“I’m perfectly fine. This is only my fourth for the evening.” Dane downed it in one violent motion. “Just don’t expect what you have with Ginger to be like this forever. If you promise me you can do that, I’ll congratulate you.”
Something buzzing and vibrating woke him up. Shane shook his head, scrunching his eyes. What the hell was that? It was barely—he glanced at the clock by the bed. Three thirty-six?
The noise and movement stopped, then continued again. He then saw his phone screen light up on the bedside table. He didn’t recognize the number, but then he didn’t recognize any phone number these days. He picked it up. Must be pretty important to be calling at this hour.
“Yeah?” he rasped.
“You scumbag, bottom-feeding asshole!” a woman screeched.
He jerked the phone away from his ear. Then he brought it back and said, “Wrong number. Not your cheating boyfriend.”
Just as he was about to hang up, he heard, “Shane Lawrence Arthur Pryce, don’t even think about it!”
Okay. So maybe she had the right number. “Who are you?”
“Debbie Chang. Ginger’s BFF. The one who cares about and protects her from jerks like you.”
The name didn’t ring a bell. She probably wasn’t even that close to Ginger. He couldn’t imagine somebody as sweet as Ginger being friends with this harpy. “Why are you calling?”
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done to Ginger? You threw her to the piranhas and disappeared!”
“Piranhas? You mean my family?”
“Oh my god, are you saying you didn’t know what you did? Ginger took a taxi to my place because she had no ride, nothing! And while you were gone, your family, especially your sister, insulted Ginger. And you can’t fool me. I don’t even believe you forgot everything. It’s too convenient, and it’s not like you suffered, not the way she did.”
“What are you talking about?” Shane asked.
Suddenly Debbie paused in the middle of her tirade. “Never mind. Anyway I’m not like her, so I don’t buy it. If you’re going to keep pulling disappearing acts on her, get the hell out of her life, okay? She can’t move on if you keep messing with her.”
“She’s already moved on. Isn’t she dating somebody?”
Debbie snorted. “Wow, fast gossip. Is that what Ginger told you?” She didn’t wait for Shane’s response. “She broke up with him a few weeks ago. I told her it was a mistake because Robert’s a good guy, unlike some people I could name. He could make her happy if she’d just give him the chance.”
Shane rubbed his face, trying to process what she was saying. Ginger wasn’t seeing anybody? Dane had given him outdated news. “Where’s Ginger? Is she still at your place?”
“Why the hell do you care?”
“I need to talk to her.”
“You know what? I don’t think she should talk to you.”
Shane bit back a series of frustrated expletives. “I need to talk to her. It’s important, okay? I was led to believe she’s been dating somebody else while with me.”
The line went so quiet he thought Debbie had hung up on him. Then she sighed softly. “Fine. You better fix it or I’m going to kick your ass.”
“Deal. Now talk.”
“She went home, but she’s not going to be there much longer. She’s going to hit the road first thing tomorrow morning.”
“To where?”
“To the people she always goes to when she needs some TLC: her parents.”
Chapter Eleven
Ginger pulled into a small farm off a two-lane road about three hours north of Los Angeles. As she made the turn, her headlights swept over a sign that read “Happy Bastard Farm.”
The place had been in her mother’s family since the Second World War. Ginger’s great-grandfather, upon coming back from that war, had said he was a happy bastard to make it home alive because America was the sweetest place in the world, and he’d changed the farm’s name to reflect his sentiment. Nobody had dared change it since, not even her staid parents.