Wyatt rolled his eyes. And then, because it was worth it, he tucked the second soda under his arm to free his hand, then thrust his middle finger in the air.
"Rude," Patrick said, then laughed.
Wyatt laughed, too, and he was still grinning as he climbed the stairs back to the guest room. He tapped on the door, and was surprised when it swung open a few inches. Well, damn, he'd probably forgotten to shut it all the way, which was a total dick move, since she was undressed and in bed.
Idiot.
"Hey, sorry it took so long," he said, as he slid inside, and this time closed the door firmly behind him. He glanced toward the bed, expecting that she'd still be under the covers. But the bed was empty. And, he noticed, her clothes were gone.
What the hell?
The room had an attached bath, and the door was cracked open. The light was on, though, so he hurried that way, a ball of chiseled stone now rolling around in his stomach. "Kelsey?" He peeked his head in, then pushed the door the rest of the way open.
She wasn't there, either.
Seriously. What the hell?
Panic welled inside him, and he hurried from the room, almost running over one of the guys he recognized from the club. "Did you see a girl? She was in here earlier. Do you know where she went?"
"Dark hair? Pretty? She hauled ass out of here about five minutes ago." He whistled. "Her dress was still half unbuttoned. What? You two have a fight or something?"
"Or something," Wyatt murmured, his panic giving way to confusion. And, yeah, to an increasingly growing anger.
Had she really run out on him? Why the hell would she have run out on him?
But she had. Less than five minutes later he was certain of it. At least four people had seen her flee the house, and two of them said her eyes were red and swollen.
He'd left her alone, and she'd started crying, probably mortified by what they'd done. She was such an innocent, and maybe he'd pushed her. Pressured her when she wanted to say no.
He'd been an ass. A bastard. A complete loser.
And because he wasn't man enough to wait until he was certain that she was really and truly ready, he'd not only broken her, he'd lost her.
Fuck.
For days, he tried calling her, but she never answered or called back. He wanted to drive by her house, but he didn't know where it was, and by the time he got someone at the club to look at her father's records and give him the address, the place was vacant.
"Yeah, my dad was pretty pissed," Patrick told him. "I guess old man Draper was lining up another gig, and didn't bother to tell anyone. Just waited until the last minute and flew the coop."
"That doesn't make any sense. He already had a job lined up in LA after the summer. You told me so."
Patrick shrugged. "Maybe they needed him early. Or maybe that was bullshit. All I know is he split."
That sucked, but if it was the same job, at least he was in LA. And Kelsey would be with him. He could drive down and see her before he moved to Boston. He had to find her. Had to see her. Had to know what the hell had happened.
Had to apologize for pushing her.
Except try as he might, he couldn't reach her. And when he tried calling again a couple of days later, figuring that you could never grovel too much, the message said the phone number was unassigned. Which meant she'd turned it in and gotten a new number.
It really made no sense, and he wanted to talk it over with his dad. But he and Wyatt's mom had gone to LA for the premiere of his mom's latest film. Even though Wyatt usually blew that stuff off, this time he was lonely for his parents. So he sat in the media room and watched the coverage of the premiere on one of the entertainment channels.
His mom looked incredible in a form-fitting sequined dress, and his father looked dashing in a tux. At the same time, though, he couldn't help but feel sorry for his dad, who was practically getting shoved aside so they could talk to Lorelei and take pictures with her and the muscled up action star who'd just signed on to play the lead in his mom's next movie, a family drama that the actor surely hoped would make him look like an Oscar contender, and get him off the spy-and-car-chase hamster wheel.
One asshole reporter even went so far as to ask Carlton Royce to step out of the shot, because he was just the husband. And from the angle of the camera covering the channel Wyatt was watching, he could see both fury and hurt flash across his father's Ivy League features.
Wyatt grimaced, then clicked off the television as soon as his parents disappeared into the theater. He considered calling Jenna for advice, but his sister was eleven years older than him, busy twenty-seven hours per day, and would just tell him that if the girl wasn't answering his messages, then he needed to take the hint and leave her the fuck alone.
Since he really didn't need to hear that, he decided that he'd wait another day or two. After all, things could only get better.