Moore To Love (21 page)

“What’s that look?”

Oops. She caught me, didn’t she?

“Oh . . . nothing.” I feign innocence but I can tell she sees right through the flush of my cheeks and the smile on my lips.

Raven darts in front of me when she notices her luggage circling around the carousel but that doesn’t stop her from prying further. “Spill it, sister. What’s going on with you? A new man?”

“New would imply that there was an old, and we both know I haven’t been on a date in forever.”

“What about that Hudson dude?”

“That was a hook-up; this was a date.” I can’t help myself. I want to talk about it. Gloat, brag, speak of nothing but the way Lane made sure I would be thinking of him this whole trip.

“So, there
is
a man! I need a cocktail for this! Can it wait until we’re back at the hotel and my hand is occupied by a filthy martini?”

“Yes. It can wait. There’s not much to tell anyway.” The lie detector determined
that
was a fib. In the grand scheme of things, the Lane stuff isn’t a big deal. But it’s been a long time since I felt this way, and I can barely contain the giddy emotions from spilling out of every pore, crevice, and orifice. I hope the shuttle to the hotel is a quick one.

By the time Raven’s sucked down her third dirty martini, I’ve only nursed one vodka-club. Once I gave her all the deets about Lane, she went on and on about how she had a great feeling about him and that he had to be the one.
Fate doesn’t just make you bump into a tree and stumble into the arms of a hot nurse for nothing
, were her exact words.

I can’t lie, her belief in the whole destiny thing and how it threw me and Lane together makes me more hopeful than it should. I’d toast to that, but the alcohol has taken its effect on my boss and it’s time to cut her off before she winds up hung over and cranky before our big meeting tomorrow.

“’Nother . . . shplease?” She slopes to the side in the poolside lounge, waving her empty glass at the approaching waitress.

I intervene, shaking my head and mouthing
no way
behind Raven’s back. I knew she was three sheets to the wind when she started to share some TMI about the sexual fantasies she acts out with her husband. I love Raven, but I don’t need those visuals.

The waitress nods in understanding and sets off to help the other non-inebriated hotel guests, leaving me to deal with this shit show.

“Hey, I think we should go back to the room and freshen up.”

“Soon as she ’rings my drank.”

I giggle at her drunkenness, allowing her a pass. With three kids and the demands of running a hectic business, who am I to deny her a little buzz? Standing and straightening out my sarong so I’m not revealing more than anyone cares to see, I collect our bags. “I’ll have her send it up to the room. Come on. The other girls will be here soon.”

“Fiiinneee,” she drawls, sliding off the chair and flat onto her ass. Contagious giggles erupt from her, causing a few people to turn their heads.

“Shit, Rave!” I run to her side and scoop her up by her underarms. “You need a nap and a shower.”

“I
need
a shmoke and a pancake. Or a bong and a blintz.” This time her laughter pierces through the quiet oasis and causes me to bowl over myself.

“Okay, Austin Powers.”

“Don’t you mean, Goldmember?”

“Sure, whatever, you psycho.”

She reaches out to grab hold of me for leverage and winds up grabbing a generous helping of my ass. “
Raven!
” I yelp when her grip closes in on my crack.

“Well, well, well. You’ve got a toit ass, Len. Toit like a tiger.”

I don’t bother scolding her because I’m certain she won’t remember any of this later on.

Getting Raven into the elevator and up to the room is a death defying act of hilarity. Stumbles, stutters, and slurs, oh my! And not to mention the inappropriate leers at the young tattooed hottie who hopped in on the fifth floor only to quickly reroute his destination from the rooftop lounge to floor ten after three uncomfortable seconds of Raven’s attempt at cougar life.

It doesn’t take her long to drift into dreamland once she’s stripped down to nothing but her tankini top and shoved onto the bed with her ass in the air.

I grab the spare blanket from the closet and toss it over her. “Nice, buns,” I joke, even though I’m certain she has no idea she’s unabashedly flashing me.

Peace sets in and for the first time since waking at the crack of dawn, exhaustion kicks in. But one buzz from my phone and the tiredness is quickly replaced by a flurry of exhilaration.

Lane: Hey, beautiful. How’s the Sunshine State?

