“Plus, they were lying under Liam all night,” I point out.
“That’s not a bad thing, is it, Becky?” Percy jokes, winking at Becky to let her know she’s only joking. It’s not the first time we’ve made comments about her husband. Liamisfucking hot.
“So, let’s gather what we have,” I say, staring at the items we’ve gathered on the coffee table.
“Wait,” Becky says. “Where are our phones?”
We all get up and start tearing the place up all over again. Our phones are usually such a goldmine. We can see who we called, if we took any pictures, even if we looked up an address.
I flip through mine while I look…but it looks like whatever pictures I took from last night are trashed. My thumb was over the lens the entire time—the whole night is just one lightly tanned blur.
I look through the kitchen, but other than champagne glasses littering the sink and empty bottles all along the bar, there’s nothing to be learned in here. I grab a water bottle and down it in one long gulp like I just crawled my way across the Sahara.
“I FOUND OUR PHONES!” Becky yells from the balcony.
We run out to her to find her standing over the spa, holding my purse. My very wet, very ruined leather purse.
“Your phones?” I ask, a little breathless.
“I found them,” Becky says. “That’s the good news.”
“My purse is soaked!” I whine, taking it from her.
“Yeah, that’s the bad news,” Becky says. “Thereallybad news is that our phones are in your purse.”
Percy reaches into my bag and starts pulling out phone after phone. “Goddammit. All the rice in the world wouldn’t dry out these phones.”
And I’ve already looked at my phone—nothing. Dejected, I head back to the coffee table to catalog our findings, what little there is.
“Okay, so here’s what we know: I woke up with Brendon, so there’s that,” I say, using my fingers to count off items.
“Yeah, there is,” Percy says, channeling her inner Joey Tribbiani.
“We’ve got used gold teeth,” I continue, pointing at them sitting on the table. “The master bathroom is full of a dozen live lobsters with cocktail swords rubber-banded to their claws…”
“It is?!” Becky says, getting up to run in there. She stops midway across the room. “You know what? I’ll look later. Figuring out what happened last night is more important.”
“Don’t forget the block o’cocaine and roses we have here,” Sammi says, waving her arms above the loot like she’s aPrice is Rightmodel.
“We’ve got to write this down,” I say, shaking my head. “Becky, hand me that pad and pen from the desk.”
“Oh, this one,” Becky says, pointing to the notepad. “You mean the one with a wedding band sitting on top of it?”
Becky holds up the thin gold band that the more I look at, the more familiar it seems.
“Oh, no,” I say. Suddenly, I flash back to organ music, scratchy white lace, and cheap plastic flowers. “Oh no, no, no…”