring.
I chewed on the inside of my cheek. “I’m going to hit the hay,” I said. “I’m pretty tired.”
“Right, I get you.” Pamela pointed at me, nodding. “You’re all tuckered out from that hot sex action with Matt. Oof, Mr. Baker is just so delicious. And did you know he’s a billionaire? Self-made. I mean….and he was in the military. It’s like they made him in a perfect man factory.”
I opened my mouth, seeking words, any damn words, that would discourage her.
“You are so darn lucky, girl. I hope you know it. You got a crack at him before I got my chance. You know, Chastity’s been trying to get into his pants ever since we got here. But of course, a guy like Matthew Baker doesn’t fuck hoes like her.”
“I don’t think the word—”
“And can you believe the short skirts she’s been wearing? Like, hello, everyone knows what you’re up to. Anyway, I’m super happy for you. And your secret is one hundred percent safe with me, girl. I’ve got your back. Us bad bitches? We’ve gotta stick together.”
This was surreal.
“Right,” I said, slowly. “So, I’m going to head off to bed.”
“Because you’re tired from all the fucking.”
“Jesus,” I murmured. “OK. So, I’ll see you around, right?”
“It’s the engagement party tomorrow. How psyched are you for it?” Pamela asked.
“Super psyched. But not psyched enough to spend much more time out of bed.” I came forward and herded her toward the door as best I could. “It was so nice to talk to you. Thanks for your help.”
“And for keeping your dirty little secret, you dawg.” She gave me a cheesy smile as she slipped out into the hall. “You know, you and I, we’re cut from the same cloth. When we see a cock we want, we go for it. So into that. So fucking into that. You know, maybe you, me, and Matt could have a little fun together, if you know what I mean?” She wriggled her eyebrows at me.
God, at this point, the people in the hotel room next to mine knew what she meant. “Goodnight,” I said merrily and shut the door on her. “Holy fuckin’ shit,” I murmured, and crutch-walked my way over to the bed. “What an absolute weirdo.”
I flopped down on the bed, dropped my crutch to the floor with a thunk, and closed my eyes.
Images of Matt appeared, and I exhaled slowly. God, if only I could get rid of the feelings I’d associated with him, everything would go perfectly. Apart from the fact that Emilia would feel totally betrayed by us getting together. And that chatty friggin’ Pamela now knew what we’d done. Or had assumed as much.
I let the negative thoughts send me off to sleep, hoping against hope that I could work all of it out. In the morning.
Chapter Seventeen
Matt
I finished off the last of the pizza after she left, my thoughts still focused on her and what it had been like to fill her with my cum. Good Christ, what was wrong with this situation? Everything. I wanted her, that was fine, but I couldn’t have her in the way that I wanted, and that wasn’t.
I grabbed my laptop from the bedroom and set up in the living room.
I forced my thoughts away from Summer and onto the issue at hand. Cruz. He was in Florida according to my sources, but a growing doubt had started in the back of my mind.
Perhaps it was because of the importance of this event or because of Summer, but that worry had doubled steadily as the days had passed by. The closer I drew to Summer and the day of the wedding, the more concerned I became.
Relax, dingus, he’s not around.
Christ, if I couldn’t believe my contact in the FBI, who could I believe?
But I’d learned that paranoia was a strong weapon, and it was one to be used. If I’d been paranoid back in my teenage years, I might’ve been able to save my mom. Or if my father had been a little more cautious…there was no use dwelling on that now.
I inhaled slowly and searched for a private investigator near me. It was the best I could do on short notice. I dropped the PI a message through their site then sat back, contemplating.
If I contacted my buddy in the FBI, he would tell me what he’d told me before. That Cruz wasn’t in Florida, there had been no movement through the airports, and I had nothing to be worried about.
Easier said than done. My mind wouldn’t rest.
Because there was always the chance that something had changed, and that Paul didn’t know about it.
