Rake made it back to their room with every intention of texting Blake, but when the adrenaline rush of the kiss wore off, he realized it wasn’t even 8:00 A.M. He could actually get in a nap and wake up closer to an hour that wasn’t quite so horrific. Besides, Delaney was only a few minutes behind them—she’d lingered with the others to tell them about her meeting at the church. Maybe they’d kiss more. Maybe they’d kiss a lot more. And she seemed pretty interested in his texts from Blake; maybe there’d be more pictures of animal shit to show her. (Wow. That was a sentence he’d never thought before.)
So he got comfortable on the hide-a-bed to wait, and the funny thing was, he wasn’t even tired. He should be; between playing with his phone and then thinking about Delaney’s sleepwalking, he’d gotten about two hours before she yanked him out of (sofa) bed. Should he tell her? Would she freak? Hard to imagine Delaney losing her cool; it was more likely she’d be embarrassed. Self-assured people didn’t like it when other people saw their vulnerabilities. He’d grown up with two of the most self-assured people he’d ever met (helloooo, Mom and Blake!); he knew all about how they didn’t like looking vulnerable.
Well, he’d think about it while he waited for the gray-eyed whirl of sarcasm/slave driving that was Claire Delaney—and what was happening? Why was she looming over him? And shaking him?
“Rake? You okay?”
“Course.” He yawned, glanced at the clock— Oh. “Huh. Ten o’clock? Really?”
“Did you— How’d it go?” Delaney was actually nibbling on her lower lip, which was distracting as all hell, because it made him want to nibble on her lower lip. “Are you okay?”
He was warmed by her concern and caught the small hand shaking his shoulder. He squeezed it, then reluctantly let go. “I haven’t tried to call him. Thought I’d wait for you first.”
“Why?” Delaney’s eyes were narrow with suspicion, because he could never figure her out. To be fair, they’d only known each other for a few days. “Why would you do that?”
He didn’t even have to think about it. “Because I like being around you guys. What, that’s so hard to believe?”
“Yes. Very. You didn’t think you were going to get laid, did you?”
“No! I swear!” Truth! At best, he’d thought … “I wouldn’t have said no to another kiss, though. You’re the best kisser.” He saw the unwilling smile bloom. “You are! You fiend, you knew it all along.”
“I did not!”
“You’re always walking around with your lips hanging out, flaunting them, being all oh my God please don’t tickle me again.”
She’d been reaching for his ribs but pulled up short when he begged. “Hmph.”
He grinned up at her and squashed the urge to sit up, grab her, and pull her down onto the bed into a full-bodied hug. “Your ‘hmph’ isn’t fooling me, look at you! You were worried and everything. What, you thought I’d have such an infuriating conversation I’d pass out in a rage?”
“Kind of,” she admitted.
“You’re sweet!”
“Shut up.”
“‘She said sweetly.’”
“Stop it. Look, will you please call him? Don’t you want to get this over with?”
“All right, jeez, such a nag. A nag with good advice, actually.” He got up, unplugged his phone from Delaney’s charger, then reread Blake’s doctoral thesis of a text. He sat back on the bed and got right to it.
Christ Blake I thought my phone was going to blow up what’s going on with you I mean jeez?
Ahhhh, felt so good. He didn’t have the vocabulary to express how good it felt to be texting again. And this was just the sort of text that would aggravate the bejeezus out of his brother: profane, a run-on sentence, no punctuation. Heh.
A few seconds went by, and then:
Did you lose another phone, idiot?
Nice. All his bro knew was that Rake hadn’t been returning his texts. Was it because he’d been kidnapped? Hurt? Gored by a bull? Run over by a train? Bobbing facedown in the Grand Canal? Any of those things could have been true. (One of them was maybe true, and the third one almost happened.) But noooo, it must be because Rake lost another cell phone. God, lose five in two years and everyone rushed to judgment.
No! I know right where it is, it’s still at the bottom of the canal so now who’s the idiot?
Canal? Never mind. Thank you for eventually acknowledging my dozens of communiqués.
Ugh. Blake texted just like he talked: like no one from this century.
Only YOUR phone autocorrects communications. See? Mine didn’t. Where are you?
If you’d listened to any of your voice mails, you’d know.
Rake snorted.
And if you had a Facebook page like a real live boy, I’d also know. Where?
The fifth circle of Hell.
He reread the text, troubled. Blake didn’t just say things; there was always a double or triple meaning. If he was comparing something to Hell, that meant he was in the middle of something truly awful. Shit. Blake was supposed to help him, not the other way around.
So let’s see, since Blake loved to be literal, where was Hell? Or, more important, where did Blake think was Hell?
You’re back in Vegas?
No. The real Hell. Actual Hell.
Even more puzzling! But at least that narrowed it down a little.
What are you doing in L.A.?
Having an incredibly irritating text chat with my twin.
Ha! That was more like it. For a second, he’d been worried. He glanced up and saw Delaney watching with a tense expression. “It’s okay,” he told her, “he’s okay.” Supersweet of her to worry, though. Maybe he should be milking this. He affected a scowl as he texted.
Because I’m terrible? People have told me you think I’m terrible. Personally I don’t see it.
“That’ll get him,” he chortled to Delaney, who managed a small smile. “Hey. Are you okay? You seem kind of— Ha!” He showed her the phone, which had started chiming. “Blake hates talking to me on the phone. Hates it. Whatever’s he’s up to, it’s gotta be bugging the shit out of him, or he’d never call after a tiny text war like that.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” She looked away as he got ready to answer.
Would it be crass to ask her out before he got his money back, or a few hours from now, when he’d be rich again? Because even though he’d soon be back to being able to afford any hotel in the city, he had no intention of just disappearing from her life. Though, in fairness, it’d be more like she’d disappear from his. And, worse, Lillith would. He’d never in his life met people more rootless (root-free? sans roots?) than himself.
It was exhilarating, and a little disconcerting. One thing was for sure, though: Pretty soon his troubles would be over.