Was I going to say it? Yup.
"It’s pretty friggin’… weird but they’re old enough to know what they’re doing. It’s consensual, and you think it’s going to stop him from doing it?” No answer again. “Probably not. So I don’t think you should waste your time away brooding or calling innocent people bitches and friggin' idiots in retaliation. And the receipts missing? That sucks but don't let it ruin your day. You're going to give yourself a heart condition by stressing out so much about things that don't matter. Trust me. It isn't worth it.”
Silence. More silence. Triple silence.
Dex fidgeted in his seat during all of this. Arranging then rearranging his butt position.
Failing to bring up how right I was, he sighed. "I did have a few ideas on how to figure out who's been takin' money from the register..."
An hour later, we were still talking over ideas.
~ * ~ *
The three of us dragging our way across the hotel lobby was more than likely one of the most pitiful sights any possible observers would ever see. I probably resembled some sort of hybrid zombie raccoon with my rundown eyeliner and sleepy groans. I know without a doubt that Slim had a line of dry drool from the corner of his mouth down the side of his neck that Dex and I had silently agreed we wouldn’t tell him about. And Dex, carrying his backpack, my little duffel, and something that looked like a toolbox on absolutely no sleep, didn’t look like such hot stuff anymore either.
Well, that was a lie. Dex, with his disarray of blue-black hair and dry, pink lips, still looked attractive. Just more like an attractive hobo with his wrinkled clothes rather than a stunning one.
Slim had explained to me through several yawns and eye flutters that Pins usually reserved one hotel room that three people shared to keep the guys focused—on tattooing, I assumed. Not landing between two thighs. Two people got beds and someone tackled the sleeper sofa. As nice as Slim was, he hadn’t already said, “I’ll sleep on the pull-out,” so I wasn’t going to assume he would either. Sleep and hunger always brought out the worst in people and I totally got it. If I went too long without eating, everything annoyed me. Plus, he was actually tattooing when we got up. My job was just to stand there and say hi to strangers.
“I’m gonna knock out,” Dex finally yawned from a couple steps behind me.
I staggered, blinking back the fight of slumber. I’d already asked him about four times if he wanted me to help him carry stuff but each time he’d insist that he didn’t. And shoot, I wasn’t about to ask again.
Instead, I yawned as well. “Me too.”
Dex’s mouth was wide open, recovering from the nonstop trip that took us to the Hyatt closest to the convention center. The corners of his eyes wrinkled with another yawn, exhaling something that sounded like a groan. A two and a half hour drive in the middle of the night after a full work day would kill anyone.
After the confessional slash strategy session we had back in the truck—which he finally mentioned belonged to Luther—we’d exchanged maybe twenty more words. Each and every single time consisted of me asking if he was fine, and Dex responding with an assured “Yeah.” One heart-to-heart was enough.
The second that the door was unlocked and the hotel room was open, I beelined toward the couch the instant I was inside. It was almost six in the morning and we had to be up by ten and parked in front of the convention area to unload around eleven before setting up the booth.
The idea of unpacking—even worse—the idea of even taking off my clothes to crawl onto the couch made me sleepier. I pulled the cushions off and threw them on the desk across the carpet before unbuckling my belt.
"Ritz."
My mind was completely focused on getting in that friggin' bed as quickly as I could, as I yanked the mattress out. "Yes?"
"What are you doin', babe?" Dex asked.
"Going to sleep," I said, shoving my pants down to my ankles. It was a blessing my shirt was so long it covered the most important piece of my anatomy.
“What the hell?” was Slim’s lazily yawned question.
I barely turned my head to look over my shoulder. Barely. My eyes were somehow managing to stay open but they were about to lose the battle. So I hardly managed the effort to see Slim standing at the foot of the bed the closest to me, holding the hem of his shirt in hands. Dex meanwhile, stood at the sink across from the bed, a hand braced around the edge of the sink, eyes on me through the reflection.
I didn’t even have the decency to blush.
“So sorry guys. I’m tired.” It was the truth. I was embarrassed that I’d just been an exhibitionist and yanked down my pants in front of two men that I didn’t think even knew my last name.