"What the hell are you talking about?"
"I was on my way to meet you in the guest house that night," she says. "Until I ran into one of your bimbos on the way."
"I didn't fucking have any bimbos," I say.
"Some girl," she says. "She knew you." The way she says the last three words, practically spitting them out, tells me everything I need to know. Whatever the hell she misunderstood about whatever girl showed up back then, she's been sitting on that for the past four fucking years.
I hear my voice soften, despite my annoyance at her for being so easily dissuaded back then. "There were no other girls, Delaney."
She rolls her eyes. "Sure, Gaige," she says. "You're as pure as the driven snow."
"Exactly the opposite," I say. Before Delaney, there were lots of girls, a parade of girls I displayed partially to make her jealous. But the moment she kissed me that summer, it ruined me for anyone else. There wasn't anyone, as long as she was there. When she left, well, that was a different story. Post-Delaney, I was sure as hell the opposite of pure. I fucked every chick I could find who might possibly erase Delaney from my head. "But when you and I were together back then, there were no other girls. I might be a lot of things, but I'm no cheater."
"So some chick just shows up at your house, her panties in hand, ready to party?" she asks. She shakes her head again, purses her lips. She doesn't believe me. "Anyway, the entire thing is irrelevant. We weren't together; there was nothing between us. You might not think it's water under the bridge, but I haven't given it a moment's thought since I left Dallas. Chelsea is my boss and your manager at Marlowe. So I'm looking out for you."
"You're looking out for me, huh?" I ask. "That's it?"
"That's it," she says. "Don't shit where you eat. That's all I'm concerned about."
"I'm sure that's all it is, darlin'." She's obviously lying. I'm tempted to kiss her, but I don't.
"Have a nice flight," she says abruptly. My cue to leave.
"I hope you can find a way to entertain yourself while I'm gone," I say. I picture her using the dildo and the thought makes me rock hard. Damn it, there's nothing worse than leaving for a trip with your dick as hard as a fucking rock.
"I will," she says.
I'm down the stairs and on the way to the airport before I realize that her "I will" sounded way too smug. And she was all dressed up, fuck me boots and all. I was so concerned about giving her grief, I didn't even ask where the hell she was going. Trapped in the car on the way to the airport, I can't stop thinking about it. And now I really don't want to be stuck in Vegas with Chelsea.
CHAPTER EIGHT
DELANEY
"Oh my God, how much did you miss real Texas queso when we were in New York?" I dip a chip into the bowl and shove the entire thing into my mouth. "I am absolutely starving."
"Here are your drinks." The waitress sets our glasses and silver shakers on the table, and disappears as quickly as she arrived.
"Cheers to your first day at work," Daniel says, holding up his glass. I met Daniel two years ago at Columbia – I literally bumped into him while he was on his way to an audition. It turned out, he was from Dallas, and we became instantaneous friends.
"Even if it doesn't really count?" I take a sip of the drink, a Texas specialty that's like a margarita in a martini glass, complete with olives.
"Shut up," Daniel says, sipping his drink. "Who cares if your daddy is the CEO of the company? That's how the world works. At least your mother didn't have you auditioning for commercials before you could walk."
Laughing, I crunch on another chip. "But the commercials from when you were a toddler were totally adorable."
"It's appalling that they're on the internet," he says, rolling his eyes. "It used to be that people's shameful childhood experiences didn't live on forever and ever."
"They're cute," I insist. "And besides, now it's saved for posterity. When you become super famous, they'll use them in one of those throwback episodes: a glimpse into Daniel Beacon's childhood."
"Now I feel tons better," he says, waving his hand dismissively. "Cute is just fantastic for my dating life, by the way."
"How is the dating life?"
"Oh, you know," he says. "I'm seeing a few guys, no one special."
"What about the lawyer?"
"Too work obsessed, of course," he says. "There's nothing new with my dating life. I'll die a spinster."
"You're not going to die a spinster. But if it's any consolation, you'd make a fabulous spinster," I note. "I can see you being the gay version of the Dowager on Downton Abbey – bitter and witty and clever."