Chapter Fifteen
“Y
ou had sex last night.”
Sloan didn’t mean it to sound like an accusation, but found she couldn’t stop the proclamation as Grier sat down next to her in the small dining area off the Indigo’s lobby.
She’d thought to avoid pancakes for the third day in a row, but one look at Grier’s face had her reconsidering. Carb-loading might go a long way toward stemming the spurt of jealousy that had suddenly taken root in her belly.
“Shhh.”
A bright flush crept up Grier’s neck.
“No one’s in here. And I want some details.” Sloan reached for the carafe of coffee on the middle of the table and began to pour a cup. As she set it in front of Grier, she almost fumbled the saucer as her oldest friend burst into tears.
“Oh no.” The green-eyed monster fled on swift feet as she switched chairs to sit next to Grier. “What happened?”
“Everything.” Grier whispered.
“Oh?” She held back any further comment and simply waited.
“Oh is right. More like oh yeah.” Grier heaved a miserable sob before another wave of tears hit. “As in oh yeah it was wonderful and amazing and I orgasmed three times. And that was just the first time we had sex.”
Ooo-kay, jealousy with a side of scrambled eggs was clearly on tap this morning.
Sloan weighed how to play this. Sweet and gentle or psycho bitch friend.
After a moment of appreciation for three orgasms, she opted for the latter. “So I’m supposed to feel sorry for you?”
Grier’s head popped up from where she had it in her hands. “I’m crying, aren’t I?”
“Based on what you’ve told me so far, I can’t quite understand why.”
“Because it was wonderful.”
Sloan slammed a hand on the table. “Ergo my point. Wonderful sex and you’re sitting here blubbering like a baby the morning after.”
“Sloan!” The tears turned to shock, then to anger, the emotions as clear as day as they flitted across her face.
“What? You want me to pat you on the head and say ‘Oh, poor baby.’ Sorry, sweetheart. I’m not biting this morning. You’re damn well welcome to call me petty for it, too.”
“Well.” Grier flopped back into her chair with a large sniffle, followed by an even louder one.
Sloan fought a smile as Grier grabbed her plate and walked over to the sideboard to get some breakfast. She didn’t miss that the plate was heaping with food when Grier walked back to the table.
Unable to leave well enough alone, Sloan decided a bit more friendly poking was in order. Besides, she was having far too much fun to stop now.
“So when did this blessed event happen? You were at the coffeehouse until around nine.”
“After that.” Grier’s tone was prim as she took her seat and made a rather large production of opening her napkin on her lap.
“That’s all I get?”
“It happened in the sauna. Well, the first part happened in the sauna. The rest happened in my hotel room.”
Sloan briefly reconsidered the jealousy one last time before abandoning it to dig for the good stuff. “You really and truly got it on with Mick in the sauna?”
“Really and truly.”
“I guess they don’t call him a bush pilot for nothing.”
“Sloan!”
She laughed at Grier’s obvious offense. “So you took me up on my advice. Inspired advice, I might add. And thanks to Avery, you knew just how to find the promised land.”
As if they’d conjured her, their new friend materialized in the room with a fresh carafe. “I sense details being shared and I so want in.”
“Um.” Grier fumbled with her napkin.
“Oh, don’t go all quiet on me. I turned off the damned security camera last night, like a true friend. For that, I deserve some details.”
“Cameras?” Grier squeaked.
“Yes, there are cameras. Let me guess. You thought you were the first one with the clever idea to go at it in the sauna?”
“Um, no. I just . . . well, yes, actually.”
Avery patted her arm. “Don’t worry. I turned them off when I sent Mick in there. Clearly it was a smart move on my part.”
“Oh God,” Grier moaned as she dropped her head in her hands again.
It briefly crossed Sloan’s mind to wonder why Avery seemed to have all the responsibility. Where was Susan? Or some of the other hotel staff? Pulling back on the urge to say something, Sloan knew it wasn’t her place to poke at it.
Yet.
Even if she did think it was curious. And really, really unfair.
“Come on. Spill it, Steamy.”
“She had three orgasms,” Sloan added helpfully, gratified when Avery gifted her with a broad smile and a refill on her coffee. “And that was just the first time they slept together.”
“Sloan!”
“What?” Sloan shrugged as she sipped her hot coffee.
“It’s a detail. And the woman asked for details.”
“I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”
“Actually, it’s part of the best friend code. Orgasms require some details.”
“And triple orgasms usually require the confessional,” Avery added helpfully. “Lucky for you we’re snowed in. I could, however, ask Father Joseph to come on down if you need to do a little confessing. I can turn off the cameras in the conference room for you if you need it.”
“Avery! I’m fine. Thank you.”
She shrugged her slim shoulders as she poured herself a cup of coffee and settled back in her chair. “I’m just trying to be helpful.”
“Oh, you were that.” Sloan laid her napkin on the side of her plate.
Whatever annoyance Grier must have felt evaporated into giggles and Sloan couldn’t help laughing in return. “Three, G? Really?”
“Yup.”
Sloan met Avery’s gaze. “I say we dump her body out back in one of the larger snowdrifts and go jump the man. He’s stranded in here somewhere and no one will find her until spring anyway. We can both be long gone by then.”
“Long gone and several orgasms richer.” Avery nodded. “It sounds like a good plan.”
Grier grinned up at them, a faraway look filling her eyes. Sloan was pleased to see whatever sadness had accompanied her when she’d arrived had clearly moved on.
