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One look and she shakes her head.
Because I have another room service margarita fisted against my palm and my hair tied up in a crappy half-wet bun thanks to the bath.
There might still be bubbles in there somewhere, too.
“Oh … kay.” Aria turns to the security guard, with a name I can’t remember, who still stands propped in the doorway and plants her palms on his chest. “We’re good in here. Need girl time.”
Pushing the man big enough to snap my poor bestie in two, she manages to get him in the hallway and lets the door slam in his poor, confused face.
“Food?” The sweet scent of sugary carbs fills the air around me and has my stomach roaring in response to the minimal food I’ve managed to consume in the last twenty-four hours.
“Yes.” Clapping her hands together, Aria rushes over to the desk and starts unpacking the bags she brought, avoiding bumping her baby belly into the desk as much as she can. “Here.” Tossing the container over her shoulder, I snag the tube before it smacks me in the face and let the sentiment put a quirk to my lips.
“Thank you.” Popping off the top, I squeeze the concoction I spent weeks researching how to make because the over-the-counter shit just didn’t do the job, and fish my hand into my robe without dropping the terrycloth to smear it into the skin of my lower back.
“What the hell is in that again?” Aria’s nose turns up when the herbs begin to overpower the scent of breakfast food.
“Coconut oil, beeswax,” I mutter as I kneed the slave into the bruised spot on my back. “Ginger, jalapeno for the heat,” I groan when my fingers brush over the tender skin. “Green tea, and saffron.”
“Well, aren’t you a walking apothecary.” Aria turns to me, Styrofoam tray in hand, and shoves it into my chest.
“Gimme a damn second,” I mumble and tighten the rope around my waist, the slave already working its magic on my sore muscles.
Accepting the tray with my free hand, I dump the thing onto the foot of the bed and run to the bathroom to wash my hands.
When I step back into the room, Aria is already propped up on the bed, her back against the headboard and the remote in the hand that isn’t already occupied with her tray.
And a Styrofoam cup with a straw across the lid on my bedside table.
“So,” my best friend starts, speaking around her mouthful of waffles and bacon as she lands on a channel and keeps the volume low. “What’s going on with you.”
It’s not a question that comes from her lips, so I take my time settling in beside her and mimic her stance with our dinner.
“So…” I shovel a bite into my mouth, my stomach revolting at the alcohol now that I’ve got food in front of me. “He showed up.”
“Uh-huh.” Aria makes a face that screamsduh, including a scrunched-up nose and furrowed brow. “They only kinda opened the show today. In the same place.”
“Thanks, Captain Obvious.” I roll my eyes and stab another bite with the plastic fork and only kind of imagine it being Fin’s face instead of the syrupy almost cake.
“Okay.” Aria nudges my elbow. “So he showed up where, C?”
“Guh.” I let loose a heavy breath and shove the destroyed bite between my lips. “My fucking tent. Asking for a tattoo!”
“Like, oh my God,” Aria mocks me, her voice high pitched and her fork hand flipping her hair. “He came for a tattoo?” She slaps my shoulder and giggles—shegiggles—at my dilemma. “To a tattoo tent? Stop. It.” Rolling her eyes, she shovels another bite into her mouth and groans at the taste. “Jesus, this is good.”
Snorting, I have to shake my head and look away because my best friend and her hormones are just too much to keep from laughing at.
“Did you find the damn receipt?”
Aria’s furrowed brow meets my gaze as I pinch both lips between my teeth to stop the laughter that threatens to explode.
“Oh, whatever, C.” Realization sinks in at my earlier request to return my best-est friend back to the store I found her in because she is too damn right and I’m not ready to admit it.
Slapping my shoulder and grinning, Aria sends her last bite down the hatch since she’s eating for two and sets the tray off to the side of her larger than they used to be hips. She tilts her bigger-than-it-was-yesterday ass, wobbling her torso until she’s facing me and sitting with her legs only kind of tucked under her.
She stares then, her lips firmed and her forehead wrinkling with the vee popping between the perfectly shaped brows on her glowing skin.
I kinda hate that even when she’s concerned, she still looks happy.
