1
Laurel
Four: the number of days I spent with Sin in Las Vegas.
Three: the number of times he has called me since realizing I did not, in fact, call Rafe to come get me, but instead booked myself an Uber, bought myself a plane ticket, and flew away from Vegas like a bat out of hell.
Two: the number of days I have spent in Chicago to legitimize the lie I told my sister.
One: the number of nights I have to survive until I can board my flight from Chicago to Connecticut and finally go home.
On one hand, I really wanted to go straight home to my sister from Vegas. My heart is busted up, and no one nurses you through heartache quite like Carly.
On the other hand, I don’t want Carly or Vince to know I went there. My lies in Vegas may not have been any good, but the truth is so much worse. My brother-in-law, while wonderful, has a tendency to be overly protective and a bit of a loose cannon. I don’t want to ignite his hot-headedness toward anyone in Vegas because I’m realistic, and I understand that’s dangerous, whether my heart is broken and my womb has been invaded or not.
I don’t need Vince or Carly to handle this for me. I’ve handled it myself. Now I just have to recover from the unexpected pitfall and get my life back on track.
First things first: I am done with the Morelli drama. I’m done with all of it. The boring life is looking better and better now. Maybe my dinner dates from now on won’t be dangerous or exciting, but they won’t break my heart and ruin my life in less than a week, either. Underwhelming is underrated. Who needs soaring passion and pulse-pounding excitement all the time? Not me, that’s for sure. Nope. Sign me up for Mr. Boring and Predictable. The biophysicist whose biggest point of contention with me is thinking his work is more important than mine? Totally fine with that now.
I need to detox, wallow, mourn my losses, and then go back to Connecticut tomorrow and remember how to be a normal person. No more padded cuffs to keep me tied to the bed while the psycho I’m falling for beats the shit out of people to collect money for my baby daddy. No more kneeling and basking in the glorious power exchanged between us in those moments…
I groan into my pillow, losing steam. God, I miss that feeling. The electrical current that pulses through me, the intimacy of opening myself up for him, giving myself to him in any way he wants me.
Of course, that’s the moment my roommate is walking by and hears my miserable, bereft groan.
Sailing into the dark haven of our shared bedroom, she demands, “Okay, that’s it. I’ve tried minding my business, but I can’t anymore. What the hell is wrong with you?”
I sigh, peeking out from the comforting fort of pink blankets and pillows I constructed around myself to block out all the light. I’m like a vampire, hiding from the sun’s harmful rays in a cocoon of comfort. “I’ll be fine. I just need to be alone right now.”
Ignoring me, she takes a seat on the edge of my bed. “This looks, smells, and sounds like a break-up, but I wasn’t aware you were seeing someone. Tell your roomie what’s up. Is this about that Kevin guy? I thought you didn’t even like him.”
It’s laughable that she thinks this is over my last coffee date. Sin could snap my coffee date in half and use a sliver of his broken bones to pick his teeth.
Dammit, that’s not helpful. It should horrify me, but it just makes me sigh mournfully. I really liked that stupid, sexy monster.
Patting the bed to get my attention, Daphne says, “Earth to Laurel. Hello? Tell me what I can do to help.”
“You can leave me alone and let me be miserable in peace.”
With a perfunctory nod, she says, “I’ve been doing that. Give me something else.”
I sigh, squeezing the pillow closer and trying to think of some menial task for her to do so she’ll feel like she’s helping. I would send her for ice cream, but the thought of eating makes me want to throw up. “How about break-up songs? Can you make me a playlist?”
“Absolutely,” she says, with enthusiasm. “What’s the break-up vibe? I take it he’s the one who fucked up? You’re too boring to fuck up.”
I can’t help smiling. If only she knew. “He’s evil. Beautiful to look at, but a soul-shattering demon from the depths of hell. Is that a strong enough vibe for you?”
“Definitely.” She holds out her hand, palm up. “Give me your phone. I’ve got you.”
“It’s on the night stand,” I tell her, burrowing back into my pillow fortress.
A moment later I hear her awe-laden voice as she says, “Holy hell. Is this him?”
I peek back out of Fort Softness. “Seriously? You’re supposed to be making me a playlist, not going through my phone.”
Daphne thrusts the phone at me, eyes wide. I look at the screen and see the picture of me and Rafe in the Grand Canyon. “Girl, I don’t know how you managed this, but let me help you out. I don’t know what he did—I’m honestly sad it wasn’t me—but forgive him. A guy that looks like this is gonna fuck up from time to time, but if curling up next to this every night is an option? You take it. And if you won’t, can you put in a good word for me? I’ll cr
y a few tears for him if that’s the price I have to pay to get my hands on all this.”
“That is terrible advice. You give terrible advice,” I inform her.
“One girl’s terrible advice is another girl’s mantra. If you don’t want him anymore, will you give him my number?”
“He lives in Las Vegas.”
“I’m open to relocating,” she states. “I can be packed up and ready to go in an hour. This suit looks expensive. Is he rich, too?”
“Your loyalty to me is astounding,” I deadpan.
“Hey, I’m suggesting you forgive him first. I’m just saying, if you don’t want him anymore, I call dibs. Don’t leave this beautiful specimen running around free in the world. Some thirsty bitch is going to take your place while you’re here wallowing. Go take a shower and get your ass on a video chat with this motherfucker before he gets away.”
“I didn’t even say that was the guy,” I tell her.
“No, but I see the way he’s holding you in this picture, and I know you’re not an idiot. If a guy that looks like this is on the table, why even bother looking at any other ones?”
Sighing miserably as memories of Sin’s hands locked around my wrists in a vice grip resurface, I tell her, “You haven’t seen Sin.”
Her eyes widen and she taps my screen, going back to my photos. “Show me. And then tell me where I go to find this bevy of sex gods, because I want to apply for a visitor’s pass.”
“Trust me, you do not want one. I know where you’re coming from. I was on the outside looking in just a couple months ago, wowed by all their beauty. But they’re beautiful for a diabolical reason—so they can lure you in and suck out your soul.”
“Literally anything of mine Mr. Grand Canyon wants to suck, he has my permission.”
I throw a pillow at her. “Go be a ho somewhere else. I’m trying to be sad while I still have a few hours left to indulge. I can’t do this tomorrow when I’m back in Connecticut. Carly did everything in her power to stop me from getting involved with these monsters, and I dove head-first into the pit, anyway.”
Grabbing the pillow and whacking me with it, Daphne says, “Bitch, I want to dive in, too!”
Bringing up a hand to block her pillow assault, I demand, “Are you going to make me a playlist, or keep snooping through my phone?”
“I’m sending myself this picture. I’m going to Photoshop you out of it and put myself in your place. Full disclosure.”
“You’re a psycho.”
“I’m a connoisseur of fine-looking men, and this one is aces. Show me this Sin guy.”
“I don’t have any pictures of Sin,” I tell her, hit by a swell of sadness as I hear that truth for myself. I want a picture of him, but I’m also sort of glad I don’t have one. If I can forget his face and wipe him from my memory completely, that would be much better. “He looks like danger and shadows and passion and power—but sexier.”
Daphne’s eyes widen. “Damn, you’ve got it bad.”
I nod unhappily. “And I have about 18 hours to get rid of it, so if you’re not going to help, can you just leave me to wallow in peace?”
Apparently not, because she fires another question at me. “What’s the deal with Mr. Grand Canyon?”