A Hot Mess (3 page)

Cait recited her credit card number and vowed to castrate Simon.

The sound of keys being pressed clicked over the line, and then the airline employee’s tone turned apologetic. “I’m sorry, Ms. Myers, but that card is expired.”

“What? That’s not possible.” Cait squinted at the date on the plastic square and cursed under her breath. “You’re right. I must’ve shredded the wrong card when the new one came in.”

“No problem.” The agent remained courteous and upbeat. “Do you have a different card?”

Cait reopened her wallet and searched every flap, but couldn’t find her debit card. “No, I’m sorry. I think I left it in my purse at home.”

The agent’s tone brooked no argument. “I’m sorry, Ms. Myers. Without a card, I cannot process the change to your ticket.”

“I understand. Thank you for your time.”

Cait slammed the phone down and shoved her hands through her hair. She let out a loud shriek.

Was everything going to go wrong?

Cait retrieved a third bottle of rum and opened it with her teeth. She spat out the metal top, heedless of where it landed. This was all Simon’s fault, the ass. Her ring clinked against the glass bottle, and she glared at the beautiful diamond he’d just given her that morning. It seemed so long ago. She set down the bottle and wrenched the ring off her finger. She thought about throwing it in the garbage but tossed it in her purse instead. Maybe she could pawn it when she got back home.

She paced the room and considered her options. There was no way she was calling her mother. Gwen Myers had never been fond of Simon, and Cait was not up for listening to her mother’s “I told you so’s.”

Her sister, Amy, was out as well. Amy was in her last year of college, and Cait didn’t want to distract her from her studies.

Who did that leave? Cait thought of her other relatives but dismissed them all just as quickly. She couldn’t bear the embarrassment of pouring out her sad sob story.

Cait turned on her heel and marched back toward the phone. There was one person she could trust to not judge her.

Dylan Russell.

Cait’s fingers punched out Dylan’s cell number and gripped the receiver against her cheek, praying Dylan wasn’t on location for an exotic photo shoot where he wouldn’t have cell reception. She
really
needed his help.

Dylan answered on the fourth ring, right when she was worried his voicemail was about to come on.

“Hello?”

“Dylan, thank God!” Cait exclaimed.

“Cait?” Dylan’s deep voice revealed his concern. “Is everything all right?”

“No, it’s not.” Cait hated the tremble in her voice. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. “I need you to do me a favor.”

“Sure,” Dylan answered without hesitation. “What do you need?”

Cait bit her lip. She hated to ask him for money even though she knew he had bucket loads to spare. His family was loaded, and his successful career as a fashion photographer made him practically a celebrity in Atlanta. He’d done shots for all of Cait’s favorite magazines. Cait felt like a pauper asking him to let her borrow money, but she had to get home, and this was the only way she knew how.

“I
really
hate to ask you this, but can you wire me two hundred and fifty dollars? I can pay you back as soon as I get home.”

There was a long silence on Dylan’s end. Finally, he spoke. “Are you in trouble, Cait? Where are you?”

Cait glanced around the room and grimaced. She wished she could lie, but she’d never been very good at it. Besides Dylan would see … or in this case,
hear
right through her. “Ummm … Vegas?”

Dylan groaned. “It shouldn’t sound like a question, Cait. Are you there or not?”

“Affirmative.” Cait hoped the reminder of their childhood conversations on his walkie talkies would break the tension.

It didn’t work.

“What in the hell are you doing in Vegas?” Dylan exclaimed.

“Oh, well you know. Just visiting,” she answered in a breezy tone.

“Cait.” Dylan stressed her name. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Cait wondered how much of the truth she should reveal. Dylan didn’t like Simon either, and it would be just like him to seek out her heartless ex-fiancé and punch him. “Promise you won’t get mad.”

Dylan’s sigh sounded through the phone line. “I promise.”

“I eloped.”

The silence drew out even longer this time. Nerves attacked Caitlyn with a vengeance. She knew he would be upset, but she just didn’t know how much.

Her voice quivered. “Say something, Dylan.”

Dylan cleared his throat. “So you married that jackass?”

“No. The jackass dumped me.”

“What?”

