Текст книги "The Singles"

Автор книги: Emily Snow

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Chapter Fourteen

“Where are we going?” I demand as he pulls me toward the Suburban. It’s located at the far end of the bar’s parking lot, and I find myself glancing around cautiously to make sure Dillon’s not waiting out here with a crowbar, wanting to start a fight with Wyatt. Fortunately, we make it to the SUV without running into trouble.

He presses the unlock button on the remote and opens the door for me. “You’ll see when we get there.”

I cross my arms over my chest, glancing at the entrance to the bar. “Should we at least tell Heidi and Cal?”

“You really think either of them care? Trust me, Ky, they’re big kids. They can take care of themselves.” He points to the leather passenger seat and gives me a wicked smile. “Now, get in.”

He’s quiet as we leave The Twisted Keg. He speeds past our hotel and the restaurant where Heidi and I ate this morning, continuing his silence.

As we exit the city limits of Albuquerque, my eyebrows shoot up. “I don’t like surprises.”

He tilts his head slightly, his blue eyes burning into me, as he grips the steering wheel with one hand. “But it’s taking your mind off of Lucas’s newest bullshit.”

Well, yes. Tonight has been so hectic that I haven’t had time to think about what’s going on with my older brother. “So, you think that taking me to God-knows-where will keep me from reality?”

“Of course it will, Bluebird.”

“It might help if you at least clue me in on where this escape is going to take place,” I reply. He responds by lifting his shoulders, and I sit back in my seat, letting the sound of whatever’s playing on Octane, my favorite Sirius station, fill the silence inside the Suburban.

I’m humming along to an Evans Blue song, staring out my window, when Wyatt drives past the Welcome to Santa Fe sign. Turning to look at him, I scoot as far as I can toward the center console and lean over so that my lips graze his ear. “Babe?”

His back straightens, and he glances at me from out of the corner of his eye. “Hmm?”

“Why the hell are we in Santa Fe?”

He twists his face to mine, leaving less than an inch between our mouths. As he accomplishes this, I’m amazed at how he manages to stay on the road.  “Because I want to fuck you in every city I can before we go home in a couple days.” When he laughs after he says this, I know he’s screwing with me.

At least, I think he is.

I quickly find out what his plans are when he takes a series of turns. He finally swings the Suburban into a parking lot that’s hardly large enough to fit the massive SUV. One corner of my mouth quirks up as I glance at the fluorescent lights on the building right in front of us.

“Piercings and tattoos,” I say, and he grants me a nod. “So, which are you here for?” My eyes automatically dip down to his crotch, and I think of his Prince Albert.

He touches his right hand to the left side of his chest. “And before you ask...” He opens his door and gives me a cocky grin. “No, this isn’t one that can wait until we get back to L.A.”

“I wasn’t going to ask,” I say as I get out of the SUV. I join him at the front of the building where he slides his hand into my back pocket and stares down into my brown eyes. “It’s late. You sure you want to do this tonight?”

“Corey’s already expecting us. Best fucking artist I’ve ever met, beautiful, and he’s only available right here.”

He holds the door open for me. The second I step inside the tiny parlor, I’m immediately greeted by the aroma of green soap, fresh ink, and witch hazel. I inhale and exhale several times, letting the intoxicating familiar scent wash over me.

Wyatt lowers his mouth to my ear. “Does it to me, too, beautiful.”

As I glide the tip of my tongue over my lips, he draws in a deep breath.

“Know what you’re getting?” I ask.

He nods confidently just as a short man with surprisingly very little ink darts out from behind the curtain across the room. “Wyatt!”

Wyatt quickly introduces us. “Kylie, this is Corey. Corey, this is—”

“Bluebird,” Corey says simply.

I swear I flush all the way down to the tips of my toes. When did Wyatt tell this man about me? More importantly, what did he say?

“Nice to meet you, too,” I reply. I glance back and forth between them, hoping that Corey will tell me what Wyatt’s said about me.

He doesn’t, and while they talk, I wander to the lounge area and sit in a plush suede chair. Every few moments, I catch Corey or Wyatt glancing over in my direction, and it’s unnerving. I pluck a giant binder from the coffee table and begin to flip through it, running my fingertips over each page of intricate tattoo designs.

After several minutes, from across the room, Corey asks me, “See anything you like?”

My lips curve into a smile as I nod my head. He’s prepping the ink on his worktable, but he takes a moment to shoot me a curious look. “Too many. Your work is absolutely amazing.”

