Lindsey Kelk 5-Book 'I Heart...' Collection (60 page)

‘I actually get off at seven but you guys don’t want me along.’ Joe took out a pair of shot glasses and a bottle of tequila. ‘You’re gonna be talking about your boyfriends and shoes and shit. What am I gonna add to that?’

‘Shut up,’ I slapped his arm, spilling the tequila as he poured. ‘We would totally want you there. And trust me when I say there will be no boyfriend talk. Jenny doesn’t have one, you know.’

Joe held out my hand and kissed it. After an impossibly long second, he sprinkled salt along the damp lip print. ‘On three?’

‘Three?’ I whispered.

‘The tequila?’ Joe put a full-to-spilling shot glass in my free hand.

‘If I do the shot, will you come to dinner with Jenny?’ I stared at the gold liquid. I had some sense of awareness that this was a really bad idea but the salt was on my hand now, what was I supposed to do? I had been brought up not to waste food. Or drink. Or condiments.

‘I’ll come to dinner,’ Joe nodded. ‘One, two, three.’

‘Eurgh.’ Ignoring the sting of the tequila in the back of my throat and the instant urge to retch, I bit down on the lemon wedge Joe held out for me. ‘I hate tequila.’

‘But you did it like a pro,’ Joe said, refilling the glasses. ‘One more and then I figure I can get out of here.’

I nodded, taking the glass. The sun was starting to set behind the Hollywood Hills, the lights on the hidden homes of the rich and famous starting to twinkle. If I were to sit on the roof of The Union at seven in the evening, in March, in jeans and a T-shirt and, oh, I’d forgotten to put on shoes, I would actually freeze to death.

‘Angela?’

‘Yu-huh?’ I snapped back. Joe held up his own shot glass.

‘I said three, like, five times.’

‘OK then.’ I necked the shot, shuddered and slammed down the glass. ‘Where should we go for dinner? I’m starving.’

‘You might want to change first,’ Joe said, logging out the till and handing over to a tall blonde girl in a matching black collarless shirt.

‘We’re going somewhere posh?’ I asked.

‘No, but your shirt is inside out and there’s make-up all over it.’ Joe scooped me up off my stool and carried me over to the door.

I giggled, slight hysterics overtaking me at being held off the ground. ‘What? This is what all the hipsters are wearing in New York.’

‘Well in that case …’ Joe set me down and peeled off his own shirt, turning it inside out and slipping his arms back through the sleeves. Thank the lord, he didn’t fasten it back up. ‘… Better?’

‘Much,’ I agreed, falling into the lift as the doors opened.

‘You so can’t come in my room,’ I said, fighting with the key card and lock. ‘I’ll be two minutes.’

‘I’ll behave myself,’ Joe said, pushing in close behind me before I could shut the door, ‘I swear.’

‘Yeah you will,’ I said, stepping over the pile of bottles, glasses and dirty Tshirts I’d created by the minibar. ‘But my main concern was you seeing what a shit-tip I’d left this place.’

‘Angela, this is a hotel, I have seen much worse.’ He stooped down and retrieved my mobile from the sticky mess of discarded bottles. ‘You have missed calls.’

I took the phone and scanned down the list, holding my breath. Mary, twice, Jenny, once. No James. No Alex. I tossed it on the bed and turned back to the wardrobe, determined not to cry. Or fall over.

‘Not the right person, huh?’ Joe said. I screwed up my face.

‘Angela, I don’t know exactly what’s been going down but I do know that you would never do anything to hurt anyone,’ Joe said softly, crossing the room and pulling me into a warm hug. ‘So whatever you’re beating yourself up over, you can stop it now.’

‘Nyuh,’ I agreed into his shirt, arms hanging helpless by my sides.

‘Do you remember when you first came to New York and we went out to karaoke?’ Joe asked, stroking my back, catching the very ends of my hair. ‘And Jenny sent me up to bring you breakfast. I remember her telling me all about your ex, about how he cheated on you and you caught him. You seemed so devastated.’

‘I was.’ My voice was muffled by Joe’s chest. ‘And I wouldn’t ever cheat.’

‘I know,’ Joe said. ‘You’re just not that kind of a girl. I know that.’

‘But Alex thinks I did,’ I said quietly. God, he smelled even better than James, if that was possible. ‘He’s gone away.’

‘Then he’s even more of a dick than I thought he was.’ Joe pushed me back slightly and tilted my chin up to face him. ‘I would never have let you come out to LA on your own. I would never let you out of my sight.’

‘He won’t even take my calls,’ I said weakly. I eyed the bed behind us. I really needed to be in it, alone. But surely I wasn’t supposed to be alone in such a time of crisis?