Cait couldn’t hold it in any longer. She poured out the whole story to him. By the end of her impassioned rant, she wanted to kick herself for being so blind to Simon’s faults.

Dylan’s voice was remarkably calm. “And you need the money for what exactly?”

“I want to get an earlier flight home.”

Dylan sighed. “Cait…”

She interrupted him. “Don’t lecture me, Dylan. I can’t handle it right now.”

“I wasn’t going to lecture you. I was going to offer to come to you.”

Cait rolled her eyes even though she knew Dylan couldn’t see the gesture. “You’re going to fly all the way from Atlanta? That’s a bit much, Dylan, even for you.”

“Actually, I thought I could rent a car and drive up there. I had a shoot in Los Angeles that just wrapped up. I could be there in a few hours. It would probably be quicker to drive than to try to book a flight last minute.” He paused for a moment. “Unless you want me to send for my father’s jet?”

“Don’t you dare!”

Cait would die of embarrassment if Mr. Russell found out what had happened to her. Plus she knew Dylan hated to draw from his family’s resources. He’d built his photography business from the ground up without any help from his parents.

She realized she’d sounded a bit sharp and didn’t want to seem ungrateful, she softened her voice. “Thank you for the offer, Dylan, but please don’t.”

Dylan sounded relieved. “Okay. So I will rent a car and be there in a few hours.”

Cait couldn’t believe her change in luck. What were the odds he would be so close to her when she really needed him? But she felt honor bound not to put him to so much trouble. “You really don’t have to do this, Dylan. You can just wire the money to me.”

“I want to, Cait. Now give me your location, step away from the rum, and order some room service. I’ll be there before you know it.”

The Vegas Strip was ablaze with lights when Dylan arrived shortly after midnight.

It did not matter that it was a weeknight, the party never stopped in the Nevada town. The energy and excitement of Vegas mixed with his eagerness to see Cait.

A buoyant happiness filled him at the thought of Cait. The maddening, irresistible redhead had been the bane of his existence for as long as he could remember. She’d been his neighbor, childhood friend, and ultimately the object of many sex-laden fantasies throughout his adolescence. He’d grown out of his hormone-driven obsession for her in time, but Dylan knew he would always be half in love with her.

He knew it was a useless endeavor, since she’d just been dumped, but he had to come to her and hope that one day she would look at him as more than a friend.

Dylan drove his rental car up the valet entrance of Cait’s hotel and tossed the keys to a young man who emerged from the valet station. He retrieved a duffel bag stuffed full of camera equipment and clothing from the trunk and slung it over his shoulder. He headed through the sliding glass doors and looked for the elevators to the guest rooms.

Dylan strode though the elegant lobby, grateful he finally had a chance to stretch his legs. He’d driven nonstop from Los Angeles, and an economy car was all that had been available. The tiny two-door did not allow much leg room, and it had been a long, cramped drive, but the aches and discomfort were worth it.

Dylan headed for the elevators, but he had to walk right past the casino to reach them. He had not been to Vegas in several years, but the sounds were exactly as he remembered. Catchy melodies sounded from the slots. The rumble of voices echoed over the din. Every now and again, a woman would squeal as she hit a jackpot.

Dylan ignored it all in his impatience to reach Cait’s side. He could not believe that dick, Simon, had brought her all the way to Vegas and then ran off with another woman. It was a good thing Simon had taken his bags and left. Dylan was tempted to find him and beat some sense into him. What sort of man abandoned his fiancée the day he proposed to her?

If she were his…

Dylan cut off the thought before it even finished. That was the problem; Cait was not his. She would never be his.

Cait had made that more than evident in the twenty-nine years they’d known each other. She treated him like an old friend, maybe even like a brother. There had been one incident way back in college, when he’d suspected she may have thought about him in a sexual way, but then she had started dating a football linebacker, and that had been the end of it.

The elevator that arrived after he pressed the UP button was empty. Dylan stepped inside and pressed the number for Cait’s floor. He recognized the tinny melody of a popular eighties love song and chuckled to himself. It was one of Cait’s favorites, and a memory came to him of her participating in a talent show in junior high decked out with high, teased bangs and bangle bracelets.

Sadly, Cait couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. But what she lacked in talent, she made up for in enthusiasm.

