Catching Preeya (Paradise South Book 3) (3 page)

Huh.
Cash?
For a fucking
cab?

And
babe
, a third time.

Before she could take one last rip into the sad excuse for a man, Dawn piped in.

“You’re a real
dick-fuck
, Josh.” Dawn threw a pair of jeans at him, one with a thick chain clipped to the belt loop. It made a thundering clank against the bedpost above Josh’s head.

The enemy of my
enemy?

He grunted then rolled over.

Preeya looked at Dawn then at her phone, plotting backward from her flight’s departure time—ten
thirty-five
—while the screen alerts flashed again in her face.
Swipe-swipe
-
wait
. The last alert, a calendar item her meddlesome aunt, her dad’s sister, had sent to her phone. Preeya’s jaw locked down harder as she processed the details of the calendar item.

Her heart hit the
pizza-laden
floor.

“Holy hell, the wedding!
Wedd-
ings
!” One wedding she had to be at, one she had to miss, and both she wanted to
pretend-away
and ignore, like they were never happening at all.

Get it together, Preeya, and just make. This. Flight.

CHAPTER 3

“J
ust more of
the same,” Stanton told Ben. “They’ll review your testimony and come back with a verdict sometime next month. The fact that your medical license wasn’t suspended, Ben…that’s a huge sign. They’re just going through the motions because of your
in-laws
’ petition.”

Speak of the devil. Jamie’s parents came out through the heavy wooden doors and huffed as they walked past him, avoiding eye contact like their lives depended on it.

“God, all this for what? So they didn’t get their way. It wasn’t their way to have, damn it,” Ben mumbled to himself more than to Stanton.

“It’s always the case, Ben. Even though I make a living at it, the legal route’s hardly ever a
win-win
for anyone. They may be trying to satisfy their egos…or mend the pain, but the real hole never gets filled, not through court, at least.”

Ben sighed. Stanton knew. Thank God
someone
knew. Because the press and the review board and the hospital staff pretended to know, but behind their consoling words, their doubting eyes betrayed them. He could tell them all again and again how Jamie wanted to live her last days in peace, to end the chemo and to just let nature take its course. And that when nature did take its course, the cancer shot through her like a bullet train. And that his wife’s folks just fought and fought. Hell, because Jamie “quit,” they didn’t even show up to her funeral. Her own parents. Their only child.

But it was all a waste of breath. He sensed the seed of suspicion in all of them.

Damn them.
“They should be ashamed. And now they think crucifying me will kill the agony?”

Stan shook his head. “It’s hurtful stuff, man. I don’t envy you. Kick a man while he’s down, it’s just not good karma.”

Ben rubbed his eyes, then his head, sighing through his underlying fury. And talking more on the matter wasn’t helping. He wanted to get the heck out of there, but his
in-laws
were still at the elevator bank. With nowhere else to go right then, he just had to redirect or he’d put his fist through a wall. “How’s Zoe, man?”

“Great. Yeah, we just came back from Vancouver, celebrated our tenth anniversary.” Stanton froze, eyes wide. “Sorry, man…I—”

“What? The whole world stops because I lost my wife? Shut the hell up and tell me more.” God, the tiptoeing and the constant oozing pity. Always hovering. As bad as the loneliness, if not worse.

“Right. Well, we’d both been so busy with work, we decided to tear away for the weekend. Used the anniversary as an excuse, and—” Stanton bit his lip and gave a short, quick sigh.

“And?”

Stanton glowed with joy—and unsubtle guilt. “Well, I need something from you…even though you’re, you know, scared of kids.” The man smirked.

“I’m a
pediatric
surgeon, for Christ’s sake.” Granted, his mentors had only demanded he go pediatric because of his “skills in the OR.”
Steadiest hands, tiniest organs
, they’d said. But he’d admit, operating on an anesthetized kid doesn’t mean he’s good with one that’s awake and talking.

Stanton pounded Ben’s shoulder and widened his smile—the old, natural,
ball-busting
smile Ben faintly remembered. “I’m kidding, man—they flock to you like you’re a walking, talking video game doused in sugar.”

Also true. The harder he’d push kids away, the closer his niece or nephew or patients came climbing, crawling, chattering. It used to crack Jamie up.

“Anyway…” Stanton’s grin had flatlined and he cleared his throat. “You’re gonna be a godparent, Ben. That’s what Zoe and I wanted to tell you over dinner.”

Ben’s chest tightened like a vise. He tried to swallow, but couldn’t.

