Page 22 of Dirty Love

“My apologies, Ms. Leyton. Would you like to be connected?”

“Sure.”

The phone rings a few times, then the concierge is back. “There’s no answer. Would you like to leave a message?”

Not one that I want to send through a hotel employee. Or even leave on voice mail. I give the concierge a throwaway email address that I use from time to time and ask him to tell Wilson to contact me personally.

Then I down my fourth drink of the night and head to the kitchen. Smoothies by day, white toast and tequila by night. Sustenance of pop stars living on the edge.

I’m such a cliché.

I don’t care. Toast is fucking awesome, and frankly, so are smoothies. Nothing without a purpose, that’s my rule for whatever goes in my body. Cocks. Fingers. Food. Alcohol.

Okay, so some of them have fucked up purposes.

Whatever.

My phone vibrates on the counter.

I glance toward the bathroom. They’re both in the shower now. Maybe they’ll forget all about me.

Two clicks on my phone and I’m reading an email from one WilsonCarter. Interesting.

From: Wilson Carter

To: TL

I was just about to let myself into your suite. This is convenient timing, are you stalking me?

I laugh, and it’s such a strange sound coming from inside my body that I jump.

From: TL

To: Wilson Carter

No, that’s your job. Give me ten minutes to wash off the stage sweat, then let yourself in. Or try knocking for something new and different. Bring your “partner”. He’s cute.

I put the phone down and shake my head, laughing again. Did I just flirt with someone who’d pretended to be a federal agent barely ten hours ago, desperate to get information from me?

I do a lot of stupid things, but I usually see them coming. Pick up the bottle and hand over the condom with the full knowledge that I’m not being totally smart.

This is different. I didn’t see this coming.

Whatever happens tonight, I’m going in blind. This guy knows way more than I do.

I should be terrified.

Instead I skip to the bathroom and slid between Izzie and Frankie. Time to get the party started.

—twelve—

Wilson

I wasn’t kidding that I was about to let myself into her suite. I’m standing in the hallway, right across from her door.

So I give her ten minutes, then I knock.

She’s just wearing a robe, holding it loosely together with one hand when she opens the door. Freshly showered, and behind her are two more people—Frankie and Izzie from backstage. Also both in robes.

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