Wyatt makes a little sound in the back of his throat that resembles a chuckle, drawing my attention to him. He’s already in the chair with his shirt off, and his blue eyes rake over me.

“Want to watch?” Corey asks as he cleans Wyatt’s skin.

I shake my head. For me, watching lost its novelty years ago, and besides, no artist wants somebody staring over his shoulder while he works. I reach for the next binder, and when I’m done with it, I pick up the next one. Once I’m out of photos to look at, I flip through the pages of Inked while listening to the soothing hum of the tattoo gun as Corey runs it across Wyatt’s skin.

I’m on my fourth issue of the magazine, admiring a tattoo of a skull surrounded by orchids, when Wyatt finally calls me over. Glancing up, I realize that the sound of the machine has stopped.

Standing, I stretch out my legs, which have gone stiff from sitting so long. I cross the linoleum floor slowly, squinting at the design on the right side of his chest until I come right up on it. At the moment, it’s just an outline. His skin is splotchy, but this is something I’ve seen before. It always heals.

What stops me from immediately saying anything is the design itself. It’s a bird descending, and I study it carefully, starting from its tail feathers close to Wyatt’s muscled left shoulder to its beak in the center of his chest. At first, I think it’s a crow because of the creature’s fierce features, but then I notice where the color is partially filled in along the wings.

And I realize that it’s a bluebird.

An aggressive and powerful and utterly sexy bluebird.

Words finally find me. “It’s gorgeous.” I look up from the tattoo into Wyatt’s eyes, feeling my throat swell at just how vulnerable they suddenly look. “It’s my favorite.”

And that’s the truth. Out of every mark of ink on his body, this bird is the one that has the most significance to me. It’s the one that I’ll dream about.

Wyatt and I don’t say too much to each other as he pays Corey, but when we get to the door to leave, I pause. “You okay, Ky?” he asks, touching my shoulder.

I grip the doorknob and shake my head. Turning around to face Corey, I clear my throat. He glances up from where he’s cleaning his equipment and cocks an eyebrow. “Is it too late for you to do one for me?”

Corey’s eyes dart from Wyatt to me, and he laughs. “If this motherfucker is paying, then hell no.”

I draw my hand away from the doorknob to head over to speak to Corey about the design I’m looking for, but Wyatt stops me. “It’s not over yet,” he says in a pained voice. “No more fucking blackbirds, Ky, not yet, not until you give me a chance.”

I peel his fingers away from my arm, one by one, shivering when his thumb brushes the tiny scar on my wrist as he lets go. “No, no blackbirds.”

It doesn’t take Corey long to sanitize his work station, and once he’s finished and I quietly tell him what I want, it takes him a total of fifteen minutes to draw up a sketch for me. Thirty-five minutes later, when the needle cuts into my finger like a razor blade, I suck in a deep breath of air. I can feel Wyatt’s intense eyes on me from the other side of the room, but I keep my focus on watching Corey’s boot work the foot pedal on the floor.

I go through the different emotions as Corey turns my skin into his canvas. At first, there’s the pain. It builds up slowly until it feels like he’s piercing everywhere at once. Then, there’s the high, the sudden rush of adrenaline. It doesn’t kick in until I’m numb to the needle, and the only thing I’m able to feel is the vibration from the tattoo gun. And last...there’s the feeling of release. That doesn’t come until Corey finally leans away from me, and I hold my hand in front of my face to examine the tattoo.

Gone is the name Martin, which has branded me for more than seven years. In its place is a knotted design. It races around my ring finger with a tiny bow in the center. My new ink is nowhere near as intricate as the bluebird between my shoulder blades, nowhere near as painful as the blackbirds on my collarbone, but it symbolizes something none of the others do.

Letting go of the past.

It’s 2:49 a.m., when we climb back into the Suburban. Wyatt takes an alternate route out of Santa Fe, a back road, which causes the GPS to reset and estimate our time of arrival to 3:53 a.m.

He reaches into my lap and pulls my hand into his, being careful not to squeeze my wrapped-up finger. “I’ve been amazed by you since the first time I touched you, Ky. I’ve wanted every part of you since that day,” he starts in a rough voice. “Do you know what the bluebird is for?”

“Happiness,” I say, repeating what he explained to me about my own a few years ago. “A new beginning.”

He shakes his head. “It’s for you. You’re my happiness, and I’ll fight until the end to make sure you know that.”

In all the years we’ve played this toxic game, in all the years when we’ve sworn off being a real couple, this is the closest he’s come to telling me that he loves me. It’s even closer than the time on my parents’ porch four years ago, and it leaves me speechless.

