“Oh, the fuck I will.” He stood and pounded on the door. “Not without an explanation. This is why you had to leave every night, isn’t it?”
No answer.
“Peyton! Goddammit. Answer me! Why are you doing this? Do you know how much trouble you’re gonna be in when they find out it’s you?”
“No!” She threw the door open and it smacked his elbow. “No.” She gasped. “Please? Oh God, please? It’s–it’s for an assignment for my lit class. I’ll ace the class with this, and I need that A. Please, God, Griffin. If I mean anything to you, please–”
“How did you get this on board?”
“I…I can’t tell you.” The tears streamed down her face.
“So you’re working with somebody else, somebody who’s more important to you than being honest with me.” Fuck. Was anybody in the world honest anymore? “I can’t be with a liar.” Not again. Not ever again.
“Then just go.” She tried to pry the iPad from his hands. “I said, get out!”
“Get dressed. We’re going to see the Grants.”
“Oh no. You’re going to leave, or I’ll–”
“What will you do, Peyton? Call Security? I’m guessing that’d land you in exactly the same place. The Grants’ suite, explaining yourself. Only, the entire security team would know what you’ve been doing, and then pretty soon the whole crew.”
“I’ll tell everybody I know, everybody you know, that you’ve been getting head from guys behind the bar.”
Fucking little– Blackmail? One guy. One, that first day. He stepped closer. “Get some clothes on your ass. I’m waiting outside the door for five minutes. If you’re not out by then, I’m calling Security. Once you’re dressed, we’re going up to see the Grants, and then we’re finished. Forever.”
Chapter 21
David lay back and let himself sink, the cool pool water closing in around him, over his neck, ears, eyes, nose. Quiet and familiar. He straightened and rose to the surface, then backstroked to the end of the pool. Britt and Mark were easing into the shallow water; Vic had gone inside somewhere. Carmyn had just come out of the changing room, looking very hot in a very tiny string bikini. Holy hell. To think she was somebody’s mama. MILF. Well, maybe, if he hadn’t already hooked up with Vic. Didn’t seem cool to think of her friend that way. Carmyn definitely had that star quality. Knew she was hot, and didn’t mind flaunting it–or discussing other people’s attractiveness, either. And obviously felt okay taking her top down in mixed company, which she’d just done before lying across a lounge chair to sunbathe. Well, that explained the lack of tan lines.
He glanced over at Mark to see if he minded his wife getting bare in front of a virtual stranger, but Mark looked excited, more than anything else. Probably having a wife that hot would be exciting all the time.
He let his head loll back against the pool edge, and hung on with the backs of his arms draped across the overflow. Clear blue sky, bright as hell, especially after those last few hours in the casino. Britt was one lucky bastard. Every place he played, he won. Not just money, and not only gambling–he’d get to go home with Vic tomorrow.
Fuck. He couldn’t be thinking about that now. At least he got to be with them, even if he was a damn fifth wheel. Carmyn and Mark were nice enough, and he had no right to resent them, but he sure wished they had something else to do today. His last day with Vic and Britt, and they had to play friends. Not the way he’d have preferred to spend their time together.
“What did the chicken say to the horse?” Carmyn said. He glanced over to confirm she was talking to him. “Sorry. It’s my daughter’s joke she tells whenever somebody seems bummed.”
“What?”
“Why the long face?”
“Huh?” He was so lost with this conversation.
“It’s the punch line–why the long face? That’s what the chicken asked the horse.”
“Oh.” He should at least pretend to laugh, but he wasn’t exactly in the mood. “Funny.”
“Yeah. Cracked you right up, huh?” She gave him a little smile. “Don’t worry. We’ll get lost in an hour or so, so you and Brett have plenty of time before dinner to make a Tori sandwich.”
Tori sandwich? Holy hell. She knew.
She smirked and lowered her shades.
He suddenly needed something for a headache. Forget the ladder–he pulled himself up and out at the side of the pool, and strode inside. Someplace in his duffel, he had a bottle of ibuprofen… Dripping all over the bed in the guest room, he rummaged. “Fuck, fuck!” How did Carmyn know? Had she guessed, or did Vic tell her? This wasn’t supposed to get out. And where the hell was that bottle?