‘He isn’t taking your calls?’ Joe asked. ‘He doesn’t believe you?’

‘I would never cheat on him.’ I shook my head, my fingers curling around the open edges of his shirt. ‘His friend said he left. I … he … I tried to explain but … I think he’s finished with me.’

‘Then this isn’t cheating.’ Joe’s hands slid up my back and into my hair, pulling my face into his. His kiss was soft, warm and gentle, his chest hot and hard. I knew it was a bad idea, a much worse idea than the tequila but equally comforting. No, I was a bad, bad, bad person.

‘I was going to change my T-shirt,’ I mumbled, breaking away from the kiss. Woah. Dizzy. ‘For dinner.’

‘Let me help,’ Joe said, slipping his hands under the thin material of my shirt and guiding it up over my head and then hooking it back around my waist, holding me close to him. ‘You want to change your jeans too?’

My skin burned where he had touched me and my lips were desperate for more kisses but, really, my primary concern was just staying upright. Kisses were bad. Even if they felt delicious, they were bad. ‘I’m all right in my jeans actually,’ I managed eventually. Joe released his grip around my waist only for me to fall forwards into him. Stupid traitor legs.

‘You should definitely change.’ Joe dropped my T-shirt and found the waistband of my jeans. Why did I wear slouchy jeans today? If I’d have been in my skinnies, he wouldn’t have been able to get a toothpick down there, let alone an entire hand down the back of the waistband. Oh, and now down the back of my knickers. If the room would just stop spinning for a moment, I’d be able to sort myself out.

‘Nope, no, I’m fine,’ I insisted, pushing him away. Or at least I hoped I was pushing him away. There was every chance I was actually just thrusting myself into him. Everything was starting to get a little bit confusing. ‘I think I should go to bed.’

‘I think so too,’ he said, his breath hot on my neck, followed by his lips, followed by his fingers, all wrapped up in my hair. I tried not to close my eyes but it was hard. I tried not to let Joe push me back on the bed but with one slightly graceless shuffle, my resolve and my balance caved in.

‘Where were we with your jeans?’

‘I think I should call Alex,’ I whispered against the weight of Joe on top of me. Why was a big heavy man so much more preferable than a quilt when you’d had a drink? ‘This is not good.’

‘Not good?’ he whispered in my ear, planting a string of kisses from my throat up to my lips. Where was my T-shirt? Why was I in my bra? ‘Doesn’t it feel good?’

‘No?’ I protested weakly by holding my hands out in front of me. Apparently this was also a come-on. Someone laced their fingers through mine and pushed my hands up above my head. I was so tired and so warm and so … no, something wasn’t right. And it wasn’t just the fact that I couldn’t really see any more. ‘I have to speak to Alex.’

‘How about I be Alex?’ said the low voice in my ear. ‘And you just do what you’re doing.’

‘You’re Alex?’ I closed my eyes just for a moment. When did that happen? But yay, Alex. ‘Oh, I love you.’

‘Yeah, I love you too,’ the voice whispered back. ‘You’re not going to fall asleep, are you?’

‘Nope,’ I replied, closing them for a moment more. ‘I don’t think so.’ And it was true: passing out wasn’t exactly the same as falling asleep, was it?

Waking up with a throbbing head, a mouth like Gandhi’s flip-flop and the overwhelming urge to turn my stomach inside out was not something I’d ever planned on turning into a hobby, but here I was, the second day in a row, getting ever so good at it. As well as drinking enough to put an elephant down, I’d also apparently forgotten to close the curtains, and the painfully bright LA sun beamed through the floor-to-ceiling glass. Not nice.

I peeled my face off the pillowcase (drool was an amazing natural adhesive) and pushed myself into a semi-vertical sitting position. Which was when I realized that there was someone else in the bed. And I was in my bra. And, a quick shuffle confirmed, my pants. Thank Christ for that at least. Not that there was any guarantee that they had been on all night long.

As my heart dropped into my stomach, I felt it start to race, apparently in competition with my brain. But there was nothing. Complete blank. I leaned over the edge of the bed, trying not to disturb the clearly rumpled bedclothes, and groped around on the floor for my T-shirt. Whoever this was and whatever I’d done, I didn’t want to deal with it in my underwear. Even if he had already seen me in it. Apparently.