I turn down the radio volume, canceling out the bittersweet grittiness of “By the Way,” my favorite Theory of a Deadman song. I can’t listen to a song about being ripped apart and saying good-bye to the one you love when Wyatt’s sitting right next to me, telling me all these things.

“I can’t let you go,” he continues. “Not when you’re the only goddamn thing on my mind. It’s impossible.”

I rub my hands back and forth over my face, letting his words seep in. He glances over at me, waiting, and I take a deep breath. “I can’t promise you anything, but I know how I feel about you.”

I know that I’ll hate it if he’s with anyone else. I know that if I walk away from him without trying, I’ll spend the rest of my life hating myself, regretting what could have been.

I know that despite it all, I love Wyatt too much for things to be as simple as a good-bye.

I should have realized this all along.

“Come here,” he growls.

“You’re driving,” I point out.

He’s silent for a couple of minutes, but then he eases the Suburban down a narrow dirt road shrouded by pine trees. He cuts the ignition and the lights. “Come here.” This time, his tone is far more demanding, and it makes my pulse race.

I crawl across the center console, and my breath catches when he jerks me into his lap. It’s a tight fit, especially between the seat and the door, but I manage to place my legs on each side of his body.

“I can’t be in the same room as you without wanting you close to me,” he murmurs against my chin. He traces his lips down the column of my throat, the labret tickling my skin, and I shiver. “I can’t even be in the same car without keeping my hands off you.” His mouth touches the top of my left breast. He runs his tongue along it, and I arch my back until the steering wheel digs into my skin.

“We’re probably in someone’s driveway.” Yet, I’m moaning and already moving my hips against his, heat pooling in the pit of my belly, as his cock grows hard beneath me.

“If I can’t do anything without wanting you near me...” He reaches between my legs, ripping my leggings at the spot between my thighs. “Then, why the fuck do you think I’ll ever stop trying?”

“You won’t.” I gasp when his fingers find my clit. He touches me through the outside of my panties, grinding the pad of his thumb against my sensitive flesh. “Unless I’m happy. If I were happy with someone else, something else, you’d stop wanting me.”

He kisses me greedily, skimming his fingers inside my panties, as he digs his other hand into the small of my back. I move my hips in time with his every movement, sucking on his bottom lip after he’s done the same to mine.

Finally, I grasp his cock through his jeans. “You’d stop wanting me then, wouldn’t you?” I repeat what I said before he distracted me.

He drops his eyes to my hand on his dick. “Don’t start shit you’re not going to finish,” he whispers. “But to answer your question, I’ll never stop wanting you, even if you are happy. I’d just know when to leave well enough alone.”

His words make my head spin, and I drop my forehead to his shoulder. He continues to touch me as he whispers unintelligible things into my ear. I’m on the verge of climaxing when he pulls my hand away from the outside of his jeans. His fingers wrap around mine, and, carefully, he helps me guide his zipper down.

“You’re not going to come unless I’m fucking you,” he says as I reach inside his boxers to stroke his cock. He touches me between my legs again, and I pull in a deep breath when I hear my panties rip apart between his strong fingers. “I want to feel everything, beautiful.”

“I want you inside me, Wyatt,” I whisper.

I lift my hips a little, so he can dig into his back pocket for the condom in his wallet. Once he’s ready, he motions me forward. Gripping his shoulder with one hand, I guide his cock between my legs with the other, but he stops me before I can push him inside me.

He holds my hips tightly. “You’re mine. No matter what you decide or who the fuck you end up with, you always will be.

“Is that right?” I tease.

A self-assured laugh comes from the back of his throat. “You’ll always be mine.”

“Show me.”

Releasing a rough sound, he thrusts his cock deep inside me, and I dig my knees into the sides of his body. “I want to fuck you harder, Ky.”

I cry out as he grasps my hips, rocking them fast and hard up his length and back down again. I hold on to his shoulders, not caring when pain streaks up my ring finger or when my back slams into the horn behind me. It beeps loudly, and it’s the only sound other than our heavy breathing and the rhythm our bodies make with each other.

When I feel myself on the verge of an orgasm, I clench my pussy around him, and he buries his mouth on my shoulder. He murmurs something against the fabric of my black shirt as I come, and a moment later, he releases a groan, shuddering and driving himself into me until he reaches his climax.

As we catch our breath, I realize that he’s right.

I am his.

