Page 47 of Pocketful of Shame

"I can't believe I didn’t see it before now." His eyes danced with triumph. "But that'sit. That has to be it. You're a freaking genius, Romi Dillon!" Lunging forward, he pressed a quick kiss to my forehead before jumping to his feet. "Now, take your shower and get dressed," he ordered, rushing for the door. "I need to wake Sketch."

"Presley, wait –"

"Gotta go, baby girl," he called over his shoulder. "Take your shower. We'll talk later."

"But I can't –"

The door of the motel room slammed shut, letting me know that he was gone.

"Get into the tub on my own," I finished with a sigh.

Chapter Sixteen

Sketch

Jack Daniels kicked my ass last night and I was wallowing in regret; sweating out whiskey and drowning in my sins. I planned on doing so in peace, but the maniac banging on my truck window had other ideas.

"Sketch, I need to talk to you!"Bang, bang, bang."Come on, I can see you in there."Bang, bang, bang."Shake a leg, dude, this is important."

Peeling an eye open, I winced when the early morning sun attacked my senses. Slapping an arm over my face, I squinted until a familiar goofy face came into focus, nose pressed up against the glass of the passenger door window. "Jesus fucking Christ," I groaned, burying my face in the crook of my elbow. "Go away, Quinton."

"No can do," he called back, yanking on the – thankfully – locked door handle. "I've cracked another piece of the code."

"I don’t care about your damn codes." Shaking my head, I rolled onto my back and covered my face with my hands. "I'm tryna die in peace here."

"Self-inflicted, and I'm not going away."Bang, bang, bang."So, you might as well open up."Bang, bang, bang."I can sing if that will get you moving quicker."Bang, bang, bang."Old McDonald had a –"

"Alright!" I roared, kicking at the door. "Just shut the hell up." Slowly dragging myself into a sitting position, I scrubbed a hand over my face before unlocking the truck. "Damn."

"Good morning, sunshine." Pres grinned, taking a safe step back when I staggered out. "Wow, don’t you look like a fresh heap of shit."

"Trust me, Ifeellike a fresh heap of shit," I yawned, stretching my arms over my head.

"Yeah, and you smell like one, too," he offered, clapping me on the shoulder. "Now, let's go." He nudged me towards the motel room. "You need to shower and clean yourself up because what I'm about to tell you requiressoberand somewhat rational thinking Sketch."

"Hold your damn horses," I growled, shaking off his hand. "You have some explaining to do."

"Yes, yes, and I'll do that later –"

"You'll do it now," I snapped, folding my arms across my chest. "Did you find the journal?"

"No," he grumbled. "It was a complete fucking bust and then my mom caught me grabbing supplies from my room and wouldn’t let me out of her sight. She thinks there's a freaking kidnapper lurking. It took me three damn days to convince her to let me go."

"Come again?"

"I know, right?" He rolled his eyes. "She thinks you and Romi were snatched."

"So, where does she think you are now?"

"I told her that I forgot one of my enrollment applications and had to drop it back to the university." He grinned. "She swallowed it."

"Your mom's gullible as fuck."

"That she is," he agreed. "Lucky for me."

"And the stunt you pulled with the reporter?" I demanded then, bristling at the memory. "I really appreciated being thrown under the bus, Quinton."

"I didn’t throw you under any damn bus," he said with a dramatic sigh. "In fact, I probably saved your lives."

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