Page 42 of One More Time
‘I know,’ Lucy whispered.
‘Lucy,’ he tried, with a kind of amazement that made her heart trip. He clung to her tightly.
‘I know,’ she replied. ‘I know.’
That was the last thing Lucy remembered before falling into a dreamless sleep, still clinging to Nicky Broome like a lifeline.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
LUCY
‘Mom?’
Lucy’s eyes struggled to open. The blazing desert sunlight was firing like laser beams through the window and her eyelashes were glued together.
Must have forgotten to wash my face last night, she thought lazily.
It was then that Lucy realized other parts of her were equally sticky, and the whole situation struck her as both odd and disconcerting. She rolled to her side sleepily contemplating all the variously gluey and aching aspects of her person.
Chloe’s voice filtered through the bedroom door again. ‘Mom! Where are you? You’re not answering your phone. Mom!’
Lucy managed to pry one eye open and spotted a swath of brightly decorated skin beside her. Nicky Broome, face down, with his back roasting in the sun.
The previous night whooshed back into her consciousness so quickly that it made her stomach lurch.
Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit.
‘Nicky!’ Lucy whisper-yelled while shoving his shoulder. He only groaned and rolled away.
Shitshitshitshitshit.
‘Mom!’
‘Nicky!’ Lucy tried again, with a shake.
‘Huh?’ he asked blearily, shielding his eyes with an arm.
‘My daughter! She’s here!’ Lucy hissed.
Lucy scrambled off the bed and almost face-planted when her right hamstring refused to cooperate.
She grabbed the closest item of clothing and dove into it, realizing only after that she’d slipped into Nicky’s tee from the night before. It smelled like him. She resisted the urge to sniff it and went about grabbing clothes from the floor.
When she looked back, Nicky was up watching her with pure amusement on his face.
She slipped into her terribly unclean panties from the floor.
‘Come on!’ Lucy urged. ‘Get …’ She looked around. ‘Get in the closet.’
Nicky laughed.
‘Quiet!’
‘Why—?’
Lucy cut him off by thrusting a pile of his things into his arms.
‘The closet!’ Lucy implored.