Chapter Fifteen

The sound of my phone ringing on the floor beside the bed wakes me up the following morning. I roll over to grab it, groaning when I see that it’s another unknown caller. Even though I’m still livid with Lucas, I answer it immediately, almost expecting it to be his bank with another overdose of horrible news.

Instead, it’s an officer from Louisiana, a female this time, calling with a status report on my case against Shiner Bock. I can’t help but be impressed that someone is contacting me on a Saturday morning, even if her call did drag me out of bed an hour earlier than I intended.

According to the officer, Finn and his grope-happy friend, James, have been caught. I let my shoulders slump forward in relief. “So, are they in custody?” I ask.

“As of yesterday afternoon, yes.”

Even though I’m sure there’s a slim chance in hell, I can’t resist asking her whether or not any of my stuff was recovered.

“One moment, please,” she says. I can hear her leafing through a stack of paperwork. Using the silence to my advantage, I mute my phone and dash into the bathroom to brush my teeth. I have a mouthful of toothpaste when she speaks again, surprising me. “Based on the report you filed, a few of your belongings were found on Finn Graham’s person.”

Rinsing out my mouth quickly, I take my phone off of mute. “Can you tell me what all you found of ours?”

“Unfortunately, I’m not allowed to give you details about the belongings Ms. Wright’s reported missing due to our privacy policy, but I’d be happy to tell you which of your items were found.”

“Thanks, that would be great.”

I listen carefully as the officer reads through the list, which turns out to be a total of four things, about a quarter of my belongings that I reported stolen. The canceled credit cards and my driver’s license were nowhere to be found, but I didn’t exactly expect to get those back. I’m pretty sure they’re all in a dumpster somewhere by now, and I make a mental note to put some type of alert on my credit report.

“Are you going to call Heidi? Or should I tell her to get in contact with you?” I ask as I wipe my mouth with a warm washcloth.

“We’ve already contacted Ms. Wright, and she’s aware of the procedure to pick up her belongings.”

I examine my smile in the mirror before I flip off the light switch and return to bed. “So, how exactly do we go about doing that?” I ask. “Is there any way I can get it shipped to my home address?”

“Do you have something to write with?”

“Just a second.” Leaning over, I find the hotel’s complimentary stationery set, which is just a stack of promotional sticky notes and a pen, inside the nightstand drawer. I grab a phone book and place one of the Post-its on it. “Okay, I’m ready.”

As she speaks, I jot down a few things, but the gist of the whole recovery process is pretty simple. My belongings are in New Orleans, and they can’t be mailed to me in California, meaning I’ll have to physically go into their station with my ID—which I don’t currently have—and sign a form. Since going back to Louisiana isn’t in my plans for the near future, I ball up the note and toss it in the wastebasket as soon as the call ends. “Guess I won’t be getting that crap back for a few months,” I say under my breath.

“What crap?” Wyatt asks drowsily from beside me.

Placing the phone book back inside the nightstand drawer, I lean against the headboard and pull my knees to my chest. “The cops picked up the assholes who robbed my room.”

“Assholes?” He stares at me incredulously. “I thought there was only one guy.”

When I shake my head, holding up two fingers, he continues, “And I’m guessing they found your stuff?”

Massaging my temples, I shrug. “Some of it—a pair of shoes, a handbag, and my camera and its bag. Maybe they’ll find some of the other things in pawnshops, but I seriously doubt it.”

Wyatt yawns into his palm and then scratches his head. “At least they found the shitheads who did it,” he says, and I nod my head in agreement. He stretches his arms over his head but then winces and glances down at the bandage over the right side of his muscular chest. “God, this hurts.”

“Stop being such a baby, McCrae,” I say, sticking my ring finger up at him. “I don’t even feel a thing.” Of course, that’s a lie because as I move my finger around, pain shoots through my hand.

Snorting, Wyatt gives my thigh a squeeze, but I stop his fingers before he can go any further. “Really, Ky?” At first I think he’s referring to me not letting him touch me, but then he grins and dips his head toward my new tattoo. “That little thing took all of thirty minutes.”

It might have, but I can still tell from the look in his eyes how thrilled he is that I finally got Brad’s last name wiped away from my body for good.

As I slide out of bed, Wyatt gives me one of those lingering looks that just makes me want to crawl back in and bury myself under the covers with him for the rest of the day. Taking a deep breath, I move my head slowly from side to side. “Don’t you dare look at me like that,” I warn. “Phoenix, remember?” I bend over to grab a change of clothes from my bag, feeling his eyes skim up my bare legs.

“Oh, I didn’t forget about Phoenix. I’m just trying to figure out if you’re wearing panties right now.”