The elevator doors dinged open. The eighth floor appeared deserted as Dylan stepped out and headed for room eight nineteen. He reached it and paused to brace himself before he got ready to knock.

He did not know what to expect. Cait was a dramatic person, so she could either be wallowing in self-pity in her room with alcohol and a pint of Ben and Jerry’s or living it up downstairs in the nightclub. Who knew with her?

Dylan shifted the bag on his shoulder and lifted his hand to knock on the door. It was wrenched open as soon as his knuckles contacted the wood, and a bleary, raccoon-eyed Cait peered up at him.

Dylan gave an inward groan. Self-pity was the apparent winner. “Hey, beautiful.”

He didn’t know how she did it, but Cait managed to narrow her eyes and roll them at the same time. “I hate men.”

He forced himself not to grin. It was always like this with Cait. She would reel from the break-up for about a week, and then she would have a new boyfriend quicker than he could blink. “Can I come in?”

Cait moved aside, and Dylan dropped his bag near the door. The scent of Cait’s perfume wafted toward him, but it was tempered by the odor of rum. He scanned the room, noting several discarded mini bottles, and moved his gaze back to Cait. “Have you eaten?”

“Nope.” She appeared unsteady on her feet as she swirled around and flounced toward the bed. She stumbled over a pair of heels lying on the floor, but she gained her balance and continued walking.

Dylan admired her as she did so. Her short skirt revealed pale, creamy thighs, and a bright pink tube top exposed Cait’s back tat. She’d gotten the tribal markings in college and claimed it was one of the biggest mistakes of her life.

Dylan thought it was pretty sexy even though he loved to tease her about her “tramp stamp.” He felt a stirring in his jeans and willed his erection to subside. Now was not the time.

Cait flopped backward onto the bed. The hem of her skirt flipped up, but she brushed it down with a careless swipe of her hand. “I want ice cream, an entire gallon of it.”

The side of Dylan’s mouth kicked up in a smile. His Cait was a demanding tyrant when she drank. “Where’s the menu?”

Cait lifted a hand and waved in the general direction of a desk against one wall. Dylan went to it and picked up the guest guide. He flipped to the room-service page and scanned the list. Cait needed food with substance, not a sugary snack.

“How about a veggie omelet?”

“Ice cream,” she replied pertly.

Dylan gave her a stern look even though she wasn’t looking at him. “Food, Cait.”

“Fine, have it your way then.” Cait flung out her arms. Her tube top drew up and exposed the bottom edge of her bra.

Dylan wrenched his gaze from the erotic image she unknowingly presented and dialed the room service number printed in bold font on the menu. He ordered two omelets for Cait, and a burger for himself. He hadn’t had supper yet and wouldn’t mind a bite to eat.

He hung up the phone and turned back to her. “The food will be here in about twenty minutes.”

Cait faced him and propped herself on one elbow. “What’s wrong with me, Dylan?”

“There’s nothing wrong with you.” He pulled out the chair from the desk, turned it to face Cait, and sat. He did not trust himself to sit on the bed with her. He only had so much restraint.

Cait swiped a hand down her face, smearing her mascara farther. “There must be! Why can’t I keep a guy?”

“They’re not worth keeping, Cait, if they can’t see the good thing they’ve found in you.”

Her self-pitying expression faded a bit. “You’re sweet.”

“No, I’m not.” If she only knew exactly how sweet he wasn’t, she would run away screaming. His thoughts about her were definitely X-rated.

“Yes, you are.” Cait jabbed a finger in his direction. “Why can’t I find a guy like you, a nice guy with an exciting job who wouldn’t cheat on me with the Mandys of the world?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to say she could have all of that, all she had to do was say the word, but he bit his tongue. Again he told himself it was not the time. He would not add to her troubles by making a move on her when she was still reeling from a bad break-up.

“Maybe I’m not nice either,” he pointed out.

“Yes, you are. I may be drunk, but I know you’re a nice guy despite your bad-boy image.”

Dylan chuckled. “I have a bad-boy image?”

Cait tilted her head to one side as if she were pondering the idea. “Yes, I do believe so. Bad boy turned hometown hero. You’re quite a catch, in case you didn’t know. What are you doing here with a loser like me?”