Page 67 of Black Roses

I close my eyes and shake my head, appalled at the situations she ends up in sometimes.

She looks around my hotel room and then at her semi-unpacked bag before squinting her eyes at me. “Speaking of how men suck, why areyouhere? And where’s your stuff?”

My throat stings and my heart hurts. It actually hurts—as if it’s not all completely there—like I left some of it back in New York.

She sees the expression of defeat on my face. “Oh, Piper. What happened?” She leads me over to the bed, patting the spot next to her when she sits down.

Her mouth gapes open as I tell her the incredulous story. Then she cradles me until I fall asleep.

When I wake, I’m pissed off at the light for coming through the curtains and touching my face. But at second look, I realize it’s morning light, not evening. I check the clock. I slept for almost eighteen hours.

On the bedside table there’s a note from Charlie telling me she’s gone to work, stocking shelves at a small tourist boutique by the cruise port. I smile, thinking she’s got an actual job instead of relying on a man to put a roof over her head. At least for now. Until she does something stupid again like sleep with the boss and get fired by his wife.

After a long, soothing shower that washes the travel filth from my body, I sift through some drawers to borrow a t-shirt and jeans. Jeans I need to roll up at the cuff due to the differences in our height. I draw the line, however, at wearing Charlie’s underwear and since I’ve been sporting the same pair for two days, I decide to go commando.

I sling my purse over my shoulder and head out on a shopping spree. I never went back to Skylar’s to collect my things and I’m going to need some stuff to get me by until my dad can ship my clothes over. Out of habit, I’ve always kept my passport in my purse, and that along with a credit card was all I needed to get a plane ticket. Everything else was expendable.

Including Mason Lawrence.

My heart sinks. I’d gone a whole thirty minutes without thinking of him. I try to convince myself it wasn’t him in the picture; that maybe his bitch of an ex-girlfriend had Photoshopped him in or something. But how would she have known I was there and that the picture was ofthatnight? I’ll never forget the clothes I was wearing. Months later, when I finally realized what had happened, I burned the pink low-cut sweater and hip-hugging capris.

Even if Mason was one of them, maybe it was just like I told him and he was simply a drunk, horny kid joining the orgy. Could he even be to blame if that were the case? Even so—I can never forgive him for knowing about it and not telling me the truth once I told him what happened to me. Did he think he could be with me knowing what he did? How could we build a relationship on that? On the heels of the second worst night of my life.

The nagging voice in my head says it isn’t so. That I jumped to conclusions. That maybe it wasn’t even him in the picture. It could have been his, what do they call it . . . doppleganger?

Mason is a good man.

I remember chanting the mantra over and over in my head while he kissed me. Touched me. Put his tongue on me.No! Stop it, Piper.

He was different all those years ago. He’s admitted to it. He would sleep with anyone in a skirt until he screwed up and knocked one of them up. It was him in the picture. My head knows it. My gut feels it.

My broken fucking heart hates it.

Out of habit, I reach for my phone to check the time before realizing I don’t have it anymore. I look at the new watch on my right wrist that tells me it’s almost time for my daily coffee. It’s the one indulgence I allow myself even when I get down to my last pennies.

Who needs a phone anyway? Especially when I’m sure it’s jam packed with texts and voicemails fromhim.

Approaching my favorite café, I wonder if maybe they’ll let me work there again. For coffee, food, and perhaps a few weeks’ stay in the flat overhead like we did for a stint last year. I don’t know, though, I kind of left without notice when Charlie got some dude to fly us to London.

But the hotel I chose in haste is far too expensive for more than just a day or two. We have to start looking for another place. Maybe go back to where Charlie was crashing before yesterday; probably some youth hostel with disgusting shared bathrooms and little to no privacy.

I stand in the busy line, not recognizing any of the employees. Pay is low and turnover is high. But I don’t need much, so when I make my way to the counter to place my order, I pull an application from the box attached to the wall and shove it into my purse. Then, as usual, I walk on my tiptoes from the order line to the pickup line—my eyes trained on the barista preparing my latte. It’s not hard to follow it here since they write everyone’s name on their cups.

“I guess you won then,” a deep, pained, familiar voice says behind me.

My heart thunders. It’s a resounding noise that reverberates throughout my entire body. It can’t be.

I spin around and stare at him for seconds. Minutes. An eternity.

It’s him. The only man I’ve ever loved. Even against my own will, my body responds to his voice. His face. His mere presence.

My very next thought, however, is that I’m going to eviscerate my so-called best friend and hang her from her pink fucking toenails until they rip from her body, letting her fall and drown in a pool of her own blood.

“Piper?” the guy at the counter calls out.

I turn around and stare at the offending cup on the counter that displays my name.Shit.

Mason comes up next to me, plucking my latte from the tiled surface, depositing it into the trashcan next to him. He reaches into his pocket and throws money on the counter—Euros even. “Make her another,” he commands. “Just like that one.” He nods to the trashcan. “And keep the change. Comprende?”

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