Arrogant Bastard - Julie Capulet Page 0,7
he’s in love with some girl he just met. “He’s okay. He just needs a little time to adjust to normality again.”
“I bet. What are you doing in Key West?”
Good question. “Just … uh, visiting a friend.”
“Oh yeah? Bring her to the show on Friday.”
“No.” Fuck no. “It’s nothing like that.”
Travis laughs. “Cool. Talk to you soon, then. Happy Thanksgiving, bro.”
“Yeah, you too. Give my best to everyone.” There are four siblings in their family. They all live in Nashville and they’re all involved in the Tucker Brothers Band. Travis is the lead singer, Vaughn is the drummer, Kade plays bass guitar and the youngest, Roxie, is their manager. It’ll be good to catch up with them. It’s been too long.
By the time I end the call we’re driving through Old Town, with its quaint storefronts and restaurants and its lively bars. It’s busy tonight with the holiday crowd.
We turn the corner and pull up in front of one of the waterfront resorts. It’s been a few years since I was in Key West but you never forget the smell, of sea salt mixed with faintly decaying sargassum. The thick humidity of the air feels good after the driving sleet of Chicago.
When I walk into the lobby of the hotel, where the sliding doors are open to the wraparound deck, Crystal is waiting for me. Sitting at a table in a small alcove by the window. She’s sipping from a large glass of wine, scrolling on her phone. With a good view of the front door. She sees me immediately. Her face lights up and I’m not proud of myself for thinking it, but all that comes to mind is, Wow, my martini goggles were working overtime that night.
Don’t be an asshole, Gage. She’s not ugly. She’s just … not someone I really want to spend more than the next three minutes with.
“Ga-a-a-ge!” Crystal squeals, teetering over to me on sky-high heels in a ridiculously tight dress. She’s wearing full make-up and her hair has been sprayed into place with possibly an entire can of hairspray. “I’m so excited! We’re going to have such a fun weekend!”
“Hey,” I manage, my mind busy thinking up an easy excuse.
She kisses my cheek and I allow this, but I can’t bring myself to return the favor. Her perfume wafts and I almost recoil, but catch myself. “Come have a drink with me,” she says.
“Let’s get the reason I’m here dealt with first, sweetheart.” I’m not playing games with this chick.
She blinks at me as we sit on the tall stools on either side of the table, like she’s mildly offended that’s the first thing I would say. “That’s not the only reason you’re here,” she coos.
Actually, honey, it is.
But she opens her purse and pulls out my cuff links, placing them on the table. I slide them into the pocket of my jacket.
“I didn’t steal them.” She smiles, taking a sip of her wine. “But it was a good excuse to see you again.”
“No harm done.” She’s lucky I can use this as a reason to catch up with my cousins this weekend, or I’d be far less understanding.
The waitress appears. “Can I get you a drink, sir?” Her eyes rove my face, to my body and back to my face again. “Oh my God. You’re Gage McCabe!”
It happens. People recognize me more and more these days.
“I read about you!” the waitress gushes. “After I read that article about you in the Wall Street Journal I got inspired enough to start my own portfolio. It’s not much, but it’s already gone up a little. God, I would love some advice if you ever have time. I mean, I’m sure you don’t but—”
“He doesn’t,” Crystal scowls, staring icily at the waitress.
The waitress glares back, but then, mindful of keeping her job, possibly, she curbs her enthusiasm. “Of course you don’t. Um, what can I get you then, Mr. McCabe?”
“Jack Daniels on ice.”
The waitress glances at me longingly, then saunters off to the bar.
“Wow,” Crystal laughs. Her eyes are a dull shade of brown that’s hard to describe. The color of sargassum, maybe. “The wolves are already descending,” she says. “Not that I’m surprised. You look amazing, like always.”
I don’t bother replying. I pull off my tie and loosen the collar of my shirt and she stares at me sort of hungrily as I do this.
“But you’re all mine this weekend, Gage. You promised.” Did I? Not quite. “You must be tired after your trip.