Page 56 of Tell Me Lies: Manlove Edition

I blink. She’s pushing this too far. “Why on earth would you want to find out where he is?”

She rolls her eyes. “It would be your chance to apologize! Duh.”

A chill traverses me. That girl is capable of doing the craziest things when she sets her mind to it, and she’ll drag me through the most troublesome situations. Unfortunately, I signed a contract clause stating I can’t refuse a direct order.

She jumps out of bed faster than I can blink again. Not the least shy, she turns to the wall and strips out of her pajamas.

I look away, set the bag of crisps on the bed—suddenly lost my appetite—and cross my arms. “Would you care to explain what the hell you’re doing? At this hour?”

The sound of ruffling clothes behind me tells me the damn girl is getting dressed to go out, I’m sure of it, and I’m not liking it. She’s set to doing something I don’t want to be part of, cruising through town at night and looking for someone I don’t want to meet.

Although Robin the harlequin—I’ll call him that from now on—did intrigue me on some level, and if she does manage to find him, it might give me the chance to redeem myself. I’d hate to look back on this day for the rest of my life reminding me I’m an asshole.

Then again, I’m not sure I’m up to it. Nope, I’m exhausted and would rather have a good night’s sleep between now and the moment I face that guy again to offer my apologies. It would suck if I showed up feeling and looking like a cadaver.

Quick as a whirlwind, she passes me by with a whiff of watermelon-bubblegum scent and heads to the main door. She’s put white jeans and a Tina Turner-tribute tee on and styles them with a turquoise Aimee Song purse. “There’s a program on his website, says he’s doing an indoor show with another harlequin this evening. Let’s go.”

Fuck. I hold out an arm. “You’re forgetting something, Boss.”

“What?” She swivels and stands in my face with a raised eyebrow.

Up close, her eyes are a startling blue, and they stand out in the dark tan of her skin like two shiny opals. You’d think she was wearing lenses, but she’s not. Her eyes are the only parts of her body that are real yet look fake, sadly. They remind me of the harlequin’s green-colored eyes and how they stood out in his white facial paint, full of humor and mischief.

Ugh, why does he keep coming to my mind? I am so not ready to see him again. “I can’t drive,” I explain, glad to have an excuse. “I’ve had a couple beers.”

Her inquisitive gaze wanders over my shoulder, at the couch behind me. “More, it seems.”

I take a deep, calming breath. “And in Spain, you can’t drink and dr—”

She waves a hand. “Oh, that’s not a problem. The venue is a few blocks down the road.”

“You mean you want to walk? You, who had to be driven in a limo earlier? Which is the reason why I got into all that trouble in the first place?”

She gives me a shrug that says, “Whatever.”

I shake my head. “Seriously, I’d rather go tomorrow. I’m super tired.” I stress that adverb in the hopes she’ll hear the misery in my voice and relent.

A frown. “No, tomorrow they’re going to another town. They’re on tour.”

Chapter Three

“What do you want from him?” A woman wearing the same costume as Robin the harlequin stands in the hotel reception with her arms crossed and glares at me. Her English is good but with a heavy Spanish accent.

After looking for Robin at his show and finding him gone, Mira-Me asked personnel at the venue for help. They directed us to a hotel not far from ours, but the receptionist refused to give us a room number. We thought we were lucky when a female version of him appeared in the reception to buy a soda from a vending machine, but she doesn’t seem very friendly. Or rather, she seems to know exactly who I am and downright resents me.

She must be good at reading thoughts, too. “You’re all over YouTube,” she spits, her yellow-brown tiger eyes sending me darts of contempt. “You should read what people say in the comment sections. The hate level is through the roof.”

I can feel defeatism sneaking into me. What the hell am I doing here? It’s creepy enough standing in an obscure hotel late at night, all dark, ancient wood and cracked stone floor from another century, with the acrid smell of old lacquer making my nose twitch … but to be the recipient of another person’s hostility when I’m tipsy and overtired is a different story.

I turn to Mira-Me with a deep sigh, ready to give up and bolt.

She proves to be a smooth talker. She pulls a hundred-euro bill out of her purse and waves it in front of the female harlequin’s face. “He’s here to apologize. As for me, you saw me inviting Robin into the limo, right? And taking pics with him? It was so much fun.” She flashes a white-toothed smile.

After a short stare down, the woman snatches the bill. “It’s this way.”

She leads us out of the reception and up three spiraling, creaking flights of stairs so narrow you have to climb one at a time. The third landing is a balcony, its wood floor squeaking and dancing under our feet as though suspended from the high, tower-shaped ceiling of monochromatic sheet glass above our heads. As depressed and suicidal as I can be sometimes, I hope this isn’t the last day of my life.

At the end of the balcony, the female harlequin knocks on a thick, wooden door. The space is unlit, so when the door opens, a sudden flood of light blinds me. Mira-Me pushes me inside a cramped interior reeking of musty, old carpet and dust. I blink to adjust my vision.

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