“Which one?” Gillian said blankly. “She showed up with like twenty people.”
“The chick in the sexy nurse costume?” Colby guessed. Then he grinned. “Nice.”
“No, the one in the silver get-up. I think she was an elf or something? Might have been from Lord of the Rings or one of those other pansy-ass nerd fares you guys are into.”
“Trashing Lord of the Rings is not the way to get us to help,” Colby said primly.
“Yeah, fuck you. Tolkien rocks,” Gillian agreed.
“Ha, like you’ve ever read the books,” Colby accused her. “You just like Viggo.”
“Bullshit you’d say no if Aragon smoldered in your direction,” she shot back.
Dean touched his temples to ward off a headache—and he wasn’t even the one with the hangover. “Children, please. I just need a name.”
“Sorry,” Colby said. “But I have no idea who you’re talking about.”
Gillian nodded. “Me neither. I don’t remember seeing anyone in that costume.”
Shit. Back to square one. AKA waiting for Suz to awaken from her frickin’ beauty sleep and call him the fuck back.
“You want us to help you track her down?” Colby offered.
Gillian’s lips twitched. “Oooh, we could do some recon. An Unexpected Journey Seeking Colter’s Missing Elvish Hottie.”
“The Desolation of Colter’s Sexcapades.” Colby snickered before grimacing in pain, pressing a hand over his eyes.
Wonderful. Dean had forgotten he worked with assholes. Who were now never going to stop teasing him about this.
“I don’t need your help,” he grumbled. “I can handle my love life on my own, thank you very much.”
“Love life?” Gillian said in alarm. “I thought we were talking about a hookup. Do you actually want to date this woman?”
He had no idea what he wanted. Her name, for starters. And he definitely wanted another chance to explore the sexual chemistry that had nearly burned down that closet. But thinking about dating her was way too premature. And dating in general? He couldn’t even remember what that was like. He hadn’t been in a serious relationship since he was a teenager.
And fuck, big mistake allowing his mind to wander there. Because now he was thinking about the bomb that’d been dropped on him a while back when he’d discovered Suz had gotten chummy with Emma Lee.
Emma. Christ, he’d been fighting the urge to track her down in person for years, but when he’d heard she was in town in September he’d once again chickened out. And now Emma was back in New York, and he’d missed yet another opportunity to atone for the past. Except…God, the thought of seeing her was too damn painful. Just hearing her name last month had unleashed another rush of memories he was having trouble bottling up.
Memories…and a helluva lot of guilt.
Crushing, bone-deep guilt.
“Well?” Gillian demanded.
Dean shoved aside all thoughts of his past and donned a light tone. “Who do you take me for? Pussy-whipped Jack or Parker? Dating isn’t a concept I’m familiar with, people. I want to fuck her, of course.”
Gillian sighed. “You’re the biggest slut I’ve ever met.”
“Are you slut-shaming me?” he said with mock hurt. “It’s the twenty-first century, Hot Shot. Own your sexuality.” He headed for the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going home to catch up on my sleep. Someone told me it’s Saturday.”
He ignored the laughter growing in volume behind him. Ignored it, but couldn’t resist manning the alarm as he walked past. He flipped the newly installed dead man’s switch that would trigger ear-splitting sirens to go off as soon as either Gillian or Colby broke through a security beam.
The DreamMakers’ rookies could use a little kick in the pants.
Dean grinned all the way to his lonely bed.
Chapter Four
Emma passed another dose of her special morning-after-the-night-before concoction to a bleary-eyed Suz before curling up in an armchair across from her friend’s couch with her own cup.
Unlike Suz, it wasn’t the twenty-four-ounce flu kicking her butt. It was the I can’t believe I was in a closet playing tonsil hockey with the man I gave my virginity to and who then stomped on my heart, can’t sleep a wink all night syndrome that had Emma blinking hard and moving slowly.
Although, nowhere nearly as slowly as Suz.
“You going to survive, sweetie?” Emma asked softly.
The other woman groaned, then sighed, then collapsed farther into the overstuffed cushions. “I can hear your eyelashes slam together every time you blink.”
Oh dear. “I promise not to bat them at you until you’re feeling better,” Emma assured her.
“Maybe 2020,” Suz suggested. “I tied one on hard last night.”
But she’d still come to the door and let Emma in. And even hung-over enough to sway as she walked, Suz had taken one look at Emma and made one of those noises. The kind that said they were going to have a serious discussion as soon as the room stopped spinning.