Tucking my clothes under my arm, I lift the hem of my oversized T-shirt to show him that I am, in fact, wearing underwear.

He flicks his tongue over his lip piercing as if I’m not. “We don’t have to be in Phoenix until—”

Since I’m already making my way into the bathroom, I wave him off. “Get the hell up already.”

He doesn’t actually get out of bed until I come out of the shower, and I’m not surprised when he corners me in the bathroom. Instead of trying to convince me to keep my clothes off, he comes up behind me to help snap the closures of my delicate pink bra.

“I fucking hate Victoria’s Secret,” he murmurs when he fastens the last hook. He walks around my body, his palm skimming around my waist as he does so. When he kneels down in front of me, my breath catches, but then he reaches past me to grab my underwear from near the sink.

“But they have such pretty things,” I tease.

“Yeah, but for me, it’s torture.” He strokes the outside of my foot, and I step into the pink panties he’s holding out for me. He glides them up my smooth legs carefully, stopping just once to touch his lips against the inside of my thigh. I gasp, and then he gently tugs the flimsy fabric into place. “The worst type of torture imaginable.”

“Sorry, I can’t just go commando all the time, babe.”

Examining me for a long time, he finally lets out a low noise. “Hurry up and finish getting dressed before I rip those off of you and fuck you right here.”

Cocking my eyebrow, I back away from him slowly, feeling the heat from his gaze as I grab my clothes from the hook behind the door. I shrug into them quickly, and he groans as I wiggle my hips a little to slide up my jeans.

“You’re fucking killing me, Bluebird,” he says, pulling me to him by my belt loops.

“You should get dressed.” Running my fingers along the elastic of his boxers, I slide my tongue over my lips. “By the way, you need to be more careful with all the ripping of the clothes. I’m starting to keep a mental note, and I’m billing your ass when we get to L.A.” When I let the elastic snap against his waist, he sucks in a breath through his teeth.

“Bill me all you want, as long as I get you in the dressing room.”

If he’s trying to make me blush, he succeeds. He grins as he turns on the faucet, and I leave the bathroom quickly before he has a chance to try and talk me into taking a shower with him. With all this talk about ripping underwear and banging in dressing rooms, chances are I’d take him up on it.

***

As soon as he’s finished showering, he sets about getting dressed. I watch him as he puts on a pair of relaxed dark jeans and a black T-shirt that not only accentuates his toned biceps, but will also hide any bleeding ink on his chest. As soon as he’s finished, he crosses the room to where I’m sitting on the edge of the bed. Leaning over me, he cups my face between his hands and kisses me. “You look beautiful, Ky.”

“Didn’t you know, McCrae?” I start, unable to keep the breathlessness out of my voice. “Your pretty words don’t always make me drop my panties.”

“Fuck . . . apparently not.” He takes my hands in his and guides me toward the door to our room, tucking his hand into my back pocket as we walk down the hallway together. When I glance up at him, he grins at me, giving my ass a firm squeeze. “I’ll try again after breakfast.”

“You’re a determined thing, aren’t you?” I ask as we leave the hotel and walk in the direction of the restaurant where Heidi and I ate breakfast yesterday.

“Always.” Just before we step through the restaurant door to join Heidi and Cal, he stops me, pulling my body flush to his. “But Kylie?”

“Wyatt?” We step to the right in sync to avoid a group of people making their way into the building. Our gazes stay locked for a long pause of time, until I lift an eyebrow. “You plan on speaking or continuing to creep me out with all the silence?”

He lowers his mouth to my ear. “Even if we don’t fuck this morning, you’re still beautiful.” When he draws away from me, taking in my slightly stunned expression, a slow grin drags across his face. I make a noise in the back of my throat in an effort to clear away some of the tightness as I slide past him.

“So are you,” I finally reply, pulling the restaurant door open.

Once we’re seated, I order the same thing as before, the western omelet, and I promise myself that I’ll actually enjoy my breakfast no matter who calls me. In fact, if my phone does ring, I’ll send whoever it is directly to my voice mail.

Cal and Heidi are in deep conversation about something, but when I lift my coffee mug to my lips, he pauses. “What the hell is wrong with your finger?” From the way he’s narrowing his brown eyes at my newly inked skin, I’d think he didn’t have a dozen tattoos of his own.

I take a sip of my coffee before answering him. The steaming liquid burns the tip of my tongue, and shooting Heidi an apologetic look, I grab her orange juice and take a giant sip in hopes that it will cool my mouth. Once I’m able to speak without slurring my words, I say, “New tattoo.”