Walking my fingers along the floor until the tips just reached my top, I noticed another larger, darker shirt beside it. A black, collarless shirt looking just like the millions of work shirts from The Union that Jenny left lying around our apartment. Oh shit. Oh shit shit shit shit shit. Really not wanting to confirm what was already coming rushing back to me, I turned my head slowly. Lying beside me, completely out of it, was Joe. I didn’t dare peek under the covers but next to his shirt were his shoes. And next to them, his trousers. Oh shit shit shit shit. Without thinking, I bolted out of the bed as fast as my wobbly legs would carry me, grabbed my phone from the bedside table and made for the door.

‘Jenny!’ I yelled, hammering her door down, while pulling on my T-shirt in the hallway. I nodded at a passing couple, too stressed to be embarrassed about being busted in my underwear in a hotel hallway. This was the walk of shame in the extreme. ‘Jenny, for fuck’s sake, open the door.’

A couple of seconds later, I heard the latch click and the door gave way to reveal a mighty pissed-off-looking Jenny. ‘Angela, it’s really, really freaking early. What the fuck?’

‘Just let me in,’ I pushed past her into the identical hotel room. Unsurprisingly for Jenny, it was a complete shit-tip. Clothes, carrier bags, shoes and towels everywhere. ‘I need your help.’

‘What else am I here for?’ she muttered, closing the door behind me. ‘It’s not like I have a hangover or anything.’

‘Where were you last night?’ I asked, surveying the bombsite that was her room. From the four-inch heels and slinky dress lying in a silky, spiky pool by her bed, I guessed she’d been out.

‘I told you, Tessa invited me to the awards thing she was doing. You got my message, right?’ Jenny yawned and grabbed the hotel phone. ‘Hi, could I get coffee and uh, I don’t know, toast?’ She paused and gave me a questioning look. I nodded back, knowing for a fact that I wouldn’t be eating anything for a good couple of hours yet. ‘Yeah, coffee and toast sent up? Thanks.’ She threw herself backwards on the bed and started popping M&Ms from an open pack on the bedside table. ‘I love being on the other end of that phone. So what’s up? You look like shit.’

Gingerly, I joined her on the bed, trying not to make it bounce for fear of vomming. ‘Uh, I think I’ve done something really stupid?’

‘So what’s new?’ Jenny raised an eyebrow. ‘I told you not to go meet James yesterday. What did you do now?’

‘It’s kind of a “who did I do?” problem.’

‘What?’

I knew she was paying attention when the M&Ms she was throwing down her throat missed her mouth and clattered against the window. ‘Angie, what the hell?’

‘Well, things didn’t go well with James and so I came back and had a couple of drinks.’ I really hadn’t thought this through. How could I phrase this? ‘A lot of drinks, actually. And then I went upstairs for more drinks.’

‘When we get back to New York, I swear I’m putting you in AA,’ Jenny muttered. ‘Or at least getting you one of those Lindsay Lohan ankle monitors. You picked up a guy in the bar?’

‘Mm-hmm,’ I traced the edge of my big toenail and wondered when I’d chipped my pedicure. ‘Jenny, I’m such an idiot.’

‘Angie,’ Jenny scooted across the bed and put an arm around my shoulders. ‘People do stuff when they’re stressed, calm down. What was it your mom said to me when I lost Kirsten Dunst’s dry cleaning? Worse things happen at sea?’

‘I think in this instance my mum would say, “Angela you great big dirty slag, I can’t believe you shagged the barman”,’ I took a deep breath and looked up. This time Jenny couldn’t even pick up the M&Ms; her hand was frozen in mid-air.

‘Joe?’

‘Joe.’

I wrinkled my nose, trying to force my prickling tears back into my eyes.

‘You slept with Joe?’

The arm around my shoulders had got very tense all of a sudden.

‘I think so.’ I picked out a red M&M and passed it to her. ‘I just woke up and, I don’t remember, but he’s in my bed and his clothes are not.’

‘He’s still there now?’ Suddenly she was on her feet. ‘He’s in your room?’

‘Yes, hence my being in here,’ I replied, steadying myself on the bed. Fast movement, queasy stomach. Badness. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Angie, you were so drunk you don’t even remember what happened, right?’ she bolted towards the door. I followed as quickly as I could. Not that quickly. ‘And he was working so he was sober, at least he should have been. And I hardly think you threw yourself at him, you don’t exactly have any precedent for one-night stands. I’m gonna kill him.’

‘Jenny, wait,’ I chased her down the corridor, pulling my T-shirt as far over my pants as I could. ‘I don’t even know what happened, please don’t—’

But it was too late: she’d swiped her key card and thrown open my room door before I could catch her.

‘OK assface,’ I heard her yell as I staggered through the door.

‘Jenny, please.’

But aside from the wild-eyed brunette slamming into the bathroom, it was empty. No barmen in the bed; no closeted gay movie stars in the bathroom: no one.