Page 87 of Nothing to Do

“Tripp and I party for a living,” Roxie said, crawling onto the bed to unzip her dress and help her lift her ass to take it off over her head. Better that way than to move her leg again. “Literally every single night. We live in a nightclub.”

“You don’t live in Honolulu, ‘Ula ‘Ula—”

“We can visit any time. Haven’t you noticed Tripp barely has a job and I live in cocktail dresses? Zairn brought me here, to Dyce’s island, with zero notice.” Her friend threaded her arms into the sleeves of another shirt. “I just showed up at CollCom and next thing he knew, we were here.”

“Can you call him?” she asked and it only just hit her. “How did you call him earlier? There’s no cell service on the island. Does he have a sat phone?”

“Dyce is working on a new kind of sat phone. K2 says Dyce is just trying to ruin his fun, and he could be right. But we can’t complain given how much pleasure he accommodates.”

She couldn’t get comfortable. “K2?”

“Dyce.”

The door swung open.

Tripp entered, carrying a bucket of ice. “Usually when there are two women in my bed wearing my clothes…” He put the ice-bucket down and wandered to the bathroom. “It’s more fun than this.”

He reappeared with a couple of towels.

“I told Roxie you should go back to the club. And I don’t have to stay in your bed, I can go back to—”

“Ah, enough, woman,” he said, scooping some ice into a towel. “You know what will be less fun?”

He folded a towel to lay it over her leg then sat by her with the ice-filled towel to rest it on her ankle. Although she winced, she relaxed as soon as he did.

“What will be less fun?” she asked, raising her attention from the ice to the man frowning at it.

“When your guy finds out we didn’t take you straight to the hospital.”

“I don’t need a hospital, it’s a sprain. Alessia doesn’t need to know, and it’s not like you can drive me. Showing up in a limo is less than discreet.”

“Is that what you’re worried about?” Roxie pounced onto her knees. “Oh, honey, we can make a scene, sure, but we also know how to slip in unnoticed. You’re in pain, and you’ve been drinking.” Roxie sagged and appealed to Tripp. “The alcohol could be masking the pain. We should take her to the hospital.”

No objection from him. “Okay.”

“No!” she exclaimed, opening a hand to each of her friends. “I will be okay.”

“Dyce will be mad.”

“Then let him be mad at me, this is my call.”

Maybe it wasn’t fair to demand they comply, but she did not want Roxie showing up in the press with her and Tripp in some clandestine middle of the night hospital visit. Goodness only knew what story the media would cook up.

“Anyone hungry?”

“If you’re not going back to the party, you can still drink, still dance and—”

“Nah,” Tripp said, lying along the foot of the bed, still holding the ice towel on her ankle, propping his temple on a fist. “Roxie and I live in nightclubs.”

The woman beside her laughed and hooked an arm around the pillow beneath her. “That’s exactly what I said.”

Beyond the bedroom, a door slammed. What was that? Rather, who was that?

“Did someone order room service?” she asked.

Would they walk right in? Surely staff were required to—

Zane. He stalled in the doorway for just a second, concern etched on his face.

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