“And the source of your boundless ego,” I mutter in Klingon.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing.” This is one good thing about speaking a language not that many can understand. I can say what I want.
“Where are you staying?” he asks, starting the car.
He’s not going to give up. A guy who flew all the way here to screw up a wedding isn’t going to just roll over.
I have no idea what his idea of nursing is, but I gotta marshal all my strength to deal with his persistence.
Chapter Twelve
Pascal
“You really don’t have to. I think I threw up enough, and really, I’m just going to lie down. It’s going to be super boring,” I say for the tenth time in the elevator.
“Cool. I like boring,” Court says.
I want to punch him. But I won’t because I’m a civilized person. Also because my punch is going to make him laugh rather than give up and go home. I can’t even fart to horrify him because speaking Klingon doesn’t make me one.
“Besides, I promised your dad.”
“You shouldn’t have.”
“Least I could do after ruining his daughter’s wedding.”
Crap. That makes me feel worse, because it was really my fault. “Fine,” I say between my teeth.
We enter my room. Housekeeping’s come by, so it’s tidy now. I grab a shirt and shorts from the dresser. “I’m going to change. Stay here and do nothing.”
“Gotcha. Nothing. Take your time.”
I go to the bathroom and lock it with a loud click. The mirror shows an extra-pale, extra-tired woman. Probably all my pigment got used up doing the Technicolor yawn.
First things first. I brush my teeth with extra toothpaste to get the taste of the stomach acid off my tongue. Once I’m satisfied, I change out of my dress and put on the comfy shirt and shorts. Then, without thinking about it, I reapply my lipstick. The second I’m done, I groan silently. It looks like I’m trying to impress him. Ugh, Pascal!
I pluck a Kleenex, start to wipe it off, then stop with a loud groan this time. Now he’s going to know I wiped it off.
Annoyed with myself, I toss the crumpled tissue in a bin and walk out. The only thing that matters here is making myself extra clear to Court. I wasn’t kidding when I told Curie no dating until promotion.
When I’m out, Court herds me to the bed. “Sit,” he says.
“Aren’t you supposed to say lie down?” I blurt, then bite my tongue. That sounds like I’m flirting or something, doesn’t it?
“Not yet. Can I borrow your phone for a sec?” he says. “I want to check something.”
“What happened to your phone?”
“It’s got a problem. I can’t use it.”
“Okay.” I put in my passcode and hand it over.
He taps a few keys. His phone buzzes, then goes quiet. He hands my phone back to me.
“What’s that about?” she asks.
“I put my number in for you. Just in case you need to get in touch.”