Ben, speak.

“Wow…a kid?” His pulse spiked. “You guys are pregnant.” Ben nodded, letting it sink in. His best friend, a dad. Like he’d almost been. He glanced at his friend, but Stanton’s eyes had shifted to the floor, then to the bad art on the wall.

Again, tiptoe we
go.

But…don’t you ask for it? Honestly.

Quiet.
“Great news, man.” He pulled his friend in, slammed him on the back, wrapping him in a congratulatory hug. “So glad for you. Really, Stan. Heck, it’s about time.”

“Thanks, man.” Stanton blew out a breath of pure relief and smiled. “And the godparent thing? We know it’s been a shit time, Ben, but there’s no one we’d feel more comfortable with…just as long as you settle stateside eventually.” A snicker left Stanton’s upturned mouth.

Ben swallowed back a knot of hard angst.

“Hey, man?” Stanton squeezed his shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Sure. Godparent, yes. I’d be honored.” Robotic, at best.

Stanton nodded then shook his head. “I caught you off guard, man. I knew I should’ve waited for Zoe—I’m so bad at this shit.”

“No, no.” Ben shook out his daze then clapped his friend’s shoulder. “Stan, it’s good, really.”

“But you’re white as a—”

“I’m
fine
.” Regret, immediate. He sighed. “Sorry, just…the jet lag, and I should probably eat something.”

“Hey, brunch, my treat.”

God, no.
“Can’t, man…sorry. Remember, I’m catchin’ my flight in the next few hours. Have to grab a bite at the airport.” He noticed the elevator area was finally clear, and started toward it. “Hoping
Sea-Tac
will be far less eventful than yesterday, right?” Violet Eyes flashed to mind, and he immediately blinked away her image along with a new round of guilt.

“Yes, right.” Stan snickered. “Rock star mania…” Awkward silence ate his friend’s polite laughter right up.

Ben hit the elevator call button, but it didn’t illuminate. “Thanks, though, really.” Then he pressed the button and held it hard with his thumb.

“Rain check.”

“Absolutely, Stan. After the next hearing.”

Stanton nodded. “Should be the
last
hearing.”

“Right.” And, strangely, Ben couldn’t imagine the medical review hell
not
hanging over his head. “What the heck is with this elevator?” Jamie’s folks had taken it…maybe they held it to screw with him.
Wouldn’t put it past
Edward.

“Not sure, but it’ll come.” Stanton cleared his throat, gaze forward. “Hey, Ben…you ever need to talk, I’m here. You know that, right?”

“Of course. And I appreciate it, man.” Ben’s index finger punched the elevator call button a few times more. Hard.

“And watch your email for an update from me?”

“Sure.” His mouth too dry for more words than that, Ben stared at the unlit numbers above the elevator.
Seriously, is the damn thing
stuck?

“And you’ll respond to those emails?”

“Right.” God, he needed water. “Just gotta work around the sporadic Internet cafés—all
dial-up
.”

“I’ll cc Stacy and leave a voicemail on that crappy old phone of yours.” He grinned. “And hey, try sending a postcard this time? Like, to let us know you’re alive and—”

A text buzzed Stan’s phone and Ben’s chest unlocked. A reprieve.

Stanton huffed. “Guess I’ll be heading down to Olympia earlier than I thought.” The man looked up from his smartphone. “My next hearing got bumped.”

The elevator dinged its arrival.
Finally
. Doors slid open and Ben followed Stan into the car. “Hey, at least now I can take you to the airport on my way down to Olympia.”

Ben’s jaw tightened—just the thought of more talk time.

His friend sensed his reluctance. “Traffic’s gonna be a bear. A second passenger gets me in the carpool lane…” Hopeful eyes.

Ben grabbed a breath, caving to social etiquette. “Right. Sure. That’ll be great. Saves me the shuttle fare, at any rate.”

Stanton snorted and gave him a strange look, like,
Why would you need to save
money?

Ben lifted his brows, but Stanton said nothing, just looked back down at his smartphone. Ben hadn’t even told Stanton what he’d done with the
windfall
that was Jamie’s life insurance policy—he’d anonymously donated half to cancer research, and the rest he’d put in trust for his heirs—Stacy’s kids. His
in-laws
had made sure the
insurance-funds
topic remained another source of skepticism. But he kept the funds’ destinations confidential—let them all think what they wanted, that Ben had a lifetime of financial freedom due to his wife’s death.
Sick
fucks
.

