Pretty Remedy

by S. E. Hall

  “That’s your move?” I ask. “This guy may not even know you exist, and he’s damn sure not the one who owes you any loyalty or explanation. You’re going straight for him?”

  “Well Rhett, I can’t exactly hit her, now can I?”

  “You could talk to her first, rather than spend a night in jail and leave her wide open to spend it with him. Unless he knew. Then, by all means, whip his ass. But you’re only gonna figure that out by talking to Ness.”

  “Or”—Landry sits up straighter, holding up a finger—“we could act like we know nothing and fuck around on them right back!”

  ”Told you,” Reece whispers to me, and I can’t help but laugh. Then she goes right back to draining her seven-liquor tea.

  “That might work.” My brother drops his voice and his eyes, working the latter up and down Landry. “I could so get with that plan.”

  It seems his bereavement period may be speedier than I thought.

  “Alright then.” She giggles and stands, giving him her hand. “Let’s go gather our ‘reason we fuck now’ evidence, shall we?”

  “We shall.” Jarrett grins, the first genuine one since we arrived, and accepts her hand. “Be back,” he says to me and heads off on his mission.

  “Jar,” I holler and he looks back. “Don’t start shit in here, man. Respect for Thatcher at least, yes?”

  His head jerks in agreement and they’re gone, leaving me to Reece. Or Reece to me.

  “Finally,” I exhale. “I could use a little R&R.”

  “I bet. After all this, I’m thinking about some rest and relaxation myself.”

  “That sounds good too, but I meant Rhett and Reece.” I give her a wink; fuck it, works for other guys, and I’m in unfamiliar territory here. I never “talk,” but this girl demands it… without ever demanding it.

  “So you work here?” she asks timidly, eyes once again aimed at the table.

  “If we’re gonna talk,” I tease with a lighthearted laugh as I slide out of the booth and back in across from her, “let’s do it like this, where you’re more prone to actually look at me. Wh—” My mouth gapes as I wipe my face. “Did you just flick your drink on me?”

  “That I did.” She giggles, her face lighting up with a smile that disparages the sun.

  “You done?” I challenge her. “If so, I’ll answer your question. No, I don’t work here.” Elbows propped on the table, I steeple my fingers and rest my chin on them, eyeing her pointedly.

  “Then why were you at the door?” She goes in for a last, desperate slurp from her empty glass.

  I wave to grab JC’s attention and point at her, then mouth “beer for me,” to which he nods. “The bartender you sorta met earlier? That’s my friend JC, and my other buddy Thatcher manages this place. So when someone calls in or whatever, I help them out. They return the favor when I need it.”

  “What favors do you need?” She looks up and to the side, where Kelsey’s approaching with our order.

  I toss a quick glare at JC, who’s watching and laughing his ass off. Prick.

  “Hey, Rhett.” Kelsey lets the words drip out her mouth as she leans over twice as far as needed to set down my beer, her tits threatening to fall out her shirt. “Is this all you need? I can help with anything”—she offers Reece a snarky grin—“again.”

  “I don’t care if you’ve slept with him.” Reece shrugs. “I just met him. So less snarky and more my drinky would be great.”

  Oh, fuck me! My head falls back, my laugh a pleasantly surprised and very impressed howl that takes me minutes from which to recover. When I do, I lock eyes with Kelsey and growl. “Watch that shit, or you’ll be gone, understand?”

  “Whatever.” She slams Reece’s glass down in front of her and stomps off.

  “That was pretty kickass, Teaspoon. You’re just full of surprises.” I tip back my bottle, watching her over the end of it.

  “You really can go chase her or make plans to, uh, whatever. You aren’t obligated to watch over me until Landry gets back.”

  “I appreciate that”—my lip twitches in amusement—“but I’ll pass. Even if you weren’t here, she’d still be a no.” I reach across the table for her hand and brush my thumb on the underside of her wrist. “You, however, are very much a yes.”

  The most illicit, mysterious night of my life… nothing more than mundane solicitation. “I wouldn’t mind hanging out with you a little bit longer, but then I need to find Landry and head home. With her.”

