Page 89 of Green Flag
“Two doors down,” I said, following him back to the door. “Should I get dressed and—”
“No,” he said with a shake of his head, hand already on the doorknob. “I don’t think she wants an audience.”
And he was gone. I watched him walk down the corridor, knock on her door and she threw her arms around him as she sobbed. He looked at me with a soft, guilty smile and entered her hotel room.
* * *
An hour later, Bella and I were in a bar two streets away from the hotel, one she claimed was “way too much fun for corporate types like Livie.” She was already two tequila shots deep, swaying to a bad remix ofWomaniserand tugging me towards the dancefloor.
I downed my third drink — a pina colada, extra shot of rum and no ice — and slammed the glass down on one of the high tables, laughing as she lifted our hands in the air before twirling me around.
Normally, I didn’t get drunk so fast.
But I needed it and my body let me have it.
Because if the night didn’t start to blur, my brain would continue to replay Luca’s retreating back.
He’d said all the right things. He’d been the right person when I’d needed him.
And now… fuck, what was he doing with her?
It didn’t help that she was now my top contender for my dad’s accomplice. Though she’d hardly worked there a year, her relationship with my dad screwed up my nose.
They hugged. He smiled at her.
Like he was proud of her.
And Luca adored her too.
“Have they got something going on?” I shouted over the music. Of course I’d confided in Bella.
She shook her head. “Not that I’ve noticed! But she’s very protective of both him and Nix. They are of her too. Wonder if they’ve ever had a threesome.”
I coughed, startled by the mental picture, before bashing my palm into my head. Ew. No.
Luca and—
Absolutely not.
When the shot girl walked past, I grabbed two and downed them both.
I needed brain bleach. Industrial strength.
Bella laughed and when a guy came up behind her, pressing into her back, his hands on her hips, she wiggled her eyebrows at me and mouthed, “Is he hot?”
I shook my head — Bella had the highest standards when it came to her hook-ups: beautiful, feminine-featured women, or burly, bearded men.
Or singers like Henri Alho.
This man was neither.
She screwed up her nose, but swayed into his movements, pressing back into him and laughing at whatever he whispered in her ear.
When I felt warmth and then pressure behind me and I flinched as a hand gripped my hip.
“She’s—” Bella stopped abruptly and narrowed her eyes, cocking her head to the side in question. “…Taken?”
“She is,” I said and stepped forward, out of the man’s grip. I didn’t even turn.
