Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 95676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
"No, you can't," Erin says immediately. "I love you for offering though. I'll just ask Livvie. I haven't seen her in a while. It'll be good to catch up, have sister time."
"You sure?" I ask. Erin's little sister is a handful. She's seventeen and wild as hell.
"Ivy, you're up!" Mitch yells from behind the bar.
"I'm sure," Erin promises, smiling at me. "Now, shoo! Go play some mopey love shit for me. Then get your ass back over here so we can get our drink on."
Chapter Two
Ivy
Maroon 5's Payphone rips through my bedroom, pulling me out of a deep sleep.
I groan and roll toward my nightstand, searching blindly for my cell. My head is pounding, and my mouth feels like sandpaper. I never want to leave my bed.
Why did I let Erin talk me into drinking so much?
Oh, right. Because she's the devil and I'm clearly a glutton for punishment.
"I think I hate you, and I'm definitely never drinking vodka with you again," I mumble into the receiver, pulling the blankets up over me and groaning. "How are you even functioning right now? My head is killing me." Cracking my eyes open, I frown at the black marker scrawled across my forearm. "And why the hell am I naked with your name and phone number written on me?" Lifting my arm so I can read the text beneath her number, I groan again. "Property of Erin? In permanent marker? Seriously, you whore? That's never going to come off! I'm firing you as my best friend."
"I'm not sure who Erin is, but it sounds like you had an interesting night," a masculine voice answers with a dark chuckle.
I sit up so fast my head throbs and the blankets fall from around me.
"You aren't Erin," I say, blurting the first thing that comes to mind.
"No," the guy says with another chuckle. "I'm afraid not."
My mouth works, but no sound comes out. I cannot believe I didn't look at the phone before I started spouting off. Holding it away from my face, I squint at the number. It's familiar, but I can't place it. And it's already noon. I never sleep this late.
Good grief. What did Erin and I do last night?
I remember vodka…and Mitch and Erin grinding on the dance floor while Jake and I laughed our asses off at the two of them. A group of frat guys tried to pick us up at some point after my last set.
Is that when Erin wrote on my arm?
I can't remember.
I think Mitch poured us into cabs around three in the morning. Everything that happened in between is a little fuzzy, though.
I hate vodka. And my best friend.
"You still there?" the man asks, still laughing at me.
Crap.
"Yes. W-who are you?" I hold the phone up to my ear, praying he's no one important.
"This is Detective Lewis with the San Francisco Police Department. I'm trying to reach Miss Ivy Kendall."
Well, there goes my dignity.
"Oh my god," I whisper-groan, flopping backward on the bed. "Please tell me I'm dreaming this whole thing and I didn't actually just call you a whore and tell you that I'm naked." I squeeze my eyes closed and whimper as soon as the word naked slips from my lips.
Great. I just told a cop that I'm not wearing any clothes. Twice.
Detective Lewis laughs loudly into the phone. His laugh is incredible. It's dark and low, a rumbling purr of sound.
My stomach flutters.
"Miss Kendall, I presume?"
I consider telling him no. He can't tell my boss I'm an alcoholic with questionable morals who can't remember what the hell she did last night and definitely shouldn't be allowed around impressionable children if he doesn’t know it's me…right?
"Miss Kendall? You still with me?" He's even more amused now.
I definitely hate my best friend.
"Yes, this is Ivy," I say with a sigh, biting back the urge to tell him I'm not usually a crazy person. There's just no way to recover now, though, so I don't even bother. I've already humiliated myself enough, thank you very much.
Rubbing a hand across my face, I stare up at the spackling on my ceiling, trying to compose myself. "How can I help you, Detective Lewis?"
He clears his throat. When he speaks again, the laughter is gone from his voice. He's all business. Still sounds hot as hell, though. "I assume Mr. Gleeson advised you that your name came up as part of a missing person's investigation?"
"Ah, yes." I sit up again, shoving the blankets off my legs. The room spins, forcing me to bite back another groan. When my head clears, I rise to my feet and grab a t-shirt and pair of panties from my dresser. "Um…a college student, correct?"
"Yes, that's right. Rory Clark."
"The name isn't familiar." I stumble toward the bathroom. "But if he came to one of my shows, I wouldn't know his name. They tend to run together after a while."