  His eyes narrow as he rubs his jaw in silent consideration. He wants me. Admittedly, I am madly attracted to him, but even if I’d known him longer than say, five minutes, I can’t and won’t do a thing about it.

  “Alright.” His eyes, which are indeed an indefinite shade of blue, and posture defrost. “Let’s talk.” His expression glazes over with wolfish assuredness, marring what I’d almost been sure was the most handsome face I’d ever seen.

  Why do I get the feeling he thinks he’s doing me a favor, confident that he’s simply postponing the inevitable? He should stick to doors and dance floors, because his charm elsewhere is severely lacking.

  “You know what? Never mind, I’m ready to go. Let’s see if we can find Landry and your brother.”

  “So soon?” He tilts a brow.

  “You’re not interested in talking to me. You’re interesting in patronizing me out of my panties.”

  “Patronizing isn’t the right word, and surprisingly, I’m interested in both your conversation and your panties.”

  “I had fun. The dance was something.” I stand and he sighs as he does the same. “But it’s time for me to go.”

  He says nothing, those dictatorial hands of his once again leading me back to the bar and JC, which I tolerate. Tolerate isn’t the right word either; I absorb it, despite my disappointment in the predictable turn of events.

  “You seen Jarrett?” he asks JC when he’s able to snare his attention.

  “Uh yeah, about that. He didn’t tell you?”

  “Tell me what?” Rhett snaps.

  “Vanessa clocked out and they all left. Your friend too.” He nods my way with a worried frown.

  “That can’t be right,” I squawk, retrieving my phone from my cleavage as discreetly as possible. “She can’t just leave me. I…” Her voicemail drones in my ear. I press Call a second time, my frustration and panic soaring to threatening levels so suddenly I think I may vomit. “Voicemail!” I inform… possibly everyone in the bar. “She can’t! I don’t live in this town, or have my purse, or—”

  Rhett stops me just short of hyperventilation with a soothing smile and stroke of his hand on my cheek. “Stay with me. You were going to anyway.”

  “No, I wasn’t,” I huff, tempted to slap the predatory smirk off his face. “Let me try again.”

  I cower from his touch and turn away, stabbing at Call so hard my fingernail bends. Voicemail. I feel tears building in my eyes as I sniffle, typing out a text.

  Me: Where r u? I have no purse, car or your address! Come get me!

  I wait, watching my phone as though the answer to all of life’s riddles will flash across the screen at any second. After at least five minutes, I suck back the tears and turn to face defeat… and him. “What am I supposed to do now?”

  He scrubs a hand over his face and blows out a grumpy, annoyed breath. “Again, more than welcome to stay the night with me.” I’m already shaking my head no before he’s finished. “Okay then. JC?” Rhett leans across the bar, the two of them having a quick conversation I can’t hear, then Rhett looks back at me. “You’re all set. JC’s gonna help ya out.”

  “What? Where are you going?” I cringe at the sound of my vulnerability.

  “I got something I need to take care of, but you’re in good hands, I swear.” He gives me a soft chin knock. “It was nice meeting you, Reece. Sorry your friend did this to you.”

  And then he’s walking away. I watch, absolutely dumfounded. I’m sure he thinks he’s far enough into the c
rowd to blend in, which he’s isn’t, when his arm slides around his new, curvy companion. I bristle with contempt at… myself. To think, I was feeling guilty, without concrete evidence even, actually considering risking it all to be candid with the alluring… cold-hearted, single-minded stranger!

  “Reece?” JC touches my shoulder, gentleman enough to taper the pity in his voice.

  I spin to face him, stranded and pathetic, never feeling more helpless in my life.

  “Listen, our friend Thatcher’s the pit boss at the casino on the other side of this place. Let’s walk over and he’ll comp you a room for the night. You can track down your friend in the morning. Rhett’ll meet us there.”

  I have no other real options. Could I call home for a rescue? Out. Of. The. Question. I’m so not in the mood for an “I told ya so” or an actual full-throttle rescue, which Ozzie’s would be. If I chance finding my own hotel for the night, the clerk there or cabbie on the ride over may be far worse than the jerk who just abandoned me for his guaranteed piece of ass. And oh yeah, I don’t have my purse to pay for either anyway!

