Chapter 1
Carlie
Less than six hours after arriving in Boston from London, and I couldn’t keep still: tonight I had penciled in plans for a party in Booty Call Land. For the fourth time, I switched from leaning on one leg to the other. A light tickle along my inner thighs from the ribbons on my garters made me ache further. I didn’t have much longer until cocktail hour at the Subarctic Club.
First things first though, before I could get a drink and be rid of this pent-up sexual tension, I had to make some arrangements.
“How do you plan to pay for the room, Miss Jason?” the front desk clerk at the Bellevue Hotel asked. My cellphone sang the chorus from M.I.A’s “Bad Girls,” but I ignored it.
“American Express, please.” Before I’d walked into the opulent lobby with its marble floors and red carpets, I’d considered the answer to this question. My American Express black card had enough credit for a month’s stay, as long as that stay didn’t include room service, overseas calls, or extravagant perks like raiding the minibar for Milky Ways.
As he completed my registration, the front desk clerk was all smiles. More than five years ago, I’d started out as a hotel concierge. Back then, the eagerness to please oozed out of my pores. Every happy customer meant a positive review or a possible promotion. Working at a five-star hotel in NYC was like that. Maybe that was the reason why I ended up opening my own personal concierge business.
The clerk finished my transaction, handed me a keycard, and gave me the standard spiel. “Is there anything else I can help you with?” he added.
“Thanks, Frank, you’ve been more than helpful.” Working the front desk was a thankless job. Everyone came to you with their problems—plugged up toilets, complaints about the couple next door screaming out expletives during sex—but you always had to appear calm and polite. Even if you weren’t feeling it.
After I settled into my room, I finally returned the call from earlier. This particular person wouldn’t be satisfied with a text message.
“What’s wrong now, Penny?” I asked with a sigh.
“What’s wrong is you got back from the UK, stopped at my place, hung out with Sophie, and then didn’t wait for me to come home.”
I rolled my eyes. At least she wasn’t in front of me right now. There would be over-the-top hand gestures involved and head rolling. As one of my best friends since our days in the foster care system, I loved Penny dearly, but once you ticked her off, you heard about it for weeks. At least, Sophie was far more levelheaded.
Relaxing was out of the question, so I decided to chat with Penny on the way to a coffee shop across the street from the hotel. Downtown Boston buzzed around me, making it hard to hear our conversation.
Even this early in the afternoon, Penny continued to berate me with that saccharine voice of hers. “If you weren’t staying in town for a while, I would’ve snatched your fake-blonde ass off the street and beat you down for ignoring one of your besties.”
Umm, thank you? “Oh, don’t be mad you can’t pull off blonde.”
“I know you’re joking, but have you ever seen a blonde Indian chick? The men come running, sweetie. So where are you going and when are we hanging out?”
“We can have breakfast tomorrow, if you want.” Yep, I dodged her question.
“When have you ever seen me up early enough for breakfast?”
Never, which was why I suggested it. “Look, I’m borderline jet-lagged, so by tomorrow morning I can tell you whatever you want.”
“Why tomorrow morning? Why can’t you stay here with Sophie and me?”
“And sleep on your couch for a week?” I chuckled. “No thanks.” I had a whirlpool bathtub, and I planned to make good use of it.
“I have a queen-sized bed—” she began.
“I’m good, girl.” Not happening. Doing the roommate thing with her for over ten years as a kid was enough.
“So where are you going?” Penny was a pro at poking in my business.
“To get some coffee so I can wake up.”
She took a deep breath. “You’re not seeing him, are you?”
Now that made me stop in the middle of the crosswalk. A car honked at me, forcing me to keep going. She knew me all too well.
“You are a little freak of the week,” Penny chirped.
“Oh, stop it.”
“My thoughts exactly. Does Sophie know you’re about to hook up with Tomas again?”
Of course, Sophie didn’t know. If Penny hadn’t pried, I’d be able to shove whatever happened tonight into a pretty little box I could hide under my bed.
She kept going. “You two need to stop doing this. I’m all for casual sex every now and then, but hooking up with the same person every couple of years is saying something.”
“Maybe it means we like to fuck each other?” An approaching lady, who appeared to be around my age, flashed me a dirty look for cursing. I didn’t see any sensitive young ears skittering about.
Penny laughed into the phone. “No, it means you two can’t commit, and you care about each other.”
This little speech wasn’t new. Sophie and Penny lectured me every chance they could get.
“You two keep running away from each other, only to end up back together,” Penny said. “Maybe he’s waiting for you to stop running?”
I held back a snort. “Tomas isn’t waiting for anyone. Nor has he ever waited for me after we had sex. We both get what we want and we move on. Like we should do with this conversation.”
“Fine, but I’m calling you extra early tomorrow morning just because I can.”
“Bring it, babe.” Penny slept like the dead. She wasn’t calling anybody…
