“No kidding.” Now we were getting somewhere. I wondered just how angry Andi had been when she saw the news. Angry enough to kill someone?
“How long did you date Devon?” I asked.
“Six months. He said he was going to marry me. He said he was going to buy me a big house in the hills and we’d get married. What a load of bullshit.”
“Yep, men are scum.” I was getting into this. “All men should be required to have their marital status tattooed on their foreheads.”
“Better yet, tattoo it on their dicks.”
Ouch. “So, when was the last time you saw Devon?”
“A couple weeks ago. He said he was going out of town for a while. Bastard. Probably just shacking up with some whore. No offense.”
“None taken.” Wow, she was really pissed. I wondered if I could goad her into telling me if she owned a gun. “Man, when I found out about his wife, I was so angry, I could have killed him. I guess someone beat me to it.” I laughed nervously.
Andi was quiet.
I prodded a little further. “I sure would like to shake the woman’s hand who did it. She did us both a huge favor, huh?”
Silence again. Damn. Maybe I’d laid it on too thick.
Then she spoke in a slow, calm voice. “You want to know what I did?”
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Was I about to hear a murder confession? I was almost afraid to ask. “What?”
“I drove to his house, I snuck into the garage and carved the words ‘pencil dick’ into the hood of his precious Mercedes.” Andi burst out laughing.
Damn. Not the confession I’d been looking for. However, I filed the pencil dick thing away for future reference. Richard did think a little too highly of his beamer…
“Mind if I ask where you were two nights ago?” I asked as Andi finally got her laughter under control.
“Yoga Class. I’m trying to find some inner peace.”
Good plan.
“Oh, hey, one more thing. Um, you don’t happen to own a leopard print thong, do you?” I asked.
“No. Why?”
“Oh, no reason. Thanks again.”
I hung up, not feeling like I’d really learned anything. Expect that Andi Jameson had anger management issues. Not that I blamed her. Keying a fifty thousand dollar car did sound sort of therapeutic. I mentally added her name to the list of contenders for When Mistresses Attack.
I flipped my phone shut and turned around to find Ramirez standing behind me.
I let out a little, “Eek!”
“Who was that?” he asked.
“No one. Nobody. Just a friend.”
He narrowed his eyes at me and I felt my cheeks growing hot. “This friend wouldn’t happen to be wanted for murder would he?”
I put my hands on my hips. “Just what are you implying?”
“Nothing. But you would tell me if Richard called you, right?”
“Of course I would.” Only it came out sounding so weak I don’t think either of us was convinced. Which of course made me even more defensive. “Are you saying you don’t trust me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you implied it? Just like you implied you were going to give my grandmother a handful of Catholic babies. I’ll have you know I’m not a baby factory. I have good legs! I’m not throwing that away. And I can most certainly have friends who call me who aren’t Richard. And I can talk to them any time I want without answering to you.”
“Oh Jesus.” Ramirez rolled his eyes.
“What? What is that? That eye rolly thing?”
“You’re getting hormonal on me now aren’t you?”
Okay, if there’s one thing you don’t
“I’m
Ramirez grinned, that infuriatingly sexy dimple flashing in his cheek. “I didn’t hear you complain last night.”
“Yeah, well, I was drunk.”
He took a step closer. “Are you drunk now?”
“What? No, I’m not drunk now, I’m-”
But I didn’t get to finish my rant as Ramirez’s mouth was suddenly covering mine. I was poised to push him away with enough force to knock that sexy grin off his face, but the second his lips touched mine, the only thing I felt was a serious case of lust. Starting in my chest and settling somewhere between my legs. I grabbed onto his neck, more for support than anything, my body melting like a Hershey’s kiss on a sunny day. That’s it. No denying it. I had a case of the I-want-Ramirezes and I had it bad.
Just as the back seat of Ramirez’s SUV was starting to sound pretty good, he stepped back.
“What was that?” I asked between short breaths. I think I was panting.
He grinned. “That was me proving a point. Any complaints?”
It was official. I hated him.
My head hurt and I think my hangover was back. Only I felt tired, grouchy and squishy stomached all at the same time.
Ramirez was first and foremost a cop. And despite the fact my grandmother might think he was a good catholic boy, he was not happily-ever-after material. Or even boyfriend material for that matter. Besides, I already had a boyfriend. Sort of.
“Look, I, uh, I need to use the ladies room.”
What I needed was a cold shower. And then a shrink. Ramirez the Hormone Machine had me so confused I didn’t know what I felt anymore. One minute I’m designing Strawberry Shortcake high tops and wondering when those cute suede boots would go on sale, and the next I’m tracking down murderers, dressing as a hooker and visiting porn studios. Not to mention making out with sexy detectives at my mother’s wedding. It was all too much.
I left Ramirez in the great hall and rounded the corner into the motel lobby, not even sure where I was going. I walked up to the front desk.
“Excuse me, where’s your ladies’ room?”
The clerk indicated a narrow hallway. “Down the hall, to the left.”
“Thanks.” I followed the hallway, ignoring the peeling paisley wallpaper and shag carpeting beneath my feet. In fact, I was so self-absorbed with the
“Oh, sorry, I-”
I paused. My eyes growing wide, my jaw dropping and my heart doing one big thump in my chest. I looked up and stared right into the perfect blue eyes of Mr. Cinderella himself.
Richard.
Chapter Sixteen
