Sure Thing
Page 31
The doctor is on my side so Nan gives up that fight, thankfully. By the time she’s properly admitted and moved to a private room, visiting hours have passed. Once I’m certain she’s settled and in need of nothing I tell her I’ll be back in the morning and take my leave.
The adrenaline of the past hours allowed me to put Daisy out of my mind for a bit. But now I’m headed back to the hotel and worried what she must think.
We’ve missed the final group dinner, obviously. I’m sure Daisy is wondering what’s become of me. And I’m still wondering what the everloving fuck to make of her.
I lost my mobile when the scaffolding came down, which has made the afternoon a royal pain in the arse, but at least I’m unable to torture myself by reading the email from Rhys over and over.
Doesn’t matter much, as I’m fairly certain I’ve already committed every lie to memory.
Thankfully I’ve got my laptop back at the hotel. I’ll email my assistant in London and ask her to cancel the flights to Connecticut and rebook my flight back to London. Arrange a car. Message Aunt Poppy and let her know not to meet us at the airport.
Change of plans.
But first things first.
Daisy.
I’m mad to get back to her. To talk, to make sense of this. The girl I spent the week with is real—I know she’s real. I know the connection we have is real.
I know I’m falling in love with her.
With the version of her that I spent the week with, at least.
Yet I’m conflicted, because it doesn’t look good. The inconsistencies—the lies—don’t make sense. The entire thing leaves me with a sense of unease. A feeling of dread that she won’t be able to explain this.
But no use putting the cart before the horse, is there? I’ve reached the hotel. I’ll simply talk to her and clear the matter up one way or another. I stop at the front desk to extend the stay on both Nan’s and my rooms, then bypass the elevator for the stairs. Daisy’s on the second floor and the stairs will be quicker.
A decision I regret moments later. Though perhaps I shouldn’t. Perhaps I should be grateful I caught them as I rounded the corner. Grateful I caught them at all. I was almost too late. Seconds later and I wouldn’t have seen them. I’d have knocked on her door, unsuspecting.
Would she have answered?
Stuffed him in a closet perhaps? Swung the door open and smiled in my face? Or simply ignored the knock altogether?
I’ll never know.
Just as well.
Because George has beaten me to Daisy’s room—a handful of daisies in his hand. The door opens and she reaches out, grasping his forearm and yanking him into the room. The lock clicks into place as the door shuts and the echo feels like a bullet to my bloody heart.
It was too good to be true, wasn’t it? I overreached thinking it was something it wasn’t. Thinking she was someone she wasn’t.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Violet
I’m positive my expression is one of surprise, which is stupid. I should have expected this. I should have done more to stop this from happening. My shoulders slump and I reach out and yank him inside, shoving the door closed behind him.
The gig is up. The week is over. I’m going to have to trust George not to report Daisy for this scam, because I can’t not tell him. Not when he’s standing in my doorway with flowers.
Daisies.
The door clicks shut behind him and I run through the apology through my head. When I turn to deliver it he’s closer than I expected. Way closer. Attempting to kiss me closer. I shove him off immediately.
“Hey! I said you could come in, I didn’t say you could kiss me.”
“Oh.” He looks surprised and holds his hands up in apology as he takes a step back. “Sorry.”
We stare at each other, the mood tense from the rejected almost-kiss.
“I’m confused, Daisy. I thought we had fun together.”
“We did,” I agree, although I’m unsure why the words are coming out of my mouth. I don’t know what went on between George and Daisy, not really. She said it wasn’t serious, but maybe it was for him?
But no, he’s not looking at me the way Jennings looks at me. Not even close. They might have fun together and it was sweet of him to bring flowers, but he’s just a guy wondering what happened to his friend with benefits.
A perfectly nice guy, I’m sure. But that’s it.
My sister deserves someone who looks at her the way Jennings looks at me, so change of plans. I’m not telling George the truth. I’m breaking up with him. If it pisses Daisy off, too bad—she shouldn’t have sent me in her place this week to begin with.
Although I wouldn’t have met Jennings if she hadn’t. The thought is like a punch to the gut, as is the one that immediately follows it. The one reminding me I don’t know why he didn’t show up tonight and we might be through.
“We did have fun, but I’m seeing someone now,” I tell George with what I hope is a compassionate get-the-fuck-out smile. “I should have been more clear about that,” I add and trail off, assuming he can fill in the obvious. I’m seeing someone, so I’m not sleeping with you. Have a nice night.
“The British guy?”
I nod.
“You just met him.” George is unimpressed.
“When you know, you know,” I quip, but I realize it’s true.
“I didn’t think you were into that.”
“Into what? Love?”
He shrugs. “Yeah.”
“Thanks.” My tone is sarcastic. “Well, I am. Sorry to put an end to your Historic East Coast tour booty call.” I say it a little sharply because fuck him. Any guilt I felt about interfering is gone. Daisy deserves better.
“I didn’t think you were a serious kind of girl, that’s all.” He has the decency to look chagrined as he says it.
