TWENTY-THREE
“YOU WENT ON A DATE,” Styx sang in her ear as she walked past him into his hotel room the following day.
It wasn’t the same hotel room he’d stayed in that first time. By her assessment, he moved every three or four days. It was sort of amazing that he managed to make a mess of the place before he’d even been there twenty-four hours.
“It was not a date,” she said, taking off her jacket and throwing it at him, hoping to wipe the stupid grin off his face.
But Styx enjoyed teasing her too much. “Did he kiss you goodnight? Did you get butterflies?”
“Don’t even.” Because just thinking about it turned her stomach. “Byron and Hugo left.” Throwing up both arms, she dropped onto the corner of the bed. “Bastards.”
“Where’d they go?”
“Home,” she whined without disguising her envy.