Despite being on the opposite side of the table, Heidi bends as close to me as she can to examine my finger. Her eyes widen, and she blurts out, “Jesus, Kylie, did you two get married last night?”

Beside her, Cal chokes on his unsweetened tea and then garbles something incoherent.

Before either of them have a meltdown in the middle of the restaurant, I jump to correct Heidi’s assumption. “I can promise you that we’re definitely not married.” I glance over at Wyatt. Although his shoulders are shaking from laughter, something flashes in his midnight blue eyes—curiosity.

My mind has wandered there before, thinking about what marriage would be like with Wyatt, but I won’t let it go there again. Not when all the events of the last couple days have brought me closer to wanting to give things between the two of us one more try. Not when he’s yet to tell me that he loves me.

No, marriage probably won’t be something I stop and think about for a long time.

“I’m glad you didn’t get married,” Heidi announces, taking her orange juice away from me. “I would have punched you in the boob if I didn’t get an invite.”

***

Once we’re done with breakfast, we head back to the hotel to pack for Phoenix. We’re on the road well before noon, and as Wyatt and I sit in the backseat together, his hand finds mine, clasping my fingers tightly.

“Last stop,” he whispers, and I can only nod my head.

***

Heidi has to leave almost the moment we reach Phoenix six hours later. One of her brothers is already waiting for us at the hotel when Cal parks the SUV. She leaps out of the front seat of the Suburban and sprints across the parking lot, laughing as her brother gathers her up in a giant hug.

“He’s fucking big,” Cal says from beside me, eyeing Heidi and the tall beefy guy standing next to her. I tip my head in agreement. “I could probably take him.”

Cocking an eyebrow, I glance at him from out of the corner of my eye. “Thought there was nothing going on between you two.”

“Oh, there’s not.” He starts unloading our luggage, giving me a wink as he sets her suitcase on the asphalt. “But you never know what’ll happen once we get back home.”

Right. As I walk over to Heidi, I glance back at Cal once, and when I catch him staring at her, he drops his eyes.

Heidi reintroduces me to her brother, and as he climbs inside his ironically small sports car, she gives me a pained look. “So, apparently, my mom really went all out because I’m in town, and the entire family is coming over.”

“Do you want me to go with you?”

She shakes her head, and I stifle a laugh at how dramatic the sad expression on her face is. “My nieces and nephews are possessed. After the last time you came home with me, I swore to you I’d never put you through that again.”

I can’t resist grinning. “Want me to wait around for you before I head over to the bar tonight?”

She bobs her head a little too enthusiastically. “I’m hoping it’ll be sooner rather than later, but you know how my folks are.” When her brother honks his horn, she rolls her eyes. “Ugh, see you later.”

Before she gets into the car, she waves her arm dramatically to Wyatt and Cal to signal that she’s leaving, and then I watch as her brother’s sports car speeds away. Heidi can complain all she wants about her family, but I know better than anyone how much she adores them. Seeing them will be good for her.

Since Wyatt and Cal have a few things to take care of with the Hazard Anthem guys, I stay in our room after we check-in. The moment that Wyatt leaves, after promising me that he’ll be back as soon as possible, I adjust the thermostat back to a normal temperature.

When I lie down to watch a marathon of The Walking Dead, I don’t plan to fall asleep, but it’s pretty much inevitable. The sound of Wyatt returning to the room gets me up, and I flick my eyes to the clock by the bed to see that it’s 8:37 p.m.

Yawning, I sit up and swing my legs off the side of the bed. “Didn’t realize it was so late.” I smooth a bunch of stray pieces of my hair behind my ear. “Do I have time to get ready?”

He nods. “I’ve been calling you,” he says, sitting down in the armchair across the room. “We go on in a little over an hour.”

I grab my phone from the nightstand and release a groan when I realize it’s dead. Since it’s useless, I throw it down on the bed. “The battery in that thing sucks.” If Wyatt’s been trying to get in touch with me, chances are Heidi has too. I rub my hand over my face in frustration. “Hey, you don’t happen to have Heidi’s number saved in your phone, do you?”

He shakes his head but pulls out his cell. He runs his finger up and down the screen, probably scrolling through his contacts. “Nope, but Cal does. He’s having drinks with Nate and Ben, but he’ll answer.” He presses a button and then tosses the phone to me. I reach up and catch it easily with my right hand. “Going to wash my face before we get going. Be right back,” he says, disappearing into the bathroom.