  “No, he won’t. I saw her,” I mumble, trudging along behind JC. Well, not her face, but her body was phenomenal enough, even from afar, that I don’t really blame him.

  “I got you the Garden of Eden suite. Sixth floor, elevator’s right over there.” JC points. “You want me to take you up?”

  He’s being gallant, genuinely asking with no hidden agenda—unlike his friend.

  “No, I’ll be fine. And thank you, JC. I really appreciate it. As soon as I have my stuff, I’ll pay you back.”

  “It’s no problem. My pleasure, in fact. Don’t worry about paying back anything that didn’t cost anyone a thing. Have a good night.” He smiles, gives my shoulder a quick, jovial rub, and hustles away. He’s probably not supposed to leave the bar.

  I ignore the elevator, head for the door marked Stairs, and start the daunting climb up six flights. That gives me just enough time to stew on Landry’s bitch move and Rhett’s dick one. I can’t decide who I’m more disappointed in, as unsettling as that is shocking. He seemed… kind and charming in a perfectly balanced broody, sexy way. Well, to hell with his phony, presumptuous ass! And Landry? This is way beyond her usual scope of flaky.

  When I reach the sixth floor, I walk the hall without hurry, more engrossed in the titles on each door than my weariness and aching feet. All these rooms are themed, and I can’t help but wonder what lies within each. Eh, except that one—Dungeons and Dragons—I’d rather not know.

  I almost miss the fact that I’ve arrived at my room because I’m caught up in the music coming from one suite over—“Hawaiian Delight.” It’s that version of “Somewhere Over The Rainbow” sung by the guy with an “I something K something” name no one can pronounce, and I tap my foot with a bona fide smile. Even after all the unpleasant curveballs thrown at me tonight, I did manage to inadvertently upgrade my vacation from Landry’s couch to a free night in a lush Vegas hotel. No one telling me I can’t do something or breathing down my neck with self-serving advisement.

  Not that I’m letting Landry off the hook by any means. For all she knows, I could be bedding down tonight in a dumpster, beaten and/or dead.

  But enough with the unhappy thoughts. The Garden of Eden’s gonna be awesome, and I enter slowly, breath held in anticipation. I flip on the light and shut the door, gasping in enchantment. It’s amazing! The walls perfectly depict a garden, an inset whirlpool tub fills a corner right out in the open, and a humongous bed dressed in black and red is in the center. There’s even a single bottle of champagne on chill- a special touch I suspect JC knew I’d appreciate after the night I’ve had. I love the room and totally get it—temptation the obvious message.

  A noise that I never make escapes me. No, not me at all. My head jerks to the right as I hear it again. The music ends, and the sounds of feminine pleasure coming from next door are unmistakable. Already trying all kinds of uncharacteristic things tonight, I tiptoe—which is ludicrous, since I’m pretty sure I could River Dance in army boots and they wouldn’t notice—over to the wall and plant my ear against it. When in the room of temptation and tempted…

  I’m no expert, not even close, but I’m still calling bullshit on this chick. No one actually gets it like that… outside of a Kindle anyway.

  “Harder!” she yelps.

  Harder? The floor under me is shaking! Not that I’m counting, but three headboard bangs and artificial squeals later, I hear him. His carnal grunts in primal bass have my body flushing and panties damp. It’s the most uninhibited, hypnotizing sound that’s ever teased my ears, and I’d give anything to one day have a sweaty beast of a man making it for me.

  Forget my premature astonishment. The Garden of Eden’s about as divine as plucking out my nose hairs with tweezers! I took a hot bubble bath as she begged for round two, and as far as I could decipher, he placated her by graciously “allowing” her to give him a blowjob. I even tried to play music in my room while she begged for “that big cock.” Again, he refused her, but the pan-flute nonsense just made me feel worse.

  Curiouser and curiouser… he won’t take off his shirt, and she’s offered up everything but the cherry—I’m guessing she lost a longggggg time ago—on top or her firstborn to make it happen. If she blubbers about it one more time, I’m gonna go toss my own damn shirt in her face.

  He probably has backne. Such a shame, ‘cause the indecently sensual noises he makes when he gets off are not ones I’d pin on a guy whose back is covered in boils. Has to be it though. Why else would it be such a big deal when he obviously has no problem dropping his pants like they’re hot?

