Page 37 of The Party Plot

“Jesus, does your friend evernotcock block you?”

“Fuck, is it Melody?” Laurel groaned into the couch cushions. “I swear to God, if it’s fucking book club again—“

Casey let the phone fall out of his hand and onto the floor, kissing his way down Laurel’s throat, sucking at the petal-soft skin where his neck met his collar. “Book club. Sounds important.” His other hand was on Laurel’s belt, loosening the buckle, Laurel’s cock already hard and promising behind his fly, and Casey’s tongue was heavy with the need to taste him.

“I should answer,” Laurel said weakly.

“You should, you really should.” His fingers were scraping through the coarse hair on Laurel’s lower belly now, Laurel’s pulse pounding against his lips. The phone stopped, then started again, a panicky static drone coming up from the carpet.

Casey felt Laurel sigh. “I actually should, for real.”

“Can’t she wait?”

“I—“ Laurel pulled back, blushing invitingly. His pupils were huge, his expression a little bleary. “I’ll worry. If I don’t answer. And I don’t want to be worried. I want to be—all yours. I want to give you my undivided attention.”

Casey cast a pointed look at Laurel’s groin. He tugged slightly at one of his belt loops. He could use the belt to tie Laurel’s hands up. Take his time re-learning every inch of him. It had driven him wild before, and Casey wanted that again. “Undivided, huh?” He found himself smiling, his fingertips tingling, his body feeling warm and languid as if he were back in the hot tub in Vegas.

“Promise.” Laurel kissed his cheek. “I’ll just be a second.”

But the moment he looked at the screen, Casey knew something was wrong. The hopeful expression on Laurel’s face wilted and confusion swam across his features, then concern. “Shit. I—I missed three calls from her hours ago. I never miss a call.” He answered the phone, fingers trembling. “Melody?” Laurel asked. “Slow down, sweetie. Who’s—what? Well tell him to—no, no, don’t go anywhere with him. Stay put, I’ll be there in a second.” He stood, fumbling around in his pocket. “Fuck, where are my keys?”

Casey swallowed, an icy feeling in the back of his throat.Undivided attention, my ass. He was nothing to Laurel but a hookup; of course his friends were more important. It didn’t hurt, because it had been painfully obvious all along. “What’s going on?”

“Melody’s downtown.” Laurel grabbed a jacket off the hanger by the door, his movements tight and jerky. “I don’t know what’s happening, but it sounds like Howie Bonard is there. I need to go get her. She can’t drive herself. Shit. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I didn’t check my phone earlier. I can’t believe I just left her hanging. This is—this is a mess, I’m a mess. I really wanted—“

Casey didn’t want to hear what he had wanted. It would make it worse. “You’ve been drinking. Can’t she get an Uber, or something?”

Laurel shook his head. “No, she needs me. I guessIcan get an Uber, but it’ll take forever.”

Rain was hammering the window now, the sky outside steel-gray, and the light had an ominous quality to it, like someone had put a shroud over the sun. Casey thought of the winding country roads between here and downtown Bonard, the slick pavement and the growing gloom of the day. He didn’t want to get caught up in this. He needed to be alone. Needed some space between him and Laurel, a chance to think.

“We’ll have to take my car,” he heard himself say.

12.

Laurel jumped out of the car as soon as the familiar facade of the Belmont Inn resolved itself from out of the rain, his feet sinking into the soggy grass of the parking strip, feet soaked through before Casey had even fully parked. No ghost dogs in sight, but Melody was huddled on the front porch like a cat left out in a storm, jacketless, arms wrapped around her abdomen like it pained her. Howie Bonard stood next to her, talking to her hunched back. He put a hand on her shoulder as Laurel watched. Something about that pale hand on her bare skin made Laurel’s chest fill with roaring panic, made his throat clench. He broke into a run, rushing up the front steps of the hotel.

“Melody!”

“She’s fine,” Bonard said. There was a proprietary smugness in his voice.

Laurel could see that she wasn’t; Melody’s eyes were wet, her hands shaking so badly that the vape in her fist clattered against her phone, sounding like castanets in the enclosed area of the porch. There was a deep indent in her lower lip from where she’d been gnawing on it. The supporting boot was still on her foot, weighing her down. “Laurel, I need to go home.”

“Silly thing’s been out drinking all day with a broken foot, and no jacket. I tried to give her mine, but I guess chivalry is dead.” Howie massaged Melody’s shoulder. Laurel imagined snapping his fingers like twigs, thought of how loud and satisfying it would be.

“Melody, come on,” he said, trying to keep his voice from trembling. “Let’s go.”

Bonard continued as if he hadn’t heard him. “Not a drop of sense in her pretty little head, is there, Mellie?” She flinched. Laurel knew she hated that nickname. “She can’t take care of herself. I offered, you know. I’ve been more than generous. But she’s pissed at me, as usual.” He gave Laurel a pained look, as if he were the victim here. The expression didn’t reach his eyes, which remained flat and predatory and somehow pleased. “Making herself crazy about a little piece of paper.”

Laurel bit into the inside of his cheek, heart pounding. The restraining order obviously hadn’t worked. Something sour slithered through his stomach.

“Howie, let her go.”

“As if a piece of paper could keep us apart. As if anyone would ever sign it.”

He leaned down, speaking into Melody’s ear. “You’ve got to stop embarrassing yourself with these antics, Mellie.”

“Fuck off,” she said weakly. Howie Bonard chuckled.

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