Ding.
The lobby. The doors slid open and a few nurses slid by the men as they walked out.

Stan
shoulder-bumped
him. “Hey, don’t pretend you didn’t see the redhead scoping you out.”

Ben glared at his friend, teeth gnashed.
Jesus.
“Which way’s the car, Stanton?”

“This way, just past the hot receptionist.” Stan laughed, but killed it when he met Ben’s death stare which screamed silently,
No, I am not ready for it, Stanton. Not ready by a long shot.
When it came to other women,
tiptoeing
was permitted—no, it was goddamn required.

CHAPTER 4

S
he leaped over
a pile of notebooks, Josh’s boots, and…shattered glass? The vodka bottle. She remembered he’d thrown it against the wall for emphasis during the chorus of some bullshit rock ballad he’d “been working on.”

“Watch it, there!” Miss Mini Manager pointed to a narrowly missed puddle of Josh’s sickness.

“Oh, God!” Preeya halted, grimaced, and scrambled to the right as Dawn’s
self-control
crumbled to the revolting floor, laughing again at Preeya’s pain while Josh groaned in an escalating crescendo.

Preeya stood still for a second, scanning the rest of the floor for her clothes and strategizing so she’d avoid any other surprises. “This is such a joke.”

“What’s that you said?” Dawn asked through waning laughter.

“Nothing, it’s just that—” She paused, having just spotted her flight attendant’s scarf smack in the middle of yet another puddle. Preeya looked up at Dawn to be sure she wasn’t imagining it.

No, she wasn’t imagining anything. Dawn sighed, shrugged as if helpless, too, then placed her hands on her hips and wagged her head at Josh.

Ugh.
Preeya hoped to God that it was the last gift he’d left on the small guest room floor before making it to the bathroom last night—instead of making love to her, or, at the very least, delivering her to the other side of an ultimate
finger-gasm
like he’d done years ago.

“Goes to show that coke and pills don’t mix. Anyway, you were saying something…and collecting your clothes, because you really do have to go so I can get my lead singer up and at ’em,” Dawn said with a slight apology in her smile…until she eyed something on the dresser. Preeya followed the woman’s gaze. A tall water bottle. Full and sealed. Dawn smirked then looked at Preeya, motioned to the dresser with a nod, then winked.

Water? God, yes, she
was
thirsty.

Ohh, water!
Not to drink.
To pour. To
wake.

“I couldn’t find his stash to trash, so…wakey, wakey with a splash?” Dawn whispered so low the words were almost mouthed.

Preeya snickered. She could totally wait for rehydration—and her exit so she’d make her departure!—if it meant she’d get some fluid revenge. She smiled at Dawn without wasting thought or time in considering the repercussions. Because karma, opportunity…

Dawn waggled her brows.

“Last night
was
shittier than shit,” Preeya said quietly, justifying her support of Dawn’s scheme. “He just had to ‘do a few lines first.’ Then the pills.”

“Which led to this puking mess—which he might think I’m cleaning up, being the grunt manager and all.”

“A puking mess, indeed.”
And a goddamn tease of a
night.

Preeya nodded along with Dawn as more counterproductive thoughts swarmed Preeya’s brain. He’d had her in his arms and at his mercy, then thrown her on his bed with such passionate abandon. She’d been so ready for the natural heights that her nostalgic heart—and core—had replayed in her head, ready for the encore performance of his magic fingers and tongue and hands and, yes, his magic steel, too. How he’d grind and sweep and pluck and strum her like he did his beloved guitar under hot stage lights.

But instead, he’d rolled away for the condom, snorted who knows how many lines, and popped some number of pills—that were certainly not ED pills—and returned to her, a vacant shell.
Greek-god
-
gone-flaccid
, impotent, lost in his own world of
self-declared
greatness.

Preeya looked at the water bottle, all
twenty-some
ounces of it, then back to Dawn. Preeya’s nostrils flared as she breathed out—as opposed to breathing in. The air quality was really getting to her.

And as if Dawn read her thoughts, “He’s worse than any of the other guys in the band. Narcissist to the nth…constant cocaine and sex binges—rehab twice. Hell, I’ve had to fight statutory rape charges and squashed umpteen paternity claims for this prick.”

He rolled over. Preeya and Dawn paused. He grunted, then snoring resumed the next second.

“Believe me, based on last night’s experience…sex, paternity? Not an issue.”

