Above, the whir of machinery sounded. Skip ascended first, solidifying Troy's intention to get creative with payback for his stunt comrades. Once they'd pulled Skip over the edge, Troy slowly rose through the shaft.
Feeling a little lighter, he dragged his phone from his pocket to check for missed calls or messages-the service down here was spotty but surprisingly decent if he caught a signal just right-but found neither. He was both relieved and frustrated that Ryker hadn't called him back yet. On the one hand, Troy wasn't looking forward to the lecture he'd get from his best friend when he asked for Giselle's cell number. On the other, he wanted this guilt monkey off his back, and he'd already tried a dozen different ways to get ahold of Giselle at the Mirage. The woman had remarkable security.
Security who'd let her go unescorted to a sex club.
What the hell was that about?
By the time he reached the lip of the cavern and climbed out, the guys had Breaking Benjamin's “The Diary of Jane” playing at one hundred decibels. Keaton, the doof, held Skip like a human female, twirling around the dingy cave as if it were a dance floor. Duke and Zahara danced alongside, all three of them singing along with Ben. The crew looked on, laughing.
Troy chuckled, relieving another sliver of stress. “You guys are idiots.”
“We're practicing for tonight,” Duke called back before he dipped Zahara, who squealed and laughed, her dark hair brushing the cave floor.
Troy turned down the music and pulled a fresh water bottle from the cooler. “What's tonight?”
Duke pulled Z upright, only to have Keaton dip Skip, then pretend to make out with him.
Troy sat on the cooler and uncapped the water with a roll of his eyes. “I knew you were off, dude, but not that off.”
Keaton pulled Skip upright and danced cheek to cheek. “Don't listen to him, darling. He's just jealous.” Obviously in a dramatic mood, Keaton caressed Skip's bald head. “We'll be the cat's meow on the dance floor tonight, you and me.”
Duke pushed Z's shoulder, and she made a triple spin, ending with a flourish only to spin back to Duke and pick up the tango, imitating Keaton and Skip.
“Good Lord, did someone leave the catnip out again?” Troy drank the rest of his water. “What the hell is tonight?”
The song ended, and both Duke and Keaton finished out the dance by dramatically dipping their partners.
“The mixer,” Keaton said, back to his normal self as he sat Skip in a row of chairs, then crossed the dummy's legs and laid one arm over the back of the neighboring seat. “The one they told us about- Oh.” He looked at Duke and Zahara. “He wasn't here.” Then to Troy. “While you were out picking up cable, Karen from publicity came by, said there's a title song mixer tonight. You know, a swanky-dank, meet-the-singer-type gig. It's in one of the small banquet rooms at the Mirage.”
The sting of somet
hing like fear streaked down his spine. It could have been excitement. It could have been shock. It could have been all of them combined, because this meant he could meet Giselle face-to-face without the need to utilize any middleman.
Keaton took the seat next to Skip. “They even invited us stunt grunts-go figure.” He looked at Skip. “We're coming up in the world, buddy. Bet there will be some fine ass there tonight, maybe even a mannequin or two. Okay.” He sat back and spoke to the crew. “What's for lunch today? I vote Cabo Wabo.”
“We went there yesterday,” Brianna, one of the crew, complained.
“And we should go again,” Keaton said, “because it's just that good.”
As the others argued over a lunch spot, Zahara bumped Troy's hip with hers. “Scoot over.”
He moved and lowered his head. “You didn't think to tell me this?”
“I forgot all about it until these guys started messing around,” she said, keeping her voice low. “It might be a good opportunity to reconnect with her.”
Oh no. They'd already reconnected-on the most intimate level.
Yet, they hadn't.
What a mess.
He wiped sweat from his brow with a shrug of his shoulder. A huge part of him considered ignorance bliss in this situation. Over the past two days, he'd been having a tug-of-war with his conscience, one side sure it would be better to let her go on thinking she'd fucked a stranger, the other…
God, he didn't know if it was a good thing or a bad thing, but he had an overwhelming need to confess. Something he'd never experienced before. And he still couldn't tell if it was the right thing to do or not.
Z's hand covered his forearm, her hold firm. “I know you probably don't want to talk about it, but just let me say one thing, and I'll drop it. You're a guy who goes after what you want. I've known you for three years, and you've always gone all out for every part, always been there for every friend. You live your life balls to the wall. And all I keep thinking is, why stop now?
“The reality is, the chances of you two ending up in the same place at the same time again with the opportunity to talk to each other is pretty damn slim. Even if there's no chance of getting back together, I think you should at least take this chance to show her your face, say hello, and put yourself back on her radar. At best, sparks will fly. At worst, you got the chance to say, 'Hey, look. I didn't crumble to dust when you left.'