Lucifer was here to take me to the airport hut to catch my flight.
I wanted to kiss him good-bye, but didn’t dare, lest I wake him and ruin all my carefully scripted melodrama.
With one last lingering look, I turned and walked out of his life.
Chapter Six
The trip home was torture. Not just because Lucifer seemed even more determined to chuck me off his noble steed at every turn. I barely survived the ride to the airport.
But no, it got worse. I had the grand fortune of sharing a ride with Billy Turner, one of my favorite clients, on the puddle jumper to San Juan and then, because he wasn’t finished boring me to actual death about each and every aspect of his mundane daily existence—he sat next to me from San Juan to Miami as well.
Probably a million teenyboppers would have given their right hand to listen to Billy drone on about caviar and elevator heels and snapped E-strings, for God’s sake. A million more would have sacrificed their virginity just to see him flip his golden locks.
By the time we reached Miami, I was ready to borrow a pair of scissors from the flight attendant and snip them off, those golden locks. Surely she had scissors. The world would have thanked me. The grown-up part of it at least.
But I managed to control myself. I managed to smile and nod and murmur sympathetic babble whenever it seemed necessary.
But in reality, my mind, my thoughts, my essence, were tangled in black sheets in a bed on the island we’d left. Had he woken up yet? Had he realized I’d gone?
Was he sad? Relieved? Preparing for the next…guest?
Would he ever think about me again?
Would he close his eyes sometimes at night and touch himself as he pictured his mouth suckling my foot?
I would.
Oh. I would.
Billy left me in Miami, heading for New York, which was a blessing. But not really.
Now there was nothing left to keep me from sinking deep into the mire of my thoughts. My regrets.
I was hardly as rich as Marlee, but I could have offered him something. A job. A place to stay. A phone number…
My gut soured when I realized I hadn’t even left him that.
If he wanted to reach me again, he’d have to do it through Marlee. And though we were friends, and though she’d so very generously loaned him to me, I couldn’t imagine her being pleased about that.
So he was gone.
I’d let him go.
I don’t know why the thought devastated me.
Yes. I did.
The shit hit the fan as soon as I touched down in LA. Though to be precise, the shit hit the fan, and then flung off the fan and hit me.
I didn’t check my phone when I landed, except to sneak a peek at the heart-wrenching angel sprawled on dark satin sheets, while I waited for my bags. I’d gotten out of the habit of hovering over the device, jumping each time it buzzed like a nervous slave.
I schlepped everything to my car, which I’d parked in the remote lot, because seriously? What they charged for parking?
The first order of business, after dumping my bags into a pile in my foyer, was to pick up Mitten, whom I’d left with Suzie, my neighbor and business partner.
Suzie met me at the door of her bungalow perched on the crest of the Hollywood Hills—met me at the door, as if she’d been waiting there, peering out the curtains on bated breath—and thrust my cat into my arms. “Here,” she said. “Take it.”
I cuddled the squirming bundle of fur. “Thank you for looking after my baby.”
“Your baby is a fiend. A beast from the bowels of hell.”
“Don’t overdramatize.”
“Who says I am overdramatizing?”
Her full name was Devil’s Mitten, because she had the unfortunate tendency to reach out, with absolutely no warning, and draw a bloody line on a body. I nuzzled her adorable muzzle. She smacked me.
“How did everything go?”
“Other than your cat destroying all my houseplants?”
I winced. “Yeah. Other than that.”
“Let’s just say, you’re never going on vacation without your cat again. Or, if you do,
I wanted to kiss him good-bye, but didn’t dare, lest I wake him and ruin all my carefully scripted melodrama.
With one last lingering look, I turned and walked out of his life.
Chapter Six
The trip home was torture. Not just because Lucifer seemed even more determined to chuck me off his noble steed at every turn. I barely survived the ride to the airport.
But no, it got worse. I had the grand fortune of sharing a ride with Billy Turner, one of my favorite clients, on the puddle jumper to San Juan and then, because he wasn’t finished boring me to actual death about each and every aspect of his mundane daily existence—he sat next to me from San Juan to Miami as well.
Probably a million teenyboppers would have given their right hand to listen to Billy drone on about caviar and elevator heels and snapped E-strings, for God’s sake. A million more would have sacrificed their virginity just to see him flip his golden locks.
By the time we reached Miami, I was ready to borrow a pair of scissors from the flight attendant and snip them off, those golden locks. Surely she had scissors. The world would have thanked me. The grown-up part of it at least.
But I managed to control myself. I managed to smile and nod and murmur sympathetic babble whenever it seemed necessary.
But in reality, my mind, my thoughts, my essence, were tangled in black sheets in a bed on the island we’d left. Had he woken up yet? Had he realized I’d gone?
Was he sad? Relieved? Preparing for the next…guest?
Would he ever think about me again?
Would he close his eyes sometimes at night and touch himself as he pictured his mouth suckling my foot?
I would.
Oh. I would.
Billy left me in Miami, heading for New York, which was a blessing. But not really.
Now there was nothing left to keep me from sinking deep into the mire of my thoughts. My regrets.
I was hardly as rich as Marlee, but I could have offered him something. A job. A place to stay. A phone number…
My gut soured when I realized I hadn’t even left him that.
If he wanted to reach me again, he’d have to do it through Marlee. And though we were friends, and though she’d so very generously loaned him to me, I couldn’t imagine her being pleased about that.
So he was gone.
I’d let him go.
I don’t know why the thought devastated me.
Yes. I did.
The shit hit the fan as soon as I touched down in LA. Though to be precise, the shit hit the fan, and then flung off the fan and hit me.
I didn’t check my phone when I landed, except to sneak a peek at the heart-wrenching angel sprawled on dark satin sheets, while I waited for my bags. I’d gotten out of the habit of hovering over the device, jumping each time it buzzed like a nervous slave.
I schlepped everything to my car, which I’d parked in the remote lot, because seriously? What they charged for parking?
The first order of business, after dumping my bags into a pile in my foyer, was to pick up Mitten, whom I’d left with Suzie, my neighbor and business partner.
Suzie met me at the door of her bungalow perched on the crest of the Hollywood Hills—met me at the door, as if she’d been waiting there, peering out the curtains on bated breath—and thrust my cat into my arms. “Here,” she said. “Take it.”
I cuddled the squirming bundle of fur. “Thank you for looking after my baby.”
“Your baby is a fiend. A beast from the bowels of hell.”
“Don’t overdramatize.”
“Who says I am overdramatizing?”
Her full name was Devil’s Mitten, because she had the unfortunate tendency to reach out, with absolutely no warning, and draw a bloody line on a body. I nuzzled her adorable muzzle. She smacked me.
“How did everything go?”
“Other than your cat destroying all my houseplants?”
I winced. “Yeah. Other than that.”
“Let’s just say, you’re never going on vacation without your cat again. Or, if you do,
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