Page 35 of Sweet Chaos
“This isn’t the Holiday Fucking Inn.” But I didn’t give a shit if they stayed. I had plenty of room and they’d had too much to drink to even think of driving home.
“It’s nicer. And the walls aren’t as thin,” Nic said with a wink, no embarrassment whatsoever that she and Cruz were about to go upstairs and fuck like rabbits. She was pretty cool. A straight shooter. No games. I liked that. And obviously so did Cruz who had a little more swagger in his step than usual.
Meanwhile, I’d put a girl to sleep. That was a first.
I wasn’t thinking with my dick when I carried her upstairs. I wasn’t even thinking with my dick when I tucked her into my bed, leaving her in a skull T-shirt and leggings, her hair messy and disheveled. She smelled like vanilla and honey, the scent of red wine on her soft breath. It was a heady combination. Sweet, innocent, and forbidden. Like her.
She slept like the dead, this girl, and only stirred briefly, mumbling something incoherent before she dropped off to sleep again with a sigh of contentment. I pulled the covers up to her shoulders and sat on the edge of the bed, watching her sleep, her face so peaceful, a small smile turning up the corners of her lush lips like all her dreams were good ones.
A few minutes into creeping on Scarlett, my phone rang. I turned it to silent, checking to make sure my crazy mother hadn’t woken her. One in the morning was her favorite time to call. Ducking outside onto the balcony, I closed the French doors to block out the sound of my voice and answered my mother’s call.
“What’d you need?” I wedged the phone between my ear and shoulder and lit a cigarette.
“Is that any way to greet your mama, sugar?” In the background, I heard slot machines and glasses clinking. My mother bartended at a casino in Vegas. All her tips went back into the slot machines and the roulette wheel. A losing game if there ever was one. Every time she called, I waited for her to tell me she’d lost everything or that I needed to bail her out of jail. With her, anything was possible.
I exhaled a plume of smoke and squinted at the view from my balcony. I swam in my Roman pool year-round and spent a small fortune to keep it heated to an optimal eighty-two degrees throughout the colder months. My lawn was manicured, the Moroccan tiles gleamed, and the glass fence around my property fucking sparkled, it was so clean and smudge-free. Not that I could see that from my vantage point, but I knew it, and that was good enough.
“I think Wayne’s gonna ask me to marry him. I really do. It’s different this time, baby. I think he really loves me. Wouldn’t that be something?”
Sure as hell would.
It was always different, but only in her mind. She was talking a mile a minute, and I let her talk, not really listening to her words but rather, the way she was so amped up. Too high. Overexcited. Tripping over her words, her brain firing on all cylinders. I’d seen her like this so many times, had seen her highs and her lows, and her rock bottom about a year ago when she’d taken too many pills and washed them down with whiskey. A cry for help that landed her in the hospital and ensured I’d drop everything to be at her side. Exactly where she wanted me.
I’d never told Remy. She and Shane were traveling at the time. Koh Samui, I think. It was about a month before their wedding in Bali. They were happy, finding their way back to each other, and they didn’t need to deal with my mother’s shit. I’d checked her into a treatment facility. Five days later, she checked herself out. Then I’d taken her to see specialists, and a psychiatrist had diagnosed her. For a while, she was good. Even-keeled. But that hadn’t lasted.
I interrupted whatever bullshit she was spewing. “You taking your meds?”
My head was pounding, those moments of peace watching Scarlett sleep derailed by my mother’s phone call. She had a knack for fucking up everything that was good, but my conscience wouldn’t allow me to ignore her phone calls anymore.
She sighed in exasperation. “I don’t need them. They just make me feel like I’m… like I’m underwater or something. Sucks the joy and the color right out of the world. How could that be a good thing? Those doctors don’t know what they’re talking about.”
My jaw clenched, and I pinched the bridge of my nose. This woman would be the death of me. “You need those fucking meds—”
“Oh, stop your worrying. I’m feeling great. Me and Wayne are going dancing. I wanna drive through the desert and dance under all those stars. I bought a new dress. It’s red. And shoes to match. Wait until he sees me in that. You should come out and visit me soon. We’ll hit the town. See a show. Go to dinner at that steak place you love.”
I hated Vegas. Always had. Too loud. Too fake. Filled with too many bad memories.
“I was showing everyone your picture tonight and all the ladies said you belong on a billboard. Like those Calvin Klein underwear models.”
The fuck? “Don’t show anyone my photo.”
“Just tryin’ to fix you up. You’d get lucky in Vegas, I can promise you that. Well, I gotta run. I love you, baby.”
She cut the call without waiting for my response, and I smoked another cigarette, praying to a God I didn’t believe in that Remy’s kid didn’t inherit any of our mother’s genes. Or mine for that matter.
Starlet was still fast asleep, Cruz and Nicola were down the hall doing God knows what, and I was wide awake, with so much restless energy I needed an outlet. Sex wasn’t an option, so I went for a swim. Fifty laps later, I’d loosened up enough to sleep and levered myself out of the pool, grabbing the towel I’d left on the deck.
* * *
“Hey Romeo.” I lifted my eyes to the Juliet balcony, the irony not lost on me. Starlet was leaning over the wrought-iron railing, my charcoal gray comforter wrapped around her shoulders like a cape, her wavy blonde hair glowing in the moonlight.
“What are you doing out here?” I asked, tying the towel around my waist and crossing the Moroccan tiles until I was standing right below her.
“I woke up and saw the pool lights,” she said, peering down at me. “Why were you swimming in the middle of the night?”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“You’re not cold?”
