The flight attendant’s eyes narrow into slits. As she replies, her head does that urban-slide thing that looks incredibly fucking stupid but means she’s ready for war. “You think you can take me? You and what army, bitch?”
Erin walks up and stands next to Kate. “This one.”
Psycho laughs—and I kind of don’t blame her. Even in heels, Erin is shorter than Kate by about two inches. Together, they’re not exactly poster girls for intimidation. Until Dee-Dee comes on the scene. And although her physical stature isn’t that different from Erin’s and Kate’s, the disturbed, unbalanced look in her eyes makes up for it in a big way.
I shiver.
Psycho Woman stands her ground, but her expression is a little less sure. Then comes the icing on the cake. Which would be my sister—standing a foot above the other girls like the mighty Amazon she is.
Her smile is downright scary. “The way my hormones are raging, I would like nothing more than to rip out those cheap extensions on your head and nail them to my wall like a hunting trophy.”
Now Psycho actually looks frightened. She glances around, searching for backup. My sister does a head slide of her own. “Don’t look for your friends. They’ve moved on to fatter, stupider targets.”
Delores clenches her fists. “The cheese stands alone.” She sniffs the air. “And it’s stinky. Ever heard of feminine wipes? Might want to invest in some.”
As hilarious and . . . disturbingly sexy . . . as this whole situation is to watch, I don’t want Kate to have to deal with a wack job because of me. She’s had to do that enough already. So I take the path of least resistance and grab a security guard. “We’re guests at the main villa, and this . . . person”—I gesture to Psycho—“is harassing me and my fiancée. I’d like her removed from the premises immediately.”
Psycho Woman doesn’t take it well. “You can’t do that!”
“I’m pretty sure I just did.”
Security Guy checks my hotel key. “Sorry about the trouble, Mr. Evans.” Then he tells her firmly, “You’re going to have to come with me, miss.”
“What? No—I know my rights! Don’t touch me!”
When more security comes on the scene, she screeches again, like a charging boar. Before they drag her out, she spits one final threat my way. “This isn’t over, asshole!”
So much for friendly skies.
Then she’s gone. But the fun’s not over yet. This—right here—is my favorite part.
Because Warren says, “You should’ve decked the bitch, Katie. I haven’t seen you throw down in years.”
His blonde companion may not have two brain cells to rub together, but she’s loyal. “Hey—that’s my friend! Bastard.”
And then—
Slap.
She gets him dead in the face. Hard enough to leave an instant crimson handprint.
Blondie stomps off dramatically. While holding his flaming cheek, Warren looks at me and says, “Ugly girls don’t hit so fucking hard.”
Once the excitement dies down, everyone pairs off to talk and continue gambling. Leaving Kate and me relatively alone. “What was Billy saying about ugly girls?” she asks.
I wave my hand. “Irrelevant. Let’s go back to the part where my dick is a compass and you’re due north.”
She covers her eyes. “I can’t believe I said that.”
I take her hands away. “Don’t be embarrassed. I’m very proud. Just out of curiosity—we’re talking about a monstrously huge compass, right?”
Kate pushes me on the shoulder. “Stop fishing for compliments. Let’s talk about the stewardess who followed you here—am I going to have to get you a bodyguard?”
Only then do I notice her outfit. Black miniskirt, black, high-heeled boots that end just below her knee, and a sparkly pink top that leaves nothing to the imagination.
Stunning.
I walk around her like a predator circling a tasty morsel. “No, but if that’s what you’re wearing, I’m thinking about hiring a whole team of bodyguards for you.” I finger the pink, sequined crown on her head. It says BRIDE-TO-BE. “That’s a keeper.”
She touches it too. “Like that, do you?”
I imagine turning it into a game. Seeing how long Kate can keep the crown balanced on her head while I do unspeakable things to her. “Very much.”
“Dee-Dee got it for me.”
I shrug. “Even a broken clock is right twice a day.”
The broken clock herself yells, “All right, ladies—our chariot has arrived!”
Matthew cashes out our winnings. I hold Kate’s hand as we all walk through the casino together. Matthew and Delores bicker playfully as we approach the lobby.
“I’m not apologizing,” he tells her in a teasing voice.
“Good for you. Remember that the next time you’re in the mood to play lecherous photographer and nude model—and I tell you to go screw your camera lens.”
“I’m . . . I’m still not apologizing.”
Do I know what they’re arguing about? No. Do I care enough to ask? Not really.