It makes me wonder if it’s harder being Daisy. Being the fun twin. I always thought it must be easier, but maybe not. She’s not as cautious as me. She dives into things, into relationships. She takes risks and assumes the best out of everyone. But it doesn’t mean it’s easier for her.
It doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt when she’s not taken seriously. It doesn’t mean she doesn’t deserve something more. Something real.
I walk George to the door and spend the rest of the night convincing myself that I’m going to see Jennings in the morning.
I don’t believe it though.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Jennings
“Thanks for picking me up,” I tell Rhys as I sling my bag into the boot of his Tesla. He slams the lid and wraps his arms around me in his typical American bear hug, slapping me on the back with enthusiasm. I pat his back half-heartedly and glance at his car. “New?”
“Yeah. Got it when I made the move to Vegas. You want to drive it?”
“No, Rhys, I’m drunk.”
“From the plane?” He shakes his head in judgement. “They don’t even have any decent liquor on board.”
He’s not wrong. But I made do just the same.
“It’s not yet three o’clock and you’re drunk on cheap liquor,” Rhys summarizes as he looks me over. “And you didn’t bring your new lady friend.”
“My lady friend?” I glare in his direction but he likely misses it, as I slipped shades over my eyes the moment I cleared the automatic doors and stepped outside. Bloody desert is brighter than the surface of the sun. “You’re a tosser.”
“Daisy,” Rhys says as if he needs to clarify. As if I have multiple lady friends, Jesus.
“Do you have any bourbon at your suite? Better yet, have the hotel bars been stocked yet?” I ask as I open the passenger door. The queue of cars picking up passengers at McCarran is three deep and the shrill whistle of security attempting to manage the chaos is not helping my mood.
“Plenty of liquor, I promise you,” Rhys tells me as he slides behind the wheel. “How’s Nan?”
“She’s fine.” I slump in the seat and get comfortable, flipping the visor down to block out the sun. “The hospital kept her one night as a precaution but she’s fit as ever. Dropped her off with your mum yesterday. Slept in your old bedroom and your mum made me pancakes for brekkie.”
“Lucky bastard.”
“She sent biscuits for you. They’re in my bag.”
“The shortbread?”
“The very same. I think she’s worried about you.”
“Worried? Why?”
“I believe she’s concerned that you’re living in a casino and hooking up with women of questionable moral character.”
Rhys laughs. “My mother did not say ‘hooking up.’”
“Nah, I think she just wants you to call more often. In any case I assured her you’re still a virgin and that you’ll call this weekend.”
“Thanks. Owe you one.”
We’re silent as Rhys merges the car into traffic. Once we’re past the airport loop and onto Swenson he asks again about Daisy.
“You bloody Americans are so nosey.” I groan.
The adrenaline of the past hours allowed me to put Daisy out of my mind for a bit. But now I’m headed back to the hotel and worried what she must think.
We’ve missed the final group dinner, obviously. I’m sure Daisy is wondering what’s become of me. And I’m still wondering what the everloving fuck to make of her.
I lost my mobile when the scaffolding came down, which has made the afternoon a royal pain in the arse, but at least I’m unable to torture myself by reading the email from Rhys over and over.
Doesn’t matter much, as I’m fairly certain I’ve already committed every lie to memory.
Thankfully I’ve got my laptop back at the hotel. I’ll email my assistant in London and ask her to cancel the flights to Connecticut and rebook my flight back to London. Arrange a car. Message Aunt Poppy and let her know not to meet us at the airport.
Change of plans.
But first things first.
Daisy.
I’m mad to get back to her. To talk, to make sense of this. The girl I spent the week with is real—I know she’s real. I know the connection we have is real.
I know I’m falling in love with her.
With the version of her that I spent the week with, at least.
Yet I’m conflicted, because it doesn’t look good. The inconsistencies—the lies—don’t make sense. The entire thing leaves me with a sense of unease. A feeling of dread that she won’t be able to explain this.
But no use putting the cart before the horse, is there? I’ve reached the hotel. I’ll simply talk to her and clear the matter up one way or another. I stop at the front desk to extend the stay on both Nan’s and my rooms, then bypass the elevator for the stairs. Daisy’s on the second floor and the stairs will be quicker.
A decision I regret moments later. Though perhaps I shouldn’t. Perhaps I should be grateful I caught them as I rounded the corner. Grateful I caught them at all. I was almost too late. Seconds later and I wouldn’t have seen them. I’d have knocked on her door, unsuspecting.
Would she have answered?
Stuffed him in a closet perhaps? Swung the door open and smiled in my face? Or simply ignored the knock altogether?
I’ll never know.
Just as well.
Because George has beaten me to Daisy’s room—a handful of daisies in his hand. The door opens and she reaches out, grasping his forearm and yanking him into the room. The lock clicks into place as the door shuts and the echo feels like a bullet to my bloody heart.
It was too good to be true, wasn’t it? I overreached thinking it was something it wasn’t. Thinking she was someone she wasn’t.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Violet
I’m positive my expression is one of surprise, which is stupid. I should have expected this. I should have done more to stop this from happening. My shoulders slump and I reach out and yank him inside, shoving the door closed behind him.