I shot him a quick text earlier to let him know I landed safely but was soon preoccupied with Raven and her antics. The fact he’s checking up on me is so sweet it warms the chilliness in my bones brought on by the A/C pumping through our hotel room.

Me: Good. Just got back from the pool. Cut it short because my boss is trashed.

Lane: Oh, boy.

Me: Yup. You can say that again.

Lane: Any big plans for tonight?

Me: Nah, I think Raven needs to sleep this off, and she asked me to join her for the meeting with the photographer tomorrow so I should rest up, too.

Lane: Look at you! That sounds awesome, Len.

I take a moment to let that sink in. Is it just me or does everything seem to be falling into place lately? I’m not sure if that thrills me or scares the shit out of me. It’s either a foretelling of good things to come for Madeline Moore
or
the proverbial ‘other shoe’ getting ready to drop and kick me in the ass. But I don’t want to give those negative thoughts any power, so I continue texting my man (oh, the glorious sound of that) with my legs curled underneath me, cozy and content.

Me: Thanks! I’m definitely stoked. What’s on your agenda for the day?

Lane: Oh, nothing, just pining over this sweet thing that left me here all alone.

Swoon. He misses me. This is good.

Me: You could always hop on a plane and join me . . .

Lane: Don’t tempt me.

Me: What if I want to tempt you?

Lane: Babe, if I could, I would. I’m working crazy hours this week so we’ll just have to resort to the long distance thing on my down time. Looks like you’ll have to tempt me with something else.

Oh, really? Lane has a feisty side. Fantabulous. I only wish it hadn’t come out
now
, while I’m thousands of miles away.

Me: Not fair! No teasing when I can’t exactly do anything about it.

Lane: Are you alone?

Whoa!
That’s usually the way most sexting starts, isn’t it? I’ve never done this. Do I have it in me? I mean, on the one hand, he’s initiating and ever since that night in the cab—maybe even before—I’ve been dying for this side of Lane to come out and play. But even if Raven is passed out and ossified, the fear of the unknown and screwing this up gets the best of me.

Me: Um . . . kind of.

Lane: Good enough. Still remember that kiss?

Me: Haven’t stopped thinking about it.

Lane: Me either, but I’m in need of something . . . visual.

Me: Lane Sheffield are you asking me to send you a nudie shot? What kind of girl do you think I am?

He doesn’t need to answer that. I’m already snapping cleavage selfies like they’re going out of style. His text comes in as I’m saving a pic that highlights just the right amount of moundage.

Lane: The kind that has me all worked up after only a few dates. I can’t tell you how much I regret not coming up to your apartment that night.

Ah! The infamous rejection. I’ve been secretly hoping it haunted him. I’m not sure how to answer him, so instead I send over a tasteful money shot of the girls, accentuated by the gold and black netting of my swim suit.

The phone feels like a grenade in my shaky hands. Did I really just do that?
Yes, you whore, you did. You sent the dude a picture of your jugs and for all you know he’ll post it on social media for the whole world to see.

Regret floods me in nasty swells, but the vibration of my phone startles me out of my shame. I expect it to be another incoming text, but this time it’s actually him. He’s calling.
Shit!
What do I do?

I scurry to the bathroom and lock myself inside, as to not disturb Frank the Tank in there. I take a deep breath and pray for the heat tingling throughout me to calm the hell down. Clearing my throat, I answer in a sugary pitch, “Hello?”

“If you think I regretted my mistakes before, that picture just solidified my you’re-an-asshole-for-not-jumping-her-bones-when-you-could-have status. Leni, you are fucking hot.”

Me?
Hot?
Bottle up and sell whatever the hell this guy is drinking because clearly it’s giving him a distorted view of life. “It was nothing, but had I known this would get you so excited I would’ve flashed you a long time ago.”

What can only be described as a frustrated growl comes through the phone, sending pulses of pleasure to my lady bits. “I won’t survive this week, but know this, I don’t make the same mistake twice.”

Well, that sounds delicious.
“So, should I expect a hot and heavy welcome home?”
Yes, please?

“Expect the unexpected.”

Oh, do I love that, because
that
, in a nutshell, is Lane. Someone who’s been so guarded and timid, yet pleasantly surprising in all the right ways. As much as I’m tickled pink to be here because this trip means great things for my career, this week better fly on by so I can get home to whatever it is Lane has waiting for me.