That would give her an hour to arrive at the resort, get changed, and make it to the rehearsal on time. It would be cutting it close, but the hotel had everything organized. All everyone needed to do was show up and let the staff do the rest. All-inclusive was expensive but worth every damn dime.
“I really should go and find Decker.” She frowns and momentarily appears sad, guilty, or embarrassed.
My chest tightens in concern. Which one is it? Why aren’t women easier to read? Men have three emotions – mad, happy, and horny. Each one is simple to decipher. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, it’s nothing.” She bites her bottom lip. “Lord, this is embarrassing.”
“What?” The bachelor party. They better not have had stripers at the bachelor party. My hands ball into fists. I’ll kick his fucking ass.
“He wants to sleep in the adjoining room with his parents for his last night as a single man, and I’m staying with Aimee. Then tomorrow night, we’ll be back in the honeymoon suite.” She flushes a crimson red and fans herself. “He says the waiting will be worth it.”
“What’s his idea of waiting? Twenty-four hours?” I’m under no grand illusion that either of my children are virgins.
“Probably more like twelve hours tops.”
“Oh, look at all his restraint.” Sarcasm drips off my tongue.
“Stop it.” She smacks me in the chest and turns on her heel.
“Have fun. But use protection. No grandbabies before…” I cringe and trail off. When would be a good time for them to have kids? “I’m forty-five.”
That gives me eight years to get ready to be a grandparent. I’m not the kind of parent that beats around the bush. We’ve had the contraception talk. The period, tampon, and pads lecture. The ‘No’ Means ‘No’ speech. Hell, I’m the dad with all the answers. I had to be. I was left holding the diaper bag, baby carrier, and a toddler.
Karissa twists around and gives me an evil grin. “I plan on having fun. I’ll see you at rehearsal.”
Whatever. I roll my eyes. “She’s lost her ever-loving mind if she thinks I’m talking to Brandi,” I mutter.
“What?” A man with a goatee and a thin build gives me one of the better mean mugs I’ve seen in a while. He blows the baldheaded man from earlier out of the water.
“Nothing.” I wave dismissively at him. Then, I see my ex-wife walking into the lobby.
Oh, shit. Brandi – the soul-sucking vampire. For a thirty-six-year-old woman, she looks closer to mid-forties. Her hair is a bleached platinum blonde, her make-up is slapped on with a spatula, and her eyes are constantly searching for her next mark. I slip over to the elevator and push the button. She’s never getting her talons in me again.
Chapter Two
Chloe
WHEN I REACH MY SUITE, I walk around, taking in the amenities. The place is breathtaking. There is a king-sized bed in the middle of the room with a white comforter and black and burgundy pillowcases. The curtains are black with a white pulldown shade below them.
On the floor is a thick white shag rug in front of a full-sized sofa and two recliners. Off to the side is a kitchenette with stainless steel appliances. Everything is high-end quality. There won’t be any mold stains on the ceiling here.
I wrinkle my nose. I forgot something. It’s been eating at me since I left. Kind of like the movie Home Alone. But what did I overlook? Shaking my head, I run through everything I did before I left Manhattan. I turned off my coffee pot. I told my boss I wouldn’t be in all weekend. I don’t have any pets. Oh, well. Whatever it is, it’ll come to me later.
I walk into the bathroom, and my mouth drops. Holy cow. The space is filled with floor to ceiling tile and pristine white grout. I look up at the ceiling and smile. Yep. No stains or mold.
The faucets glisten like they’re plated in gold, and the shower is a walk-in with no walls or doors. The showerhead isn’t your typical pipe with a head; it’s a six- or eight-inch curved piece of metal that water will pour out of like a waterfall. Nice. Dalilah sure knows how to pick a place to lick wounds.
Dalilah’s family owns a whiskey distillery, so money has never been an object for either of us. Not that I’m spoiled or didn’t have to work for things. My parents made sure I had chores, studied in school, and learned impeccable manners.
The manners thing was my mom’s doing. She’s a stickler for perfection. My stepmom, Soraya, is more practical. I love them both, but I’m more comfortable around my dad and my stepmother. I cringe. Unless they find out I skipped town. Then, all hell will break loose. My dad detests liars.
Returning to the door, I grab my suitcases and put my gear away. I’m not the kind of girl that can open my bags and live out of them. I like to stake my claim and leave my mark on a place. Or, maybe, it’s that I’m a little OCD. ToMAYto. ToMAHto.
Once I have everything organized and put away, I walk over to the refrigerator and peek inside. Whoa. Traditional hotel refrigerators come with mini bottles of alcohol, candy, and other snacks. The kind where you drop your change in a jar after you indulge.
This refrigerator? There’s no comparison between it and a mini fridge. Tucked inside are full bottles of alcohol – everything from champagne to wine. There’s even a couple of cases of beer and a pint of whiskey. Good Lord, how much does she expect me to drink?
In addition to the copious amount of alcohol, there are trays of fruit, veggies, and meat. On top of the meat platter, I see a card. Grabbing it, I open the tab and slide out the white card that’s tucked inside. Dalilah’s name is typed at the top. Dalilah? Crap. How can I keep forgetting I’m Dalilah for the entire weekend? Because I’m an idiot.
Dalilah,
Enjoy your weekend. Unwind. Relax. Get laid. Cross that out. Get laid by a ‘real man.’
Love, Chloe
My face heats as I read the words and envision the sexy man I met at the front desk. Now, that’s a ‘real man.’ He is all muscles, hard angles, and ego. The kind of guy that melts panties and makes girls’ hearts pound erratically in their chests.
After dropping the note on the counter, I shut the refrigerator door and lean against the edge. Unfortunately, I’m not the only person that finds Damon Macklin appealing.
A frown settles over my face. The last thing I’d seen of him as the elevator doors slid shut was a dark-haired beauty, around my age, draped all over him. At least he’s consistent. He likes them young. Fuck that. I’m not mooning over a guy twice my age when I’ve got enough shit going on back home.
How am I going to face Randy and Bridgette every day? Damn them. They both live in my building, and Bridgette is my cousin for God’s sake. I can’t cut her out of my life and pretend she doesn’t exist. I wrinkle my nose. Okay. I could, but my mom would have a fit. I’ll have to buck up and put up.
My phone chirps. Where did I put the damn thing? I weave my way through the suite, searching for my cellphone. Finally, I find it lying on the desk. I pick it up, ready to thank Dalilah for everything. She’s the best friend a woman could have. My eyes dart over the message, and my heart sputters to a stop.
Dad: Hey, Sugar Cookie. How’s work?
My heart restarts and beats double-time against my ribs while sweat beads on my forehead. Holy shit. Does he know? He can’t know. If he knew, he wouldn’t be calling me Sugar Cookie. Would he?