Dawn glanced up at her. “Well, since you didn’t seem to get any perks out of the deal…” Dawn gave Preeya a final head nod toward the big bottle of crystal clear Washington spring water revenge. “You do the honors.”

Preeya knew that time was wasting, but, hell, she wanted—no, needed—to do this. Preeya grinned, filled her lungs, and beelined for the water bottle. She untwisted the cap, but then paused where she stood. Only feet from the bed, her eyes zeroed in on Josh then shifted to Dawn. “Camera? Video? Or just mental record?”

“Oooh, I like you,
not-a
-groupie
. I like you a lot.” Dawn winked then reached into her thick leather jacket for her cell. “You wanna give me yours, too? I can handle two at a time.” Another eyebrow waggle.

Ignoring the sexual innuendo, Preeya smiled but declined. She couldn’t afford to lose or forget or, hell, incur damage to her phone in what might be a chaotic backlash after the water poured. “Mental record for me, thanks. You can email me what you get.” Preeya refocused on the task at hand, taking a step closer toward the lump in the bed.

“Wait,” Dawn said.

Josh groaned.

“What?” Preeya whispered, so close to her goal. She really didn’t want him to wake up before she
woke
him up—cold, wet, and shocked.

“Maybe we should prep the escape before all hell breaks loose. He’ll go insane…”

Shit, she was right. And her priority—her flight—had been totally overshadowed by the enticement and excitement of retaliation. She sighed. “He’ll be up…but pissed and definitely won’t drive me…and a cab at this point? I’ve got only two hours to get through Seattle traffic, security, and
check-in
. And the lead attendant hates me as it is.” She sighed longer. “I can’t be late. And, job or not, I really
can’t
miss this flight.”

“Right, weddings
plural
,” Dawn said with a somewhat empathetic tone—empathizing with what, the little woman couldn’t know.

No clue at all.

If Preeya missed this flight, she’d miss Amy’s wedding. Her college roommate would never forgive her. And Amy’d ordered the bridesmaid dress, the hotel room, the works. Also, Preeya had promised. Preeya didn’t break promises.

But, being honest, she hadn’t made the promise to Amy out of selfless loyalty alone. Going to Amy’s wedding became Preeya’s alibi, so to speak. Assurance that she wouldn’t fold and attend her father’s wedding. A guarantee against her own potentially weak will, because the likelihood was high that her father’s guilt trip and her aunt’s
shame-fest
would beat her.

“But I’ll sleep better if I do this!” Her voice lifted, eyeing the water bottle with enthusiasm.

Dawn snorted then turned to Preeya. “I’ll take you. To the airport…” Dawn took a few steps closer to Preeya and leaned in to whisper, “I always buffer appointments for him with a three or
four-hour
window.” Dawn stood up and gave her a proud wink and nod. “I’ve got my moped, so just, you know, get dressed and we’ll go. There is no traffic with
my
ride…shoulders all the way.”

Fly by the seat of her pants, yes, but a death wish? “Thanks, but…not in my uniform…and my
carry-on
bag? Wherever the hell it is…” She sighed, shook her head, and clutched the bedsheet toga tight to her chest. “I’ll just cab it and pray…and…” She looked at her scarf on the floor. “Shit, I’ll have to chuck that and borrow or buy one…or wing it. I’m good at that, at least.”

Yeah, winging it was a talent to be proud of, right?

Preeya found a
pencil-line
smile for Dawn while Dawn just stared back at her and shrugged her
leather-geared
shoulders. “Okay, suit yourself. I have enough to deal with here, anyway.”

Josh grunted and swore
not
under his breath.

Skip the payback and call a cab, Preeya…then shower and get the hell gone
already!

No.
Preeya’s nostrils flared, eyes widened, throat thick.

Dawn kicked back through the beer cans and trash toward the door, seemingly done with the excitement of the grand water
wake-up
plan. “Come on.”

Still,
no
. Preeya patted the water bottle in her hand like a football, then tilted her head at Josh. She moved to the bedside and lifted the covers, exposing Josh’s naked midsection. As Preeya’s lips lifted into a
shit-eating
grin, her arm—with the crystal clear liquid—lifted, too. She could hear Dawn’s gasps of muted laughter as Preeya held the bottle over Josh’s limp dick and bare ass, all tucked in tight to himself.

A tingle of joy sprinted up her spine as she began to tip the bottle—slow at first, just to get the water to the neck then to the opening, anticipating the reaction she’d relish and remember forever. Dawn appeared at the corner of her view, camera phone in hand.

“Ready,” Dawn whispered, her shared zeal glowing.

Preeya inhaled, then flipped her wrist.

A fast flow of pure Washington State spring water splashed down on Josh’s naked,
ultra-defined
and
sought-after
body, while Preeya’s spirits soared.

*

Gasping, screaming, snarling, Josh Bolte bolted up and out of bed.

Finally, the king had risen.

Dawn rolled around on the putrid floor dying, camera phone still in hand, pointed up at a wet and naked Josh.

His eyes were wild, but thankfully focused on drying himself off, rather than finding the source of his rude awakening—Preeya, who cried harder now from hysterical laughter than she had from her earlier
poor-me
sulk-fest
. And she just couldn’t stop, which made Dawn laugh harder.

Josh—growling, shivering—reached for the jeans Dawn had thrown at him earlier. At one leg in, he keeled over, held his gut with one hand, his mouth with the other, then he ran—hopped, really—to the bathroom. He slammed the door then retched his guts out.

“What, no guest room floor?” Preeya asked Dawn with a lift of her brow.

“Thank God,” Dawn blurted, patting Preeya on the arm, then made her way to the bathroom door and pounded it with her right fist. “Now get cleaned up, asshole!” she added for good measure while Preeya crushed the empty water bottle in her hands. The loud crinkling didn’t overshadow Josh’s cursing between heaves, but Preeya found him way easier to ignore now.

Dawn smiled. “Come on, Josh’s…
old friend
. You can use one of the other showers.”

“Thanks. God, do I need one—or five.” She felt her hair again and then looked down at herself, still wrapped in the sheet. “I just have to find the rest of my things.” She grimaced, then peeked under the bed.

“Right. I’ll grab you a clean towel from Otto’s room while you do that. Be right back.”

“By the way, my name’s Preeya. And…thanks.”

Dawn nodded then disappeared while Josh still
swore-spewed
-
flushed-repeated
and Preeya hunted for her roller bag in the
never-to
-
be-forgotten
guest room.

*

She found her purse and
carry-on
in the corner of the room behind the closet door.

“
Preeya
,” Dawn said as if to herself, standing in the doorway with a white fluffy towel. “Preeya?”

“Yeah. Preeya. It’s East Indian.”

Dawn studied her face, right eye squinting.

Preeya smiled, but she really didn’t have time for games. “Preeya Patel.”
What?

“Are you
the
“Guest Room” Preeya? From the song?”

Preeya looked at Dawn, then lifted her unbelieving gaze to the ceiling. It seemed that Josh had, at some point in the past, spoken of her, of
them
—however, whenever, whatever. Preeya wanted to fall down on her knees laughing, but she was too tired and ill—
and too late
—to do anything but smirk. “Yes. That’s me…or should I say, that
was
me.”

“Well isn’t this ironic?” Dawn said, slamming
the
guest room door—most definitely for Josh’s benefit.

“Pretty ironic, yes.” Preeya hadn’t noted the déjà vu irony until now. The song inspired by their first night together in that very guest room seven years earlier.

“Hey, listen, when you’re sick of dealing with disappointing dickheads,” the petite drill sergeant said, examining Preeya up and down with no subtle appetite, then nodded with approval, “I’d be honored, Ms. Preeya ‘Guest Room’ Patel, to show you the other side. There are no flaccid cocks in my toy drawer, I can promise you that.”

And with that invitation to lesbianism, Preeya crossed the threshold of the clean and pristine hallway bathroom with her roller bag in tow and her uniform bundled under her arm. She nodded her thanks and smiled. “I’m pretty sure, Dawn, that I’m stuck on men. What type of man? Hell if I know anymore…if I
ever
knew.” Because from Wildfire Josh to
Safe-and
-Secure Evan—and every guy in between—she couldn’t for the life of her say what the man of her wildest dreams looked like, who he’d turn out to be. Hell, she couldn’t even say she knew who
she
was at this point. Preeya rolled her eyes. She only knew that she needed to make that flight to Puerto Vallarta. To that destination wedding. She’d have to figure the rest out from there.

Dawn nodded, accepting the gently put rejection. “Well, the offer stands if you change your mind.”

Preeya smiled and blinked, then put her stuff on the counter—and got an unwelcome first glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror.
Not
good. And being out of that guest room, she got an objective whiff of her hair. God, she needed a
scour
, not a shower. She glanced at her phone to see how much time she had for her hair and makeup before—
oh crap.
“The cab!” She hadn’t even called for one yet.