Page 35 of One Night Bride
Remington
“No, no, no, no…”
Esme’s voice woke me out of a dead sleep. My eyes flew open, and I rolled over, thinking she must be having a bad dream. She was having a bad something alright. She sat with her back to the headboard, her blasted cell phone in her hand, scrolling online. A T-shirt already covered those breasts I’d hoped to see in the light of day. Her dark eyebrows were almost a single line of furrowed frustration. Even her nose was scrunched up in distaste.
“Shit!” she exclaimed, frantically enlarging whatever was on the screen.
“Did you find my nudes online?” I asked as a joke, scrubbing a hand over my face. Damn, I hadn’t slept that deep in a long time.
Esme gasped and nearly dropped her phone when she looked over at me. Well, shit. That did nothing for my self-esteem. Did she forget I was in bed with her? Did she forget the countless orgasms I’d given her last night? I scratched my head. And early this morning. Couldn’t forget those.
“Freaking Poppy!” Esme practically screamed.
I winced and tried to sit up. Apparently there was some drama happening, and if Esme was freaked out enough to yell before coffee, I needed to get my brain in gear.
“What’s going on?” I asked, leaning over to see the screen of her phone.
“This!” Esme shoved the phone in my face, waving it around so much I couldn’t see a damn thing.
I took the phone from her and held it still away from my nose so I actually saw what she was referring to. It looked like a picture of me—and I was looking damn good if I do say so myself in those black slacks and nothing up top but a scarf necktie—with Esme standing next to me. It was one of those candid photos where everyone is in motion. Esme had a glowing smile on her face. I really didn’t see what she was getting so worked up about.
“You look beautiful, honeypoo,” I cooed, not yet grasping the gravity of the situation.
She snatched the phone back and pointed at it with one red-tipped fingernail. “Do you see your hand there?”
This felt like a trap. An innocent, yet awful set of questions I could never get out of without making myself look like an ass.
“Yes,” I said slowly. Cautiously.
“Do you see how your palm is cupped just so?”
I nodded.
“Do you see how your hand is right at the level of my ass?” She shouted the last word in my ear, wiggling the phone to emphasize her point.
I tilted my head to the left and looked at the picture again. Well, now that she pointed it out, it did kind of look like my hand was on her ass.
“And do you see how you look like a stripper? And I’m smiling like a loon?” Her voice had gone shrill.
I looked away from the phone and put a calming hand on her arm. “Esme, honey. I know that looks bad, but there’s a logical explanation. I’m sure no one else thinks I grabbed your ass. Did Poppy send you the picture?”
Her head started to shake, and she pursed her lips before continuing, her eyes holding a look of frenzy that spelled disaster for my day.
“No, she didn’t send it to me like a normal person and ask if she could post it. Nope. That little bitch just posted it on her social media with a lurid caption she knew would stir up trouble.”
I frowned, just now getting the wheels in my head to spin properly. I didn’t exactly want my face out there as a stripper either if I was about to open a nonprofit organization to help young boys.
“What did she say?”
Esme looked back down to the phone and read, “Wondering if the infamous ‘Remy’ can serve hors d’oeuvres at our Friday night poker game. Anyone know where he lives? Or who he is? Maybe Esme Waldo knows… And then Ashley’s already commented on it, saying, and I quote ‘it looks like Tahoe didn’t stay in Tahoe.’”
Esme threw the phone down on the bed and watched it bounce before settling facedown. “Can you believe that shit? What am I going to do?”
I scrubbed a hand over my face again and thought it through. “Well, first we’re going to get up and drink some coffee. Then we’re going to make breakfast and come up with a story.” I glanced over at her, an idea hitting me. “Any chance she’ll take the photo down if you ask her?”
Esme made some flapping noise with her lips. “Please. That woman lives for gossip like this. She wouldn’t take it down for several days, even if I asked nicely. Not until the buzz dies down, and the trouble has already happened.”
I slipped out of bed and grabbed the white comforter to wrap around myself. I didn’t feel like having this conversation naked, nor did I want to put on the pants I’d worn last night that currently sat wrinkled on her floor. Esme stood up too, the T-shirt barely skimming the top of her thighs. Fuck, she was beautiful.
