Page 97 of Oops! I Married a Rock Star
“Hey, Emily.” My voice comes out gravelly from not having spoken in twenty-four hours. “It’s just me.”
“You’re alone?” She blinks. “Um. Killian’s not here.”
“Seriously? Where did he go? He whined about missing you the entire damn time we were on tour.”
She smiles. “Did he? That’s so sweet. No, he went to Sunny’s Mart to grab some beer and ice cream.”
“Ah. The two other things he missed a lot on the road.” Apparently, not any ol’ beer and ice cream would do. They have to be Hop Hop Hooray and Bouncing Cows. “Can I come in?”
She looks startled, then flushes. “Oh, sure, of course. Come on in.”
I step inside. The coffee table in the living room where Emily has set up her laptop and notebooks is a mess. Cracker wrappers and empty beer bottles are strewn around, and wadded-up paper litters the floor. There’s an empty ice cream carton listing against the sofa. It looks like the Tasmanian Devil is trying to write a novel.
“I’m on a major deadline,” she explains, then clears her throat. “Want something to eat?”
“No thanks, I’m dead. You mind if I crash? You guys have a spare bedroom, right?”
“Uh-huh. Upstairs.” She gives me a nervous look, like I’m an alien super-villain wearing Devlin’s face, but she leads me up to the second floor. “Here you go.”
I grunt my thanks—the sight of a bed suddenly makes me too tired to speak coherently. I step in and collapse on the soft mattress, facedown.
“Should I call someone?” Her question sounds almost like a plea.
“No. I’m good.” Then everything goes dark.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Devlin
The next time I open my eyes, I have no idea what time it is—or even what day. I’m feeling a little more human, though. And my bladder says I better get my ass to the bathroom or I’m going to embarrass myself in Killian and Emily’s home.
I take a massive, enduring, Niagara-esque leak, then get in the shower. My eyes no longer burn and sting. And the lower half of my face is rough with stubble. I brush my teeth with a new toothbrush and toothpaste that either Killian or Emily put out for me, then realize I don’t have anything to change into. I drove away without packing.
Shit.
I find a bathrobe and shrug it on. I’ll do a quick bit of laundry and buy some emergency clothes to tide myself over until I figure out what to do.
I make my way down the stairs quietly. Emily said she’s got a big deadline, and I want to be a good houseguest. I slow down when I hear my name.
“Is Devlin okay?” Emily says.
“I dunno.” A pause. “Babe, you can stare all you want at me, but I got nothing. I swear,” Killian says.
“You sure? It isn’t nice to withhold things from your wife.”
“Positive. See?”
What is he showing her?
“He could’ve used a secret phone to text you,” Emily says.
Jesus. The woman’s paranoid.
Killian laughs. “He doesn’t have a secret phone. This isn’t a spy novel.”
“But where’s his wife?” A pause. “I’d actually feel less bad if he’d showed up with the Sextet.”
My jaw slackens. The Sextet is what Emily calls a set of six hot girls from Spain I once showed up with. Killian was having issues, and I wanted to help. Emily didn’t appreciate it, but at that point I didn’t know the two of them were together.