  I’m almost feeling sorry for him, his shrew refusing to be tamed, but at her pouty, “My ass doesn’t count as twice, do me in my ass,” I. AM. DONE. No sympathy and no more tolerance! If my gluttonous room service order hadn’t just arrived, I’d be marching over there and giving those Hawaiian tourists an earful.

  As aggravated as I am horny and jealous, I snag the robe off its hook, jam my arms in the sleeves, tie it around my waist tight enough to risk loss of airflow, and storm to the door. Jerking it open, I offer the delivery guy a forced smile, indicating with my arm for him to wheel in the tray. I thank him and tip with the five dollars I have left on my person, fully planning to make Landry pay for the food I charged to the room if and when she gets here. I’m seconds from closing the door behind him and gorging until I fall asleep when their “door of debauchery” opens.

  Out comes one petulant, swelled-lipped Penny Parsons, and she stomps down the hall. If my jaw wasn’t on the floor, I’d laugh, a vindicating gut release filled with love for Karma. You can’t walk by a newsstand or magazine rack, turn on the TV, or get on the internet without being force-fed Madame Perfect Pants… and I just had house seats to her ass—where he wouldn’t “do her”—being patronized then dismissed! The infamous Penny Parsons thwarted… oh, if my mood didn’t just perk right the hell up!

  Red and yellow, black and white, we are all precious in his sight! Jesus loves average girls who haven’t been tucked, stuffed and fluffed, and every once in a while, when he’s afraid we might actually drown in our tubs of ice cream—he reminds us of such! I’m feeling rather happy with the balance of the world, a huge smile of restored faith on my face, when out he steps.

  Rhett.

  Still working on zipping up his fly no less!

  I should move—duck back into the safety of my room, blend in with the door, or something—yet I don’t move. I’m literally frozen in place.

  The guy I deep down wanted to have sex with but wouldn’t have sex with—I feel as if I just had sex with. Well, I feel as dirty and used, more so perhaps, as I would’ve if I’d actually slept with him. He’s vastly different from who I hoped, and was still holding out some silver of optimism, he was. Every groan, every deliciously rumbled command he gave her, suddenly feel even more up close… and acutely intimate.

  “What are you doing here?”
he snarls, barging into my space, his dark blue eyes blazing.

  Too bad. When he’s not grumbling loathsomely at me, or disturbing the tranquility of Eden with his undignified “one time only” antics, he’s actually quite dazzling. His hair’s tousled, tan skin dewy from exertion, and I can smell the sex on him. It’s as sickening as it is primal and dizzying.

  “JC gave me this room.” I cross my arms and shift my weight to one side, hip jutting out in insolence. “I realize you spent some brain cells in there”—my eyes cut to his door—“but Landry and your brother took off, right before you did, and I’m kind of stranded. Ringing any bells?”

  He continues to exhale hotly through his nose, jaw muscle twitching as he tries to grind his teeth to dust, and says nothing.

  So I go on. “Syphilis—that’s the one that affects your mind the worst. Please tell me you have a punch card at the free clinic?”

  “Jealous?” He leans into me, challenge rolling off him in torrential waves.

  “Of one shot at an STD? Is that a real question?” Who am I right now? It’s like I have rabies, cruel, none-of-my-business cut-downs frothing out my mouth. He was charismatic and helpful most of the night and certainly had no obligations to babysit me any longer than he did. Granted, his tone could’ve been a little less abrasive when he spotted me standing here, but my level of spiteful antagonism still feels a bit over the top.

  Wait, why am I defending him?

  “No, no question. I’m positive I already know the answer. I assume most women are jealous of Kim though,” he jabs back.

  “Her name is Penny, you jackass. Hope your skills are better than your memory.” See? I’m begging for a fight, and I’m not a very good fighter.

  One arm shoots up, hand braced on the wall beside my head, caging me in before I can move, let alone bob and weave. “How dare you judge me, you uptight, needin’ fucked lil’ priss.”

  I suck in a huge, appalled breath and bite the inside of my cheek, silently warning my eyes that I’ll poke them out myself if they dare water.