Page 202 of The Night Shift
“Sweetheart, it’s not like you ever talk to me about this stuff. April’s eloped with Parker —”
“She has noteloped, Mom!”
“— and you’re not getting any younger either. Maybe it’s time to start thinking about settling down.”
“So, that’s your plan? If we don’t find April, I have to get married at the altar today? Do you already have a groom or bride in mind, or are we just going to ask for volunteers before the big ‘I do’?”
Mom gives me a pointed look. “Perhaps if you were just atinybit less mean to men…” She trails off, letting me fill in the blanks.
“I don’t know if I’m ready for that kind of commitment.”
“Marriage?”
“Not being mean to men.” I pull out my phone and fire off a text to Theo. We’ve both been on edge since last night. The whole day has felt like waiting for something bad to happen.
Holly: Have you found April yet? My mother is getting on my nerves.
His response is immediate.
Evil Hag:Not yet.
I type again.
Holly: Does Parker know where she is?
Evil Hag: Can’t find him either.
What the fuck?
Holly: Have you asked ANYONE around where either of them are???
Evil Hag: No.
Honestly, it’s like I’m surrounded by idiots.
Holly: You’re being very fucking useless right now.
Evil Hag: I agree. Let’s go back to your room. I’ll show you how useful I can be there.
For a traitorous second, my mind considers taking him up on the offer.
A quickie with Theo might not fix all my problems, but it will definitely shut my brain up for five minutes. Ten, if he's feelinggenerous. His mouth back on mine, my nails down his chest, making himbleed.
I exhale.Later.
I turn back to Mom. “Let’s split up. You check the top floor, I’ll cover this one again.”
She nods and totters off in her too-high heels, muttering something about how she hopes April hasn’tactuallyeloped because the caterers have already started setting up the raw bar.
As soon as she’s out of sight, I start down the hallway, shoving open every unlocked door. Empty room. Storage closet. Another empty room.
I rip through more rooms. Two more corridors. Nothing.
My feet start to ache in these stupid heels that were clearly designed by Satan’s podiatrist. I lean against a wall, kick them off, and rub my soles. Then stare at last night’s message again.
UNKNOWN: knock knock. guess who? i wont tell but i got a gift 4 u
Slow-blooming frustration claws its way up my spine. First of all, what kind of a sicko duct tapes a dead kitten'sheadon someone’s hotel room door? And second of all, what the hell is this person’s weird obsession with shitty rhymes? It doesn’t even make any sense.Guess who? I won’t tell.Then why even ask, Einstein? Even Kennedy has a better sense of humor and that’s saying something.
