“Maybe not, but you’d have an official record of it. What if he tries to do something else? You need that record if there’s a chance you may need a restraining order. Remember when I broke up with Steve? He went batshit crazy and jacked off on my bed using my underwear.”
“Oh God, Monroe. I’m so sorry. I totally forgot ...” I trail off, wondering if I’m the one being the shitty friend here.
“It’s fine,” she replies with a flip of her hair. “It’s not like any man would be okay with losing me. Yet more than one has had to deal with that sad reality.”
Even though she plays it off like it’s nothing, her earlier concern makes me realize that it wasn’tno big deallike she told all of us when it happened.
“So, should I call the cops? I kept the note. I have the security footage of him using the key.”
Monroe slides a hand into the pocket of her robe to retrieve her phone. “I’ll text you the number of a detective. He’s discreet. He’ll document it quietly, so it doesn’t end up in the press.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket as soon as she finishes speaking, and when I unlock it, it opens to the screen with the text from Legend.
“He did text back,” I say to Monroe, almost like a peace offering. “But I don’t know what to say to him now. I don’t know how to do this. I—”
With more speed that I thought she was capable of in the morning, Monroe reaches across the island and nabs the phone from my hand.
“Oh. My. God,” she whispers before breaking into a dance in front of the massive stainless-steel fridge. “This isamazing!I knew he wanted you. The way he held you when you danced ... and the way he made sure to talk to you before we left. He’s hooked. Now all you have to do is reel him in, babe.”
“I don’t know how, Monroe. This isn’t me. This isn’t what I do.”
She tilts her head to the side and scoops up the bloody mary. After taking a sip, she replaces it on the counter with a smile. “Then I guess it’s time for that to change.”
Her fingers fly across the keyboard, and I watch in horror as she grins.
“Done. Now all you have to do is wait.”
Forty-One
Legend
I’m paying for breakfast when the text comes. Bump is staring at the blond cashier as she counts out change, so he doesn’t notice when I glance down at my phone.
Scarlett: You’re going to have to be more specific. Because I don’t want to wait until Saturday night to find out what you want from me.
My dick jerks in my pants.Fuck.I shove my phone back in my pocket and take my change, ignore the inviting smile of the cashier, and hustle Bump out of the diner.
“She was pretty,” Bump says as soon as we’re outside. “I wish I could see her titties.”
Fucking kid. He has no filter, and normally it’s funny, but right now, all I can think about is Scarlett’s tits, which I have no business thinking about at all.
She’s sober now and she’s still texting you.That’s the part that sends a charge straight through me.
Whatever happened last night could easily have been written off as an alcohol-fueled mistake, but this morning ... not so much.
Still, I have to wonder. “How the hell did she get my number?”
Bump looks over at me from the other side of the truck. “How did who get your number?”
“Scarlett Priest,” I say, unable to come up with a reason I shouldn’t tell him the truth.
“I gave it to her friend. The one with pretty brown hair. I want to see her titties too. They werebig.” Bump holds out two hands in front of his chest as he demonstrates just how big.
Given his physical description—brown hair, big boobs—he has to be talking about Monroe Grafton, the wife of a starting pitcher, who was at the club with Scarlett last night.
Well, hell.
“When did you do that, bud?”