Bailey’s head whipped around. “He promised my mom he would look out for me? When? Why?”
“When she was in the hospital. She told him she wanted him to have all her music and the piano, but she made him promise to always make sure you were okay.”
“How do you know all this, and I don’t?”
Mae shrugged. “He told me at the funeral.” She stared into Bailey’s eyes for a long moment, then blinked rapidly and said, “Your mom also said…well…” Mae waved a dismissive hand. “Ryan made it sound dramatic. I’m sure it’s not that big a deal.”
“What, Mae? What else did she say?”
“Ryan told me that Helen was scared for your safety. She seemed to think you were in danger—like you’d been threatened.”
Bailey scoffed. “What the hell are you talking about? Nobody’s threatened me.”
“I don’t know, Bay.” Mae shook her head in confusion. “Maybe Ryan misunderstood her. Maybe she was worried about you getting your heart broken.”
“That must be it, right?” Bailey shrugged. “She wasn’t really thinking clearly near the end.” She frowned as the tequila slowed down her thoughts. “I knew Mom wanted Ryan to have the piano. She was like a mother to him, too.” She looked down into her empty shot glass. “When Cheryl died of cancer, Mom helped Ryan get through, taught him how to pour his grief into his music. The fact he’s so good just proves how hard losing his mom was on him. It makes me wish I had an outlet like that.” Her voice slurred, but that didn’t keep her from grabbing the tequila bottle and pouring another shot.
“I never understood how the daughter of a music teacher didn’t have any musical talent.”
Bailey felt a prickle on her scalp and scoffed at her own obliviousness. “That’s because I’m not really her daughter. I guess that should’ve been my first clue.” She downed the shot to fight back her tears.
CHAPTER THREE
Bailey woke with hair in her eyes. She lifted her hand to shift the mess off her face and looked out at Ryan’s bedroom. She rolled over and slapped the empty spot next to her, then curled back into the fetal position.
That’s when she realized she was only wearing panties.
She shot straight up and grasped at the stabbing pain in her forehead. Her eyes shifted around the room, then the bed. Okay, for sure, she was alone, but where were her clothes? She peered over the side of the bed. There, in a heap on the messy floor, lay her tank dress. She threw it over her head and tugged it down, then curled back into Ryan’s bed.
She fought the urge to look at the clock, but her instincts won, and she glanced up to read 9:48.
“Shit.” She slapped the bed again and slowly lifted her head. Why couldn’t she be one of those people who had no trouble sleeping until noon? Why couldn’t she—just once—ignore the mess and go back to sleep?
Like before, her eyes took in the messy room. “Ryan’s a pig. I know this. So why do I let it get to me?” she mumbled.
She stood and stumbled to his bathroom. After she’d done her business, she started wiping out the sink. Meticulously, she placed all his toiletries back in the medicine cabinet where they belonged. She straightened the towels and felt proud that Ryan had bothered to leave hand towels in his bathroom. She smiled indulgently. The boy is finally growing up.
When she came out of the bathroom, she tripped over a pile of sheets. She gathered them up and dropped them in the empty laundry basket, then paused and looked at the bed. Her head tilted as she took in the clean sheets she’d slept on. “I can’t believe he changed the sheets for me.” She gathered the clothes scattered all over the floor and threw them in the basket, too, then pushed to compress the overflowing pile.
After making the bed, she inched out of the room and tiptoed toward the kitchen, where she found Lucas and Wade having coffee.
Wade grinned big and looked her up and down. “Walk of shame, huh?”
“Don’t be stupid. You know very well I slept alone.”
Wade was the youngest of the three guys who ran El Lago. They all lived together in a large house a block from the club. Wade was a player to the core. Just look up the word womanizer in the dictionary, and you’ll find a picture of him. It made her chuckle to think about him criticizing Dex for being a player; Wade hooked up with a different girl every night. Oh, but who could blame the women. Wade was charming, sweet, and he always had the perfect line ready. His smile would charm the pants off Mother Teresa, and his blue eyes, with those long, dark lashes, were impossible to ignore.
He lifted a brow. “You didn’t have to. There was plenty of room in my bed.”
“Gee, thanks for the offer.” She grinned sarcastically. “But I don’t sleep with men who have revolving bedroom doors.”
They both laughed, and Lucas handed her a cup of coffee.
“Thank you.” She cupped her hands around the warm mug, closed her eyes, and inhaled the perfect aroma. When she opened her eyes, they were both staring at her with a look that made her self-conscious. She sipped, hoping to hide her rising color, and with the first taste of Lucas’ rich, freshly brewed coffee, her headache melted away.
“Sit down, and I’ll make you some breakfast,” Lucas offered, pulling a chair out for her. Lucas was the eldest of the three and the complete opposite of Wade. He wasn’t charming in a slick way, but lovable and easy to like. Always reasonable, and he had a ‘save the day’ attitude. Whenever there was trouble, Lucas was there with a solution. He had a little gray peeking out at his temples, even though he was barely