The gig is up. The week is over. I’m going to have to trust George not to report Daisy for this scam, because I can’t not tell him. Not when he’s standing in my doorway with flowers.
Daisies.
The door clicks shut behind him and I run through the apology through my head. When I turn to deliver it he’s closer than I expected. Way closer. Attempting to kiss me closer. I shove him off immediately.
“Hey! I said you could come in, I didn’t say you could kiss me.”
“Oh.” He looks surprised and holds his hands up in apology as he takes a step back. “Sorry.”
We stare at each other, the mood tense from the rejected almost-kiss.
“I’m confused, Daisy. I thought we had fun together.”
“We did,” I agree, although I’m unsure why the words are coming out of my mouth. I don’t know what went on between George and Daisy, not really. She said it wasn’t serious, but maybe it was for him?
But no, he’s not looking at me the way Jennings looks at me. Not even close. They might have fun together and it was sweet of him to bring flowers, but he’s just a guy wondering what happened to his friend with benefits.
A perfectly nice guy, I’m sure. But that’s it.
My sister deserves someone who looks at her the way Jennings looks at me, so change of plans. I’m not telling George the truth. I’m breaking up with him. If it pisses Daisy off, too bad—she shouldn’t have sent me in her place this week to begin with.
Although I wouldn’t have met Jennings if she hadn’t. The thought is like a punch to the gut, as is the one that immediately follows it. The one reminding me I don’t know why he didn’t show up tonight and we might be through.
“We did have fun, but I’m seeing someone now,” I tell George with what I hope is a compassionate get-the-fuck-out smile. “I should have been more clear about that,” I add and trail off, assuming he can fill in the obvious. I’m seeing someone, so I’m not sleeping with you. Have a nice night.
“The British guy?”
I nod.
“You just met him.” George is unimpressed.
“When you know, you know,” I quip, but I realize it’s true.
“I didn’t think you were into that.”
“Into what? Love?”
He shrugs. “Yeah.”
“Thanks.” My tone is sarcastic. “Well, I am. Sorry to put an end to your Historic East Coast tour booty call.” I say it a little sharply because fuck him. Any guilt I felt about interfering is gone. Daisy deserves better.
“I didn’t think you were a serious kind of girl, that’s all.” He has the decency to look chagrined as he says it.
It makes me wonder if it’s harder being Daisy. Being the fun twin. I always thought it must be easier, but maybe not. She’s not as cautious as me. She dives into things, into relationships. She takes risks and assumes the best out of everyone. But it doesn’t mean it’s easier for her.
It doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt when she’s not taken seriously. It doesn’t mean she doesn’t deserve something more. Something real.
I walk George to the door and spend the rest of the night convincing myself that I’m going to see Jennings in the morning.
I don’t believe it though.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Jennings
“Thanks for picking me up,” I tell Rhys as I sling my bag into the boot of his Tesla. He slams the lid and wraps his arms around me in his typical American bear hug, slapping me on the back with enthusiasm. I pat his back half-heartedly and glance at his car. “New?”
“Yeah. Got it when I made the move to Vegas. You want to drive it?”
“No, Rhys, I’m drunk.”
“From the plane?” He shakes his head in judgement. “They don’t even have any decent liquor on board.”
He’s not wrong. But I made do just the same.
“It’s not yet three o’clock and you’re drunk on cheap liquor,” Rhys summarizes as he looks me over. “And you didn’t bring your new lady friend.”
“My lady friend?” I glare in his direction but he likely misses it, as I slipped shades over my eyes the moment I cleared the automatic doors and stepped outside. Bloody desert is brighter than the surface of the sun. “You’re a tosser.”
“Daisy,” Rhys says as if he needs to clarify. As if I have multiple lady friends, Jesus.
“Do you have any bourbon at your suite? Better yet, have the hotel bars been stocked yet?” I ask as I open the passenger door. The queue of cars picking up passengers at McCarran is three deep and the shrill whistle of security attempting to manage the chaos is not helping my mood.
“Plenty of liquor, I promise you,” Rhys tells me as he slides behind the wheel. “How’s Nan?”
“She’s fine.” I slump in the seat and get comfortable, flipping the visor down to block out the sun. “The hospital kept her one night as a precaution but she’s fit as ever. Dropped her off with your mum yesterday. Slept in your old bedroom and your mum made me pancakes for brekkie.”
“Lucky bastard.”
“She sent biscuits for you. They’re in my bag.”
“The shortbread?”
“The very same. I think she’s worried about you.”
“Worried? Why?”
“I believe she’s concerned that you’re living in a casino and hooking up with women of questionable moral character.”
Rhys laughs. “My mother did not say ‘hooking up.’”
“Nah, I think she just wants you to call more often. In any case I assured her you’re still a virgin and that you’ll call this weekend.”
“Thanks. Owe you one.”
We’re silent as Rhys merges the car into traffic. Once we’re past the airport loop and onto Swenson he asks again about Daisy.
“You bloody Americans are so nosey.” I groan.
