“Well, we’ll be at Quincy’s, where you first met Frank.”
And Gale. And then Riot.
So no, I can’t go there. Not if there’s any chance
of meeting Riot, just when the pain is starting to get bearable.
Or maybe manageable. I’m learning to live with it, like with a wound that won’t close.
“I will see, Corey.”
“You’re lying to me. You won’t even consider it.”
Change of tactic. “Will Ethan be there?”
“No.”
“You dumped him already?”
“No. I haven’t dumped him.”
“Did he dump you?”
He’s uncharacteristically quiet, walking beside me toward the parking lot. I let him be for a while, but in the end guilt wins out.
“Sorry. That was bitchy of me. I just don’t know—”
“We didn’t dump each other, because nothing happened between us. Dumping implies something happened. A relationship. Sex. A budding emotion. Ethan and I are not involved.”
Ouch. I mean, I gathered as much, like I told Riot, but still...
And why am I thinking of Riot again? Crap.
“Give me a call if you change your mind and want to have a drink with us.” Corey veers toward the parking lot just as I slow down. “Good night, girl.”
I stop, watch him go. “Corey…”
Way to go, Pax. Why can’t you think before you open your big mouth? Corey has been holding my hand and spoon-feeding me soup and ice-cream since Riot walked out of my apartment, and this is how I repay him.
I’ll give him an hour to cool off, and then call and apologize.
So many calls to make, so many regrets to make up for.
Speaking of phone calls...I finger again the silver earring in my pocket. Time to end this cycle of hope and despair. Return the earring and move on.
Pulling my cell from my back pocket, I search for the agency’s number and hit call. One, two, three rings and a guy—Johnson—answers.
“Bad Boy Escorts, how may I—?”
“Paxtyn Page speaking. I have something belonging to one of your escorts, Riot Gallagher. I don’t suppose you could give me his phone number?”
“I’m sorry, Ms., Page, but we don’t hand out our escorts’ addresses or phone numbers.”
It was a long shot anyway, but I had to try. “I understand. I’ll just drive by the agency then and drop it off there.”
“Ms. Page…” Johnson hesitates and I wonder what this is about. “If I may ask. Riot Gallagher. When was the last time you saw him or talked to him?”
Ice slithers down my spine. “Three days. Why?”