“Well, I—it’s not . . . I try to be on time. Amber’s away.”
She throws her hands up in the air. “Your PA being away is not an excuse, Miller, and it doesn’t explain the hooker bunnies hanging all over you, snapping their selfies today!” I think she’s mixing up the term hockey hooker, which Vi taught her, with puck bunnies.
Usually when I deal with a jealous honey, I say a few nice things and smooth it all over. Orgasms work well. Lots of them. I need a different strategy this time. Sunny isn’t in this for the sex. Instead of digging myself out of this hole, I say something stupid, proving words definitely aren’t my forte.
“You know how the fans are.”
“The fans? The fans? What fan draws a penis on your forehead? You were naked! And there was some hooker bunny in that bed with you! It’s all over Instagram. It’s on my Facebook now! Who is she? Were you with her?”
“I was passed out. I didn’t even know she was in there with me.”
“Who took the picture? What if that had been a tattoo? It would’ve been permanent.”
“I don’t think I would’ve slept through a tattoo. Especially not on my face.”
“Ugh!” She goes to shut the door, but I slide my arm in before she can.
Sunny’s a yoga instructor; she’s stronger than she looks. It’s a lot of pressure on my forearm.
“Sweets, come on. Things get taken out of context. I was hanging with Lance and Randy. He invited some friends over.”
She makes a disgusted sound.
“They’re not bad guys; Lance just likes parties. He invited a bunch of people by, and you know how that goes. You invite a few people who invite a few more people . . . I can’t control what he does.”
“Oh, right! Of course that explains why a naked hooker bunny ended up in your lap.”
“No one was naked, Sunny.”
“Pretty darn close!” She holds her phone up in front of my face. It’s the picture of the girl sitting in my lap. There really isn’t much to her outfit: a tiny bikini top and a pair of little shorts. The fact that I’m shirtless doesn’t make it look any better.
She turns the phone around and swipes angrily across the screen, then holds it back up for me to see. “And last time I checked, this counts as being naked.”
It’s the picture of me, asleep in bed with that stupid dick on my forehead. I’m definitely naked there.
“I wasn’t conscious.”
“Because you passed out drunk. Wanna know how I know?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “You called me last night. Do you even remember that? I bet you don’t.”
“I remember calling you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do. I told you I wanted to hear your voice.” I’m guessing here, but it’s pretty safe. I always want to hear her voice. At least I do when she’s not pissed off at me.
“There was more to the conversation than that.”
“I’ve been on the road all day. Can I come in so we can talk about this? I rebooked my flight so I could get here tonight. You haven’t answered any of my calls. There’s two sides to every story. You haven’t even heard mine yet. Please.”
She takes several deep breaths. “There’s three sides to every story.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s your version, the other person’s, and then there’s the truth, which is somewhere in the middle of the two.”
I think about that. She’s right, in a way. But in the case of the dick picture, my version is missing the whole part where the event took place, being passed out and all. The girl in my lap is a case of her word against mine.
“Are you willing to hear my side?” I give her my best I’m-sorry face.
Eventually she steps away from the door and lets me in, locking it behind her.