Two simple words that comfort me.
“Let’s go to bed,” I suggest, easing myself off.
He leans in, kissing me softly. “I have you all night.”
“Yes.” I smile.
***
Wesley’s sheets are cotton, Egyptian thread count of some number that Mama once told me only the rich experience. Inside his embrace, I feel safe.
“What happened with the girls… who almost drowned?” I whisper in the dark, my head resting on his chest.
He doesn’t answer immediately, his sigh loud in the dead quiet of his bedroom. “We met these girls at some producer’s party. They were groupies, the typical girls who latch onto us everywhere we go. I have the bad habit of ordering rounds of drinks for people, but I didn’t know the bartender had slipped something in their champagne, and well… you know what happens.”
I choose my words carefully. “You didn’t murder them.”
Okay, dumb choice of words.
“I fucked Janet, the blonde. I didn’t know she had taken anything, and I didn’t know she would go for a swim in the ocean in the middle of the night.”
It hurt, though, that I asked, but I can’t blame him for sharing this with me.
“And Farrah?”
He lets out a groan. “What about her?”
“You know what?” I stretch my head, kissing his lips. “I don’t want to know.”
“Good, because I don’t want to waste another moment discussing her.”
The exhaustion begins to creep in, and my eyelids become so heavy that I can’t keep them open nor carry on a conversation. My limbs feel like jelly, and slowly, I fall asleep.
***
My eyes open wide as a noise wakes me from my deep sleep. Wesley is snoring softly beside me. The noise is voices, a few of them, coming from outside. I nudge Wesley softly, which prompts him to roll over. I call his name, shaking him to wake up.
He finally reacts, annoyed as I tell him there are voices outside. Without saying a word, he gets out of bed and puts a robe on, leaving the room. I’m utterly exhausted, worried, though trying to keep my eyes open. Again, my eyes open wide when Wesley kisses my lips.
“The voices,” I croak.
“Shh,” he whispers. “I’ll take care of it.”
He disappears from the room, but this time, I’m aware that he’s gone. The noises are still outside, so I grab the sheet around me and walk toward the window almost stumbling on some shoes.
The moon is out, bright and round. It provides limited light but enough for me to see a Jeep in the driveway. There are two passengers in the car, and though in the darkness, I can barely make out who they are.
A man, tall and wearing dark colors, stands in front of Wesley. They’re talking, nothing alarming, and seem to know each other. They’re standing too far away for me to hear their conversation even if I open the window. I continue to watch them, cautiously, until their hands meet, a handshake that lasts too long. The man pulls his hand back, laughing before entering the car. Wesley lingers, then heads inside the house.
I scramble to the bed, my heart racing a million miles a minute as the reality of what I witness sinks in. Wesley Rich is a bad boy, and once again, another piece of his life begins to unravel.
There’s no point in asking him point blank what I just saw until I figure out what I will do if he admits the truth.
And I admit to myself that I can possibly be sleeping with the enemy.
Chapter Twenty
Wesley