Flirting With Disaster (Camelot 3)

Chapter Thirty-three

“Aren’t you going to button your shirt?” Katie asked.

“Hundred bucks says that’s Judah.” Leaning against the headboard and typing in his rapid-fire fashion, Sean didn’t even look up from his laptop. “I think we’re past c-courtesy. Besides, he’s lucky if I don’t take a c-crack at him for k-kissing you last night.”

Katie rolled her eyes as she finished zipping up her jeans. Sean Owens: World’s Manliest Geek.

She scanned the room one last time as she crossed it. Sean’s gadgets adorned the glass-topped table, their clothes from last night lay in a heap on the floor next to the upholstered bench where he’d rocked her world, and Sean himself was propped against the headboard, looking rumpled and delectable in a nerdy sort of way as he answered email.

For a second, her heart squeezed, and she considered ignoring the summons to the door. She didn’t want to share him with anyone, didn’t want to open herself to whatever assault was about to be launched on her peace.

The knock came again, and she opened the door.

Judah grinned. “Good morning, sunshine.”

“You smell like a still.”

“I’m sober now,” he said. “Cross my heart. It’s been hours since I destroyed a hotel room while snorting coke and—what else do corrupt celebrities do?”

“Bonk starlets.”

“That, too. Speaking of bonking …” He glanced pointedly at the intermingled pile of clothes on the floor.

“Let’s not.”

“Whatever you say. Can I come in?”

She wanted to send him away. He’d hurt her last night, and probably that was her own fault. She shouldn’t be trying to help him or save him or whatever it was she was doing. Shouldn’t feel sad that he was such a catastrophe of a human being, or relieved that he’d come back to her.

She’d spent more than eight years in Alaska being Levi’s support system—cheerleading him on the path to attaining his life goals, helping him study for his exams, earning enough money to keep them both in canned soup. He’d left her anyway. Women who turned themselves into doormats got walked on. How many times did she need to prove it to herself before the lesson stuck?

“Katie?”

She moved out of the way.

Judah strolled into the room and picked up a green apple from the bowl on the table. “Do you suppose they wash these?”

“Are they even real?”

“Let’s find out.” He dropped onto the pale blue suede chair by the window and tossed her the apple. She caught it close to her stomach and held it there, unsure whether to stand or sit. Was this a casual visit, a showdown, an apology? With Judah, she never knew what she’d get.

“Classy joint for Iowa,” he said. “Last time I was in Iowa City, I slept on somebody’s floor.”

“About that,” Katie said. She sat down across from him, holding the apple between her knees. “Is this the Judah Pratt Nostalgia Tour or what? Why are you doing shows at all these places you played as a teenager?”

Sean had found it in his notes—an old article from a fan newsletter confirming that Judah had been booked at the Yacht Club the same summer he’d played the High Hat.

Katie sank her teeth into the apple. It was lip-puckeringly sour, its skin tough and waxy. Judah raked his hand through his hair, sloughing off his false cheer to reveal the darker, pensive mood beneath. His eyes said, Don’t go there.

She ignored the warning. He’d hired them to solve a problem for him, and that’s what Katie intended to do. If he didn’t like it, he could fire them for real. If he wanted to make up for being a dick last night, he could answer her questions.

No answer appeared to be forthcoming.

“He’s never actually played the Yacht C-club before,” Sean pointed out from the bed.

“Yeah, but he was going to.”

“How do you know that?” Judah asked.