“I’d love to come back,” she said, keeping her tone light and flirty. Even as that bittersweet pain filled her chest again.
Drake kissed her, then returned to getting dressed.
“I’m going to use the bathroom,” she told him, pointing to the door, feeling the need to get herself together a little. She was sure she looked like—well, like she’d just had the best sex of her life, which was great for her mood, but probably not so great for her hair and clothing.
“Beware the bird.”
She shuddered. “That’s not even funny.” She poked her head out the door to make sure the coast was clear.
“You’ll take on a gator, but a parrot scares you.” Drake chuckled.
She made a face at him, then stepped into the hallway. She could hear Cort and Wyatt in the living room. They seemed to be discussing where to find the person who owned the parrot, or at least that’s what she thought.
She started to head toward the bathroom but changed her mind. Between the two glasses of wine and crazed lovemaking, she was beyond parched, and the refrigerator stood out like a beacon. Cold water. Yeah, that’s what she needed.
She tiptoed to the kitchen, mainly to avoid the attention of the bird rather than Drake’s bandmates. She opened the fridge to find it empty except for a six-pack of beer, a bottle of vodka and large blue Tupperware pitcher. Water? Juice? At this point, she didn’t care, she just wanted something cold.
She pulled out the pitcher and set it on the counter, then she opened the first cupboard next to the fridge. It was empty.
That’s weird. It seemed as if Drake and Cort and Katie had lived here for quite some time. Although she didn’t exactly recall Drake saying that. She guessed she’d just assumed they had from the way Katie and Drake had been teasing each other about his frequent nudity. That seemed like the kind of joke old roommates would share.
She moved to the next cupboard, which was also empty. Finally, at the last cupboard, she found glasses. And only glasses. Regular drinking glasses, wine goblets, beer mugs.
Okay, these guys must definitely eat out a lot.
She reached for a plain juice glass and returned to the pitcher. Just as she lifted it, to start pouring a drink, she heard the loud flap of wings and a high-pitched caw.
“Jack and coke. Jack and coke.”
She instantly jumped and screamed, both the pitcher and the glass crashing to the floor.
She spun to see where the parrot was, terrified it was near her. She located the red bird perched on the top of the refrigerator, regarding her with unblinking, beady eyes. Evil eyes.
“Are you okay?”
Josie Lynn looked away from the bird to find both Cort and Wyatt in the kitchen doorway.
“I’m—I’m fine,” she managed, casting another wary look toward the bird. “The bird startled me. And—and I kind of made a mess.”
She looked down, then blinked. The drinking glass had broken, and whatever had been in the pitcher had splattered all over her bare legs and the floor. And it definitely wasn’t water, and it didn’t look like juice either. Whatever it was looked dark red and viscous. Like blood.
“That fuckin’ bird,” Cort muttered, walking farther into the room. He held out his arm, and Josie Lynn flinched as the bird spread its wings—huge wings, as far as she was concerned—and flew down to land on Cort’s upper arm.
“He is pretty much a drunken jerk,” Cort told her, “but overall, he’s harmless.”
The bird waddled up Cort’s arm and proceeded to bite his ear.
“Ouch, damn it! Okay, let me amend that,” Cort said, still wincing from the bite. “He’s mostly harmless to everyone else, but for some reason, he has a love/hate thing going on with me.”
“I can see that,” Josie Lynn said, though now her attention had gone from the bird to the stuff spilled all around her. What the hell was that?
“Here,” Wyatt said, hurrying over to her. “Let me clean that up. Don’t you even worry about it.”
He placed a hand on her back and arm to usher her away from the mess. She kept looking down. That wasn’t juice. It beaded down her bare legs, reminding her of times she’d cut herself shaving.
You are standing in blood, she thought. Even the way her footprints looked on the floor pooled and congealed like bloody imprints.
But it can’t be blood. Why would they have blood? In a pitcher? In their fridge?
“What happened?” Drake came rushing into the room, his jeans on, but unbuttoned, and his shirt in his hand. He looked down at the floor and at Josie Lynn, and she could have sworn he saw a flash of dread before he masked it behind a look of concern.