“We’ll go after I finish my coffee. Give her a head start.”
Sloan gasped as a napkin smacked her in the head. “You really are the biggest bitch, Sloan McKinley.”
“Oh, come on. You forced my hand with the triple orgasm comment. And then rubbing it in about how that was only the first time.”
Grier’s grin only grew broader as she delicately wiped the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “Figured that’d get your goat.”
“I’m a small enough person to admit that it most certainly did.” Sloan couldn’t stop her laughter from joining Grier’s as she leaned over to kiss one cherubic cheek. “It’s a good thing I love you.”
Avery reached over and snatched a slice of bacon off of Grier’s plate. “Have I mentioned how glad I am you two came to town?”
By the time Walker dug out the snow covering his driveway and then his grandmother’s, it was almost eleven. He itched to head over to the café, feigning hunger for an early lunch, but had fought the urge and went in to work instead. Things always slowed for him around this time of year, with the usual town frenzy over the bachelor competition only contributing to the slow pace of business during the holidays.
No one seemed all that inclined to start divorce proceedings at Christmas. Wills were usually a New Year’s resolution, not a fun holiday activity. And property disputes were always saved for the spring and summer when pieces of land could actually be surveyed.
As he flipped through the few active files on his desk, his gaze caught on a public drunkenness charge he was handling for Denny Fitzgerald. Why the man thought he’d even try and fight the charge Walker still hadn’t figured out, but he’d agreed to take on the case.
Denny wasn’t a bad guy. He’d made a bad choice—managed to do so every couple of years or so—but he was a good person all in all. He helped his neighbors and always pitched in on town activities. He was the first to help someone move or take down an old tree or set up for the town Fourth of July festivities.
And he was going to be one of the bachelors in the auction.
Walker had seen him eyeing Sloan a few times—all the guys in town had their eyes on her. Hell, she was a beautiful woman who no doubt drew attention even in overcrowded Manhattan. There was no doubt she’d draw significant attention in a town with an impressive population of seven hundred and twelve.
“You look like you’ve been sucking on lemons.”
Walker glanced up to find Myrtle poking her head into the office. “And good morning to you too, Myrtle.”
“You know damn well it’s almost noon, so don’t sass me. And what the hell are you doing in here?”
“Working.” Walker made a big show of glancing at his watch. “Which is clearly more than I can say for you this
morning
.”
“It’s barely eleven thirty. You’re lucky I made it in at all, especially since I had to deal with Mort.”
“What’s wrong?” Walker immediately thought of Myrtle’s angina-attack prone husband.
“That man is going to drive me to drink, I swear on all that’s holy. He spent the whole damn morning bitching about the traffic on Main Street since your grandmother closed off the intersection in front of the bank. Why does she do that? I swear, it makes my husband bat-shit to deal with that.”
Walker almost laughed at the idea of traffic in Indigo. Road congestion generally meant waiting one whole rotation of the town’s traffic light turning from green to yellow to red and back again. Opting to ignore a subject he knew he wouldn’t win, he shifted the conversation. “We got two feet of snow yesterday. Don’t tell me he was out shoveling this morning.”
“I damn well know how much snow we got.” Her voice softened. “And no, he wasn’t. The Stark boy came over and shoveled early this morning. And don’t be changing the subject. Why does your grandmother close off that damn street?”
He shook his head, barely repressing a sigh. “You know she does that every year. For one week, the street gets closed off for the competition.”
“A whole week,” she muttered to herself as she walked out of his office and to her desk in the front lobby. Despite the distance, he heard her continued mumbling. “For one afternoon’s worth of activity.”
Bored with his own company, he followed behind her. “You know that’s where they set up the pail races.”
“Well, why the hell does she have to set up so early?”
“So they can plow off the street every day and get it good and dry so none of our fearsome competitors slip on any ice.”
“It’s a pain in the ass.”
Walker sighed out loud this time and wondered how Mort Driver had put up with the lovely Myrtle for damn near forty years.
“Speaking of pains in the ass,” Myrtle added. “I was hoping you’d be out of my hair today. Certainly there must be things you need to take care of in town.”
“You trying to get rid of me?”
The bottle-red curls on her head bobbed in the affirmative. “Yes.”
“I’m trying to get some work done.”
“There’s nothing that needs doing. The few case files that are active are still moving along at a crawl. Get out of here and let me do my filing.”
Walker glanced down at her pristine desk. “I don’t see a single file on there.”
“Then get out of here and let me play Spider Solitaire.”
“Remind me again why I pay you?”
“Because I’m the best damn paralegal in the state. And I work and slave for you. Just because your lazy ass doesn’t know how to drum up business in the dead of winter doesn’t mean it’s my fault. You want me to work, get me some case files to work.”
Myrtle leaned down to shove her purse into a desk drawer, her mutterings continuing to float up above her like thought bubbles. He heard the word “lazy” mentioned a few more times, along with some admonition about the hazards of idle hands.
Walker caught a blaze of movement outside on the street and saw several women in heavily padded coats walk into the middle of the town square. Curious, he moved toward the windows, surprised to identify them as Sloan, Grier and Avery.
“What are you looking at?”
“Our intrepid visitors.”
Myrtle moved up behind him and let out a low whistle. “Those two sure are shaking up things around here. I hear the bachelors are anxious to be bid on by one of them.”
“Who says they’re bidding on anyone?”
“Sloan let it slip that she was planning on bidding on several for her article.”
“Several?”