Leaving Annalise (Katie & Annalise Book 2) by Pamela Fagan Hutchins Read Free Book Online

poquito.”
    I groaned and put my face in his chest, then turned my head so I could speak. “I had the oddest dream right before I woke up.” My words came out slowly as I yawned and stretched without sacrificing body contact. “I dreamed you and I were on a beach, with my dogs, and an old West Indian woman walked up, and . . .”
    Nick interrupted me. “Read your palm.”
    “Yeeeessssssss. How did you know that?”
    He shook his head and shrugged. “You aren’t going to believe this, but I was having the exact same dream when I woke up.”
    “That’s crazy.”
    “Yet it’s true.” He rubbed his cheek against mine.
    “She said I was an empress. What do you think it means?”
    “I don’t know, but I think it’s cool.” He lifted his head back up and I put my hands carefully on his familiar yet new face. I closed my eyes and let the energy fill me up. I could get so used to this.
    Nick’s phone buzzed and he blew air out between his closed lips. I pulled my hands away from his cheeks. He rolled over and fumbled his hand around on the floor until he found his shorts and pulled the phone out of his pocket.
    “Son of a bitch.”
    My stomach tightened. “What is it?”
    “Texts from my sister. Her stalker boyfriend found my condo.”
    Shit. Shit shit shit. I edited myself before I spoke. “Are they OK?”
    His thumbs flew as he texted. “I’m not sure.” He pulled on his underwear and stood up, then dialed the phone and began to speak intensely to the agitated female voice that answered on the other end.
    I stacked pillows against the headboard, wrapped the sheet around me, and sat with my arms around my knees, watching him as he paced. When Nick gets upset, his face takes on a “harbinger of death come to claim your soul” look. In such a sexy way that it occurred to me that the interruption would probably hurt less with my clothes off. But they were already off, and it hurt plenty.
    I slithered out of bed with the sheet around me and retrieved my heap of a dress from the floor. I tiptoed into the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror. The woman looking back at me had a fright wig of crunchy red hair that screamed “I stayed up all night having Animal Planet sex.” My repeated applications of Emily-inspired Aqua Net during the pageant the night before had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now it was time for a bucket of water over the head. That would take care of the wandering eyeliner and stage-mascara’d eyelashes, too.
    I looked away from the horror in the mirror and shimmied into my evening gown, then turned back to my image. Holy shit. There was a transvestite hooker in Nick’s bathroom. The walk of shame through the parking lot was going to be harrowing. The Reef wasn’t the nicest hotel on St. Marcos by any stretch, but it had done its budget-conscious best imitation of Caribbean-vacation chic. The walls were an innocent yellow, the cabinetry a crisp white. Hibiscus blossoms floated in a glass bowl on the vanity, matching the hibiscus-print shower curtain. I wrinkled my nose. Too matchy-matchy. But one look back in the mirror and I knew I was no one to judge.
    I could still hear Nick talking, but I needed some toiletries, pronto. I snuck a glance out the door at him as I rummaged through his shaving kit for toothpaste with one eye on his reflection in the mirror. I finger-scrubbed the last twelve hours out of my mouth, then doused my face with cold water and got to work on it with a scratchy bath rag. Then I swiped on some Right Guard, straightened my long blue dress, shut the door, and tried to tinkle.
    The sound of my pee hitting the water was only slightly quieter than the sound of Niagara Falls in the middle of a thunderstorm. No, no, no. I squeezed in vain, trying to exercise some volume control. But it was no good. I stopped altogether.
    What to use as a noisemaker? There was no fan in the bathroom, no radio, no telephone upon which I could fake a loud conversation with