Page 53 of End Game
“Forget it. It was a joke gone bad. Just . . .” She looks at the chandelier hanging above us in the penthouse of the Standen Hotel. “You need to give her some space tonight, okay? She doesn’t know you’re here and she just needs some . . . space.”
“Did I do something to offend her?” I ask, an odd sensation coming over me. “Did I hurt her or say something really stupid?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
“Then why are you acting like I should stay away from her, Poppy?”
Very slowly, her chin drops until we’re face-to-face. There’s no joke on the tip of her tongue, no silly comeback that she always has ready to fire. In the vacancy lies a seriousness that has me forcing a swallow.
She considers her words. “She has some things going on, Branch. I’m sure she’ll talk to you, but just be gentle if you see her, please.”
Be gentle?
“Just between you and me,” I say, “she doesn’t like it gentle.”
“Branch!”
“Fine. I hear you. Be easy with her. Got it.”
Her arms plant firmly across her chest. “You are so not going to heed any of what I said, are you?”
“Nope.”
“Damn you.”
“I’ll be gentle, even though I think that’s the pussiest word I’ve ever heard,” I admit. “But if I see her, I’m going to talk to her. If she tells me to go fuck myself for some reason, I’ll probably do just that because I’ve been doing that for the last few weeks every time I think of her.”
“Nice visual.”
“I have it down to a science. I use the left hand for foreplay and the right to bring it home.”
“Oh my God,” she laughs, shaking her head.
“You rang?” Finn pops between us and pulls Poppy into his side and hands her a drink. “What are you thinking, Best? See anyone you know?”
“Not yet, but you know me. I make friends everywhere I go.”
Finn chuckles. “If that’s what you want to call them.”
“Speaking of, I’m going to mingle. You two kids behave.”
Poppy tries to shoot me a warning glance, but I avoid receiving it. Instead, I spin on my heel and wander about the penthouse that’s the stage for the birthday bash.
There are crystals everywhere, dangling off light fixtures and filling vases with big, drippy candles. Music plays through the sound-system, broken up by someone on a mic saying a deejay will be starting soon. I lift a mini-burger off a tray carried around by a man in a white jacket and look for Layla.
People begin to show up in thicker droves, yet the party is much more controlled than I anticipated. I meander through the throngs of people with the burger in my hand, saying hello to various people as I go.
Her giggle stops me dead in my tracks, my eyes glued to an oversized golden mirror on the wall ahead. I listen, my senses on high alert, waiting for the sound to come again.
Watching the reflection, bodies move behind me. The deejay is firing up an early-two-thousands hit when I see her.
A pinkish-orange dress hugs her curves, her hair hanging softly around her shoulders. She looks beautiful with her rosy cheeks and bright eyes. She radiates a simple elegance that I can’t look away from.
She catches me watching her, one hand flying to the base of her throat. Her eyes go wide and cause the lady she’s speaking with to ask her if she’s all right. I see her nod, telling them she’s okay, then excusing herself into a crowd to her left. It takes mea whole half a second to follow her, dumping the uneaten burger on a table.
Thanks to her heels and my athletic ability, I catch up with her right as she’s heading onto a balcony off a bedroom. The air is warm, thick with the scents of the city with twinkling lights sparkling on the river below.
“Hey,” I say, pulling the sliding glass door closed behind me. She stands at the railing, her back to me, and doesn’t respond to my greeting. “Are you okay, Layla?”
