“Take a deep breath in and get over yourself. We have more important things to discuss.” MeShell scratched her head, her blonde wig moving with each motion. “Like me, or better yet, like Ms. Cyn over there.”
“Me?” Cyn looked up from the ice cream with spoon in hand. She’d known this moment was coming. “What did I do?”
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“You disappeared.”
Before Cyn could scoop out a spoonful of yummy gooey calories, Miller snatched the ice cream and spoon away. “Yeah, where did you go?”
“To the VIP room.” The look of utter surprise on their faces made her laugh. “You two aren’t the only people I know.”
“Who do you know?” MeShell’s artistically drawn-on eyebrows arched as if in surprise.
“Lots of people.”
“Like?” Miller asked, joining the nosey bandwagon. He sat on the coffee table, his drama apparently forgotten.
“Like one of the owners.” Cyn reached for the ice cream but Miller moved it out of the way.
“We all know DelRay,” MeShell said, noting the obvious. “And if you tell me he gave you a pass to the VIP room, when I had to blow the bastard to get in the club, I’m going to be highly irritated.”
Miller and Cyn both turned to MeShell, who was looking fit to be tied. “You blew him?” Miller asked, his disgust more than evident in his tone.
“Could you please move your high horse, his shit is stinking up the room?” With an annoyed sigh, MeShell removed her wig and dropped it on the table next to Miller who was digging into the ice cream with gusto. “Do you think a fairy godmother was behind our invitations? Did I miss the pumpkin coach outside the club?”
“Our?” Cyn questioned, confused.
“Yes, our.” MeShell ran her hand over her dark bald scalp then stood up and stretched. “I didn’t want to hear Miller here crying because he didn’t get to go.”
“That was nice of you,” Miller said warily. “What do you want?”
“Oh please. I don’t want anything from you.” MeShell looked over at Cyn and grinned. “But you, I do want something from.”
“What?”
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“Information.” MeShell sat back down next to her on the couch and leaned back against the cushions. “Why did DelRay let you get into the VIP room?”
“He didn’t.”
“Then who did?” MeShell was as tenacious as a dog with a bone.
“Parker.” Just saying his name made Cyn smile. She was such a goner.
“Parker who?”
“Could you be more in my business?” Moving quickly, Cyn grabbed the container from Miller. Her joy in her conquest was short lived when she saw it was empty. Damn it.
“Yes, I could. Now talk. Don’t make me get ugly.” Miller opened his mouth to say something, but was stopped by MeShell, who held her hand up to silence him. “No comments from the peanut gallery.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything you know,” MeShell answered just as quickly.
Miller moved MeShell’s hand from in front of his face. “We don’t need to know everything, but something. Let’s start with what he looks like.”
“He looks like your average white guy, except there wasn’t anything average about him.”
“You with a white guy?” Miller’s eyes were open almost as wide as MeShell’s mouth.
“What? I can like a white guy.”
“You can,” he agreed, nodding his head as if he was speaking to someone a bit dimwitted. “But you never have before.”
“So what’s wrong with trying something new,” MeShell interjected, as if her own disbelief hadn’t been evident just moments ago. “If Cyn wants to try the other other white meat, I say go for it.”
“You would.”
“I am in the room.” She was going to send them to separate corners soon. “And it’s not a big deal. All we did was talk.”
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“For two hours—”
“In the VIP room—” MeShell cut in.
“Alone,” Miller finished, his voice as disbelieving as MeShell’s.
“Yes.” Was it so hard to believe?
“Damn.” Miller looked anything but pleased. “What a waste of a good hair day.”
“It wasn’t wasted. I looked hot, thank you very much. Hot enough to hang out in the VIP room while you were fighting on the dance floor as if you were in some cheesy eighties break dancing movie.”
“She has you there,” MeShell said.
“Moving on, what did you guys talk about?”
MeShell snorted, as she sat up. “More important, are you going to see him again?”
To appease them both, Cyn decided to answer each question. The first answer was easy. It was the second she was unsure about. “We talked about everything.” She closed her eyes for a few seconds and smiled at the memory, before opening them once more.
“He’s so funny. Not just the things he says, but the way he says them. He has this little crinkle thing that happens in the corner of his eyes when he’s thinking.”
“Nothing a little botox can’t cure.” MeShell waved her hand as if dismissing Cyn’s comment. “So you like him.”
That was a no brainer. “Yes. I think I do.”
“Then you’re going to see him again?” MeShell asked.
“Maybe.”
Cyn’s answer obviously wasn’t good enough for MeShell. “Did you give him your number?”
“And have him call when the gruesome twosome are around? I don’t think so.”
“Email?” MeShell persisted.
“No. There wasn’t time. Someone had me on redial.”
“No time? You were up there for two hours,” Miller said. “All that talking and you couldn’t rattle off an address.”
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“Apparently not.” When he put it that way, it seemed a bit silly. But there was a saving grace. “He did give me his business card.”
“He did.” MeShell smiled. “Hand it over. You know you can tell a lot about a man by his business card.”
“Really?” Cyn picked her purse off the floor and opened it. After shuffling through her bag for a few seconds, she pulled out his card and handed it over to MeShell. “So, what does this say about him?”
MeShell took the card, glanced down and screamed.
“What?” Cyn jumped up, startled to